His eyes widened so suddenly Celine thought some important bodily function had stopped within him. But then his cheeks flushed red and he tried everything he could to hide his face somewhere. In the end, he dropped his head on Celine’s shoulder, pulling her into a hug.
“Did you get shy just now?” she asked.
Bastien mumbled something incoherent against her neck. He looked up. “You can’t just go around saying that, darling. Do you want me to get a heart attack?”
“Why, did I say it wrong?”
“Not at all. You said it perfectly.” He brushed a quick kiss on the tip of her nose, then let his eyes linger on her for a while, taking in the girl before him. Celine did the same, still hoping time would slow down and stop entirely for them, even though she knew Bastien wasn’t going anywhere. While he was still known for the insane parties he continued to throw, he had taken a break from beingHeartbreak Boy, causing some girls, according to Anaïs, to mourn over the loss.
Celine didn’t care for any of that. Reformed philanderer or not, they both knew he was hers and she was his, fundamentally and irretrievably in love with each other, and that was all that mattered.
As for Celine’s reputation asGlamour Girl—the face of the biggest brands and their lines—journalists had made sure everyone knew she owned her own fashion house now. She wasn’t Chanel’s poster child anymore, since the LeBeau name itself had become adernier crion every magazine headline. She was the face and creator of her own brand, and she couldn’t be happier.
“Let’s get inside,” Bastien said, drawing her to the present. “We are holding up the celebration.”
“Oh, they’ve already started.”
“Without me?” His eyes widened. “How dare they!”
Ecstatic jazz seeped out of Maison Reneau—now Maison LeBeau—mingling with the lively air of Avenue Montaigne. The inauguration was today. All their family and friends, and even Monsieur Baudelaire and Gabriel had been invited to see the grand reopening.
They had been working relentlessly for two months through all the renovations the place required, which had burned through most of their funds from Monsieur Baudelaire’s cheque. Bastien had decided to invest all of it into the House, even though he had caught Celine several times trying to mail the cheque to his grandfather. But after arguing for days where to start—with Celine refusing to change most of it and Bastien insisting they made the place their own—the sign with the new name had been put up first, painted shiny and silver. Celine had gotten her dream sewing machine a week later, as well as managed to convince Coco to stay in Paris and work with her, while Bastien had decided to expand the entrance hall of the boutique, which was currently teeming with guests and music and flower baskets. Mannequins posed in front of the tall windows, each wearing the gowns Celine had designed for the competition. It had been Monsieur Baudelaire’s suggestion that the first thing their clients saw ought to be the very gowns which had made everything possible.
Unable to resist the allure of the fete, Bastien dropped a kiss on Celine’s temple, eyes glued to where the crowd was thickest. “I’ll be right back.”
Celine hauled him back by the collar of his shirt. “Bas!”
“What?” He raised his arms innocently. “We agreed: host duties are mine. Besides, I just want to see what all the noise is about. If I’m not there then that means someone else is being the life of the party and that just diminishes whatever is left of my frail reputation, Celine. It must be remedied.”
She rolled her eyes, releasing him. “Go. Have your fun.”
Bastien didn’t need further encouragement; he disappeared before she could blink. Sighing, Celine scrutinised the room for a particular blonde head, but it appeared that even Anaïs had abandoned her. Though she found her friend by the elevator, deep in conversation with Juliana. A faint blush had spread across Anaïs’s face, and one look at Juliana and her serpent-green gaze and Celine understood why.
But she wouldn’t disrupt their exchange. Anaïs was a coward when it came to girls she genuinely liked. This was probably the closest she would get to Juliana without fleeing to the nearest exit.
Which reminded her—they needed to open up another exit door.
Filing the thought for later, Celine scanned the room again when a bouquet of peach-coloured roses appeared before her out of nowhere. She craned her neck and a delighted gasp left her lips. “Jacques!”
“You know, for two people who fight over you non-stop, my siblings sure disappear in time of need.”
“Well, at least I have one Ménard in sight.” Taking the roses from him, Celine brought them under her nose. The past few months had provided a much needed respite for both of them, and had eventually brought about a fresh start to their friendship. Jacques had even offered to help with the renovations, giving them plenty of time to discuss everything between them. “Come keep me company,” Celine said. “The host is always lonely at parties.”
“Unfortunately…” Jacques scratched the back of his neck. “I, too, must bail. I only came to bring these and congratulate you for the big opening. Grandfather is waiting for a business deal. I promised I wouldn’t be too long.”
Celine picked at the petals in the bouquet, giving him a dirty look.
“I’m sorry,” he chuckled.
“Have something to eat before you leave, then. I have ordered the most delicious cake.”
“I have no doubt,” he said, walking backwards towards the refreshments table.
“You will trip like that,” Celine cautioned, remembering that he had told her the same once.
“I guess I picked a habit from—”
Celine winced as her words accidentally manifested into reality and Jacques indeed collided with someone.
