“Will that be alright with you, Mademoiselle LeBeau?”
“O-of course,” Celine forced out. “Thank you.”
“Anything else?”
She shook her head. “Nothing else. Have a good day, Monsieur Baudelaire. Gabriel.”
The descent of the stairs was as mechanical as putting Gabriel into the dress had been—pure muscle memory. So was the packing of her supplies and the walking out of Rue Cambon. A dull sort of anger was thrumming inside her—not at Bastien, but at herself. She had leaned too much on him. Trusted him too much. She still couldn’t understand why he had quit, but exhaustion was pressing on her and she didn’t have the strength to start pondering.
Vaguely aware of her surroundings and the retreating warmth of the day on her bare arms, Celine walked herself home.
• • •
Celine tried her best to rub a bit of colour into her cheeks and dab at her tears when she entered the cul-de-sac. It was difficult pretending the day had been a mundane one when all she wanted to do was crawl into her bed and disappear off the face of the earth. The alternative would be to find Bastienwherever he was hiding and murder him. All the way home she had replayed what had happened at Le Shanghai; replayed her trek through the roaring streets in Montmartre; she even replayed the part where she had drunk herself stupid on rum. And she still couldn’t find a reason behind him quitting. If anything, he should be the one wandering the streets in self-loathing gloom.
Celine paused by the gate to take a deep breath.
And saw the shiny paint of a familiar black car parked in their driveway, with Jacques reaching for the door handle.
He gave up the task the moment he sighted her; his entire body going rigid. Celine felt her own spine stiffen, causing the gate to creak at the minute movement. She braced against it, her entire system jostling awake.
She hadn’t the slightest clue what to expect of him right now. Save for the tight set of his jaw and that somber look in his eyes, he gave nothing away. He was no different from the Jacques that would show up for their dates. Cream suit, blue tie, not a strand of hair out of place.
So they lingered there with the night and a good stretch of the driveway between them, until Celine decidedenough with the cowardice. She owed him; if not an explanation, in case she couldn’t muster one, then at least a voiced acknowledgement.
“Salut,” she managed timidly, starting towards him with laden steps.
Jacques clicked the car door close. He simply nodded at her greeting.
“I was…coming back from Maison Baudelaire,” Celine said, as though she needed an excuse for returning home. But the day had drained her, and she looked no more appealing than soggy bread, so she was lucky coherent words even made it past her lips. “I made it to the final round.”
“Congratulations.” The word fluttered meaninglessly between them until it died out in the silence of the driveway.
Celine knocked her fists at her sides awkwardly. ‘Sorry’ was the next word settling on the tip of her tongue, but she knew Jacques wouldn’t appreciate it. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how betrayed he must have felt. Perhaps she could—she was feeling devastatingly betrayed herself at the moment. Her heart was in shambles over someone she had merely spent nine weeks with. Jacques had a whole year of memories—however false they were—to resent her for.
“About last night…” she dared meekly.
It was difficult to tell the extent of his knowledge. A thousand wordless questions flitted across his hazel eyes; none of them, however, leaving his lips.
“Bastien,” Jacques gritted all of a sudden and Celine braced herself. “He said he took you from the party. That there was an issue with the design you had prepared for today.”
As if triggered by the words, a glimpse of last night returned to her, and Bastien’s promise rang out clearly.I have no qualms about dealing with Jacques afterwards.
So this was him dealing with Jacques? Lying? Celine drew the inside of her cheek between her teeth, and bit down, hard enough to bruise it. She really wished Bastien was here right now so she could wrap her hands around his throat and shake him.
“When did he tell you that?” Celine asked.
“He called at the Ritz last night, when I was looking all over the place for you.” There was only a hint of irritation in his voice, and she knew, he was allowing to show less than what he was truly feeling. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”
The words came to her lips so easily. “It was important,” she lied, sinking her nails into her palms instead of her wrist.
“Last night was too,” he said emotionlessly. “Anyway, I only came to return these.” Digging into his jacket, he pulled out thesatin gloves she had been wearing. “You seemed to have dropped them.”
Celine extended her arm halfheartedly and took them with trembling fingers. Jacques’s eyes fell on the watch at her wrist, but Celine quickly hid her hand in the flaps of her dress and muttered an almost silent “Thank you.” She couldn’t bear to discuss any more of Bastien tonight.
“Jaques—”
He cut her off with a shake of his head. He didn’t want to hear it. He reached for the handle again, but didn’t open the door.
