Celine might have imagined it, but there was a faint brush of pink along Elise’s cheeks, the deep brown of her skin radiating warmth. She hummed a shy thank you. “You weren’t far behind, either. Actually, I wouldn’t have minded seeing you win instead.”
Celine squeezed her hand in appreciation. “I wish you good luck with your fashion house, Mademoiselle Sartre. I hope that the invitation to visit can be extended. I would love to see what you do with this place.”
“Right,” Elise replied with an impish glint in her eyes. “Youvampiresneed an invitation to come in. You are welcome any time, Mademoiselle LeBeau.”
The atmosphere around them had given way to an abrupt frenzy of loud conversation and camera flashes as journalists wound through the hall, snapping at everything and everyone who caught their lens.
Elise peered around for her sister. “I better find Elana. I would have wagered she’d be with your model, but I see that’s not the case anymore.”
Celine bit down on her lip and allowed a shy smile before Elise slipped away, leaving her alone in the hall. But not for long.
A sudden weight came crashing into her from behind, and two seconds later Anaïs’s face popped in sight. Celine had to spread out her arms and legs to keep her balance.
“Do I get haute couture for life now?” she asked, the point of her nose twitching eagerly.
“Only”—Celine heaved—“if you haven’t dislocated my spine.”
Quickly, Anaïs scrambled off her. “Désolé. I got lost in all the excitement.”
“What excitement?” Celine rolled her eyes. “We lost.”
“True, but your designs were incredible! I will make sure the articles won’t stop talking about them for weeks to come.” She didn’t allow Celine a moment to breathe before crashing into her again, this time in the form of a hug. “I’m proud of you, Cel.”
Celine returned the embrace, slightly slumping into Anaïs’s arms. It was comforting to hear someone else approve of what she had done, outside of Bastien.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, reluctant to let go of her friend. All the energy she had reserved for the last round was starting to deplete now that the competition was over. “Did Jacques leave?” she asked, craning her neck in search of him.
“He is outside, talking to Bas. They have…issuesthey need to resolve.”
Celine guessed what those issues were, but it wasn’t her place to meddle. It was time Jacques and Bastien fixed this on their own terms, at their own pace.
“And…” she trailed off expectantly, warring with herself whether to ask about her or not. Her mother had been there before the show, but when the winner was announced and the entire room had fallen into movement, Celine had lost sight of her. She didn’t want to think she had left because Celine had proven her right about the fashion world but…
Anaïs grabbed her by the shoulders and turned Celine around so she was facing the three steps that led up the stage where Madame LeBeau was standing, staring in awe at the designs. “I’ll go find my brothers,” Anaïs whispered, and swiftly left Celine alone with her mother.
It was impossible to decipher the expression on Madame LeBeau’s face. Pride, elation, regret rippled in a continuous loop. She approached Celine hesitantly as if Celine would bolt from her again.
“Did you really make all of these dresses yourself?” she asked, slightly perplexed as she gazed at the male models. They had make-up on to make them look androgynous, and with the ambiguous silhouette of the flapper style, Celine could scarcely tell they were men wearing dresses.
“It’s what I’ve been doing for the past ten weeks,” Celine explained. She must have manufactured thousands of lies in that time span to hide from her mother, but here they were now, both of them standing inside Maison Baudelaire. “Whenever I told you I was with Anaïs or Jacques…I was actually here, creating all of this.”
“The whole collection…” Madame LeBeau trailed off and Celine held her breath. “It was exquisite.” She was looking at Celine like she was seeing her daughter for the first time in her life. “And bold,” she chuckled. “Like you.”
Madame LeBeau extended her hand as if to stroke Celine’s cheek, but retrieved it without making contact. Celine’s throat ached. She hadn’t expected it to go any differently. Actually—she had expected it to go much worse. It was only thanks to Bastien that her mother was even here, seeing, at long last, what Celine had been trying to show her this entire time.
“I am sorry I lied, maman,” she managed thickly. “But I don’t regret it. Even though I did not win today, this is what I want to do in life. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”
“Of course, I know, my darling. The amount of time we’ve fought over this…” She shook her head, forcing herself to stop. “It doesn’t matter now. I am proud of what you did today, Celine.”
“You are?”
Her mother nodded, finally reaching out and smoothing down Celine’s hair. “I raised you to be strong, and you proved that. I will admit, I never expected you to turn outheadstrong as well, but”—she wrinkled her nose—“you are your father’s daughter.”
Celine winced. “I’m afraid I got that from you.”
“No, no. That is entirely your father’s vice.”
“Maman?”
