“To the rooftop, baby vamp. You will have to do more than look sappy on your birthday to get me in bed. I’ll have you know, I have standards too.”
“Standards my foot,” she grumped, but trudged after him, regardless.
Bastien laughed under his breath and pushed open the door to the roof. It was empty of patrons, empty of anything, really.
Hand tucked into his, Celine took a deep breath of the crisp night air that softly nipped at their skin. The sky had bloomed with dark, rain-promising clouds, but she didn’t care. Nothing could disturb the peace she was feeling up here. The whole city spanned before her, yet she stood completely removed from all of it. The music from the club was muffled by two levels of concrete; the rumble of Montmartre was faint. Up here, Celine could finallybreathe.
She walked towards the balustrade and placed her elbows upon the cool surface. Lights flashed below. A motorcar zoomed by, its roof retracted, the passengers stacked on top of the seats, laughing as the car turned the corner and they teetered precariously. She wondered what it would feel like to be that carefree. To live simply for the moment, simply for the fun, and not care whether you would fall and crack your skull on the pavement.
As if sensing her strange thoughts and wanting to dispel them, Bastien said, “I love the city at night.” He placed a warm palm on the small of her back. “There is a hidden sort of loveliness that gets lost in the daylight. And I know what I’ll say next will sound ironic, because Paris is ceaseless, even at night, but it’s quieter at these hours, don’t you think?”
Celine hummed. She leaned her chin into the crevice between her palms and took a deep breath that tasted of the approaching torrent. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Only nighttime could offer people peace of mind. It was the only cluster of hours when all things, even the important ones, could wait until morning. It was a reprieve on its own.
Much like Bastien had done with her.
“How come only you noticed?” she asked pensively. She didn’t turn to look at him, but she could feel Bastien’s stare on the side of her face. “Back at the party—everyone else was so oblivious to the fact that I was utterly lost. But not you.”
And he hadn’t even been standing by her side all night.
“I’m sorry it wasn’t Jacques,” Bastien murmured. His eyes were still roaming her face as if gauging for answers in the lines of her profile. Celine wondered what she looked like to him. She had powdered herself after her breakdown as best she could, until her face resembled painted porcelain, varnished and straight out of the kiln. But Bastien had already glimpsedbeneath that mask. He had seen her the way she truly was and—and he was still here. Next to her.
Bastien leaned on the balustrade, mimicking her posture. The breeze whipped at his hair, playing with the dark strands the way Celine wanted to run her fingers through. She almost reached out her hand, when he asked, “Are you going to say no then?”
She sighed. “Wasn’t leaving a ‘no’ in itself?”
“I suppose.”
Slowly, Celine brought her hands to her face and covered her eyes, pushing the heels of her palms deep into the sockets. A whole year of obediently doing what her mother had asked of her—a whole year of pretending—had quickly crumbled down like a sandcastle under the waves in a single moment’s decision. The entire trajectory of her life, changed, because of two words:let’s go.
Ever so slowly, Bastien pried her hands from her face. “Don’t be sad on your birthday, Celine. We came here so you wouldn’t dwell on anything, ex-fake-boyfriends included.”
“You can try to look less thrilled about it,” she said.
But he was right. The guilt and the pain might have followed her up here, and the issue still prowled out there, waiting for her to leave this temporary hideout and deal with it, but that’s where it would stay until Celine was ready to confront it. For now, all she needed was a distraction, and she had the perfect, freakishly tall, slightly tipsy, already dishevelled, best kind of distraction standing right next to her.
“Dance with me,” Celine demanded abruptly. And before Bastien could protest or say something along the lines ofyou have better chances seeing me eat dirt, she took his hand and positioned them in a waltzing stance.
He wrinkled his nose. “You want to waltz to bawdy music?”
“Humour me, Bastien. And anyway, the music doesn’t matter—the person you’re dancing with does.”
He relented a smile and spun her abruptly. Celine giggled, following his lead, unaware that Bastien knew how to dance.
“You like this?” he asked, twirling her again.
Celine laughed, the sound echoing like a bell across the empty rooftop. It was genuine, not like the ones forced by her mother that made her cheeks hurt. Not like the ones forced by herself, either, that she had reserved for Jacques.
“This is probably the strangest birthday I’ve ever had,” she said. “Right after my tenth birthday party.”
“What can possibly go wrong at a ten year old’s birthday party?”
“Well, my father gifted me Milady that day, but she was such a menace, she jumped on the cake then proceeded to rip the curtains to shreds.”
“I can see now why this one takes second place.” Bastien said. “However, there is a stray cat hanging out behind the building. I’m sure we can get it to rip the curtains downstairs.”
Celine chuckled. Reaching up, she cupped his cheek, placing a soft kiss on it. Bastien closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. Either her lips burned, or his cheek burned, but something akin to a spark passed between them. “Thank you for stealing me away.”
