Oh. Gabriel had said the same thing. Biting down on her smile, Celine nodded another thank you and stole away from the designing hall altogether. She was quite reluctant to wrestle her eyes away from the flashes of opulence all around her: Elise’s Gothic line, Franz’s Belle Epoque designs, and lastly her Art Deco clad models. But anxiety was beating like a second heart in her chest, loud and erratic, and she needed a quiet moment to calm her nerves. And a quiet place.
She found the backstage empty, and pulled the curtain to the side to peer at the hall. Gabriel’s panicked voice instantly swept across the stage. The first guests must have filed inside already, but he really started hyperventilating when the designers arrived. Celine had a sense to duck out of view asCoco Chanel smoothed out her black dress and sat in the first row. Edward Molyneux entered next, fine-looking and sharply dressed.
Celine admired them from afar. Her lips parted in awe when Paul Poiret, the King of Fashion, joined them. He had worked with Bastien’s mother before the Great War, and though his boutique was less frequented now, his designs deemed dated, he still remained a fashion genius on Celine’s list. Then entered Sonia Delaunay, the Boué Soeurs, the Callot Soeurs, and lastly Madeleine Vionnet.
Celine pushed back the fresh wave of anxiety that rolled through her. These were the best in the industry; icons who had started movements in the world of fashion, not just designers who sketched for fun.
And they were here to judge her creations.
Oh God.
An arm suddenly circled her waist from behind, and Celine let go of the curtain with a start. Bastien chuckled as he nuzzled his face into her neck, breathing in her perfume, including that little hint of his own scent that still lingered from last night.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
Lifting his hand to her heart so he could feel her heartbeats, Celine said, “I’m trying not to pass out. The room is brimming with guests. Even designers have come to judge.” She turned in his arms. “What if we don’t win? I don’t want all of this to have been for nothing. And your debt—if we lose—”
She was cut off by his soft lips capturing the rest of her words in a loving kiss. Everything that had happened the past few weeks had proved that Celine couldn’t resist him. She gave in, her anxiety melting away along with her.
“Is that better?” Bastien asked, cocking his head to the side.
“Your magical kisses work well and all, Bas, but it doesn’t change the fact—”
He kissed her again, this time firmer to make his point.
“It is not going to be for nothing,” Bastien insisted, brushing away a strand of hair from her face. “You learned a lot here, didn’t you?” Reluctantly, Celine nodded. “And you made it to the final round. That means you were one of the best. And even if we don’t win”—his grey irises sparkled with eagerness—“there is still another place waiting to be our fashion house. If anyone is worthy of renaming it, it’s you.” Bastien looked down at their linked hands. “And you should know…she would have loved you.”
He didn’t need to say who. “Really?” Celine asked.
“Yes. For your designsandfor loving her son.”
Celine wished—with all her heart she wished—she could offer him the same words, but they both knew what Madame LeBeau thought of him. She parted her lips to speak, when Bastien pointed at something beyond the row of chairs around the catwalk. “Look!”
Right where the sketch-lined hallway ended and the domed hall began, a slim silhouette was peering around. Celine’s heart stuttered at the familiar face.
Madame LeBeau entered the chair-littered hall, and instead of demanding to know where her daughter was as Celine was expecting, she sat down on one of the chairs in the front.
“What is she doing here?” she whispered.
Bastien grinned sheepishly, but said nothing.
Celine whirled on him. “What did you do?”
“Your mother might not like me, but I am terribly persuasive.” He shrugged. “While you were breaking things off with Jacques, I was trying to reason with her. I told her everything—about the competition, what you’ve really been doing all these weeks. My mother cannot be here, as much as I wish she was, but yours can. She should see your hard work.”
Celine was stunned for words. “Do remind me to thank you when all of this is over.”
“Oh, I definitely will.” That wicked glint in his eyes roused a few butterflies in her stomach. “Just a heads up, a plainmerciwon’t cut it.”
“I know your tastes, Monsieur Ménard. Worry not.” Reaching on her tiptoes, she brought her face up to his, close enough to kiss, then pulled away before their lips could touch. “That’s just a preview.”
“You are going to be in such trouble if you don’t keep that promise.” Bastien scrunched his nose menacingly. “The show will start soon. I better find a seat.”
“What? You have to be here with me!”
He squeezed her arm assuringly. “The stage is yours today, Celine. I will be watching from the front row.”
Celine stuck her head through the curtains again, locating Jacques and Anaïs two seats away from her mother. Anaïs was first to notice someone staring at them. Her lips formed a little, delighted O when she saw Celine, and started waving her arms in encouragement. Jacques offered her a sweet smile.
