Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his torso, and stayed that way until she gained some of her sanity back. Once her body had fully stopped shaking she rolled her head back to glimpse at him. “That would have been terribly Heathcliff of you,” she said.
Bastien sniffled. “You know that’s not a happy book, right?”
He was distracting her, and Celine leaned into it like a crutch.
“Does it matter? As long as it’s a good book…”
“I suppose you’re right.” She could hear the teasing in his voice. What he suggested next didn’t surprise her at all. “Ifyou’re of that opinion, I have a list of particularly improper books I think you would adore.”
Celine smiled into his vest. Stepping back, she smoothed her hair behind her ear and took a deep, long inhale.
“Thank you,” she said, looking anywhere but at him. “I am better now.”
She must have not sounded believable. Bastien’s fingers found her chin, tilting her head up.
“Would you still like to leave?” There was a terrible gentleness in his words, in the way his fingers rested against her skin. She had never heard him speak so tenderly before. “I can take you away. I have no qualms about dealing with Jacques afterwards. Or Grandfather. Or even your mother for that matter, although she terrifies me. You wouldn’t have to worry about any of them. We can go, right now.” His grey eyes searched her face. “If that is what you want.”
He was giving her a way out; offering to bear all the hatred and the disappointment she had coming her way if she left. And he was lettingherchoose. For the first time since she could remember, Celine could choose: yes or no. Whatever she wanted.
Celine met his stare. And nodded. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 28
He Loves Me…He Loves Me Not
Celine swept the room swiftly with her eyes, struggling to see anything past the thick cigarette haze that hung low about the tables. The light fixtures up on the ceiling turned it a deep pink that blurred everything: the beautiful faces in the club, the Chinese decor of the hall, the glint of the glasses as they clinked against each other. She had never been to Le Shanghai before, although she had seen the painted glass facade outside numerous times and had longed to go in.
And now that she was inside, Celine was beginning to question Bastien’s choice of entertainment. The stage, which was rather an extended part of the checkered floor that reached the end of the hall, was occupied by a group of six girls performing a lewder version of the cancan.
“When I said I wanted to go somewhere fun, I didn’t mean somewhere where I’d have underwear flung over my—” she broke off as a waitress halted in front of them, a heavy-looking tray in hand, her dress bunched up to her hips.
“Excuse me, darling,” the woman said, sliding between them. Before she could reach the table she was serving, she peered over her shoulder and winked at Bastien.
To his credit, Bastien winced. “Don’t mind her,” he said, expertly ushering Celine ahead. The thickest of the crowd had circled the bar, but he walked them towards a quieter corner.He seemed to know his way around. The waitress certainly knew him.
“I’m assuming this is one of Heartbreak Boy’s favourite haunts?” Celine asked, not bothering to hide the hint of annoyance in her tone. She didn’t want to be sceptical; she still wanted to celebrate her birthday even though the night was trailing to an end. But part of her worried someone might recognise the two of them together. She could already imagine her mother the next day, reading in the headlines all about how Celine had left Jacques at the Ritz to come with Bastien at a cabaret.
The image fizzled away the moment Bastien’s lips brushed against her ear. “I reserved Le Shanghai for special occasions strictly. Such as birthdays. Besides, isn’t this what you wanted?” Bastien nodded at the tables around them. They were mostly filled with young women, bobbing their heads to the music or laughing over their vibrant drinks. “Living carefree like the flapper girls of the West? Going anywhere in the city without worrying who might see you or what they might say?”
“That is some wishful thinking.” Celine wanted to laugh at him. Bastien meant well, but things were more complicated than that. “I am the complete opposite of who I want to be, Bas. I’ve spent half of my life trying to create a whole different person from who I am so it can please everyone.” And he was making it very hard to cling to that person.
“I hate that Celine,” Bastien said with zero hesitation, turning her around so she was facing him. “That’s not you. I like the other Celine better.”
“The one who lies?” she asked, fidgeting with the watch around her wrist.
Bastien shook his head. “The one who is determined to get what she wants. The Celine who issues orders like she’s inthe military, and who sees the best in a person, despite what rumours say about them.”
“You really like that Celine?”
“I really do,” he said. Despite the thick cloud of cigarette smoke above their heads, his eyes were oddly clear. “You don’t have to create another personality for me, Celine. You can be whoever you want to be. Flapper girl, vamp, a nun.” She smacked his chest. “What, nuns hold a certain appeal for some people.”
Celine rolled her eyes. “Let’s sit,” she said, if only to stop the conversation about nuns from escalating. “That’s what you brought us here for, no? To have fun.”
She swivelled for the tables closest to the stage, to the music, but Bastien tugged her backwards.
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” he said, inclining his head towards the corner of the room, where a set of stairs curled upwards to the rest of the building.
Celine levelled him a suspicious glance.
