She had been only ten years old at the time.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Bastien muttered to himself, flipping all the way to the end of the notebook, where her designs had gotten better, more elaborate, almost perfect if he was willing to admit.
And amongst those, he found the one she had applied for the competition with.
Bastien smiled.
He had gotten himself into major trouble, but Celine LeBeau was going to be his way out. What were ten weeks in her repressed presence anyway? In any case, it would give Bastien the opportunity to annoy Jacques to no end.
Throwing one cautionary look at the door, lest someone found him sprawled on Celine’s bed,again, he scrambled to find a piece of paper to leave her a note, when something else that was sticking out between the pages of her sketchbook caught his notice.
A list—he realised—decorated with small stars and lines to emphasise the title’s importance:
Celine LeBeau’s Idols
Bastien snorted, but curiosity made him read through it.
Just as expected—and judging by half of the clothes Celine wore most of the time—Jeanne Lanvin was scribbled at third place. The second was occupied by Claude Baudelaire—the very man who was hosting the competition. And number one—Bastien’s expression shuttered when he read the name. Adalene Reneau.
He looked up at the framed sketches on the wall, finally realising why they had appeared familiar at first.
Placing the list where he had found it, he shut the sketchbook with a sharp thud and stepped out of the room.
• • •
The dinner ended later than Celine had expected, with Bastien’s eyes pinned on her the entire time, an indecipherable smile on his lips. It was a little unnerving, but she tried to pay him no heed. She was only relieved he wasn’t making any remarks about their conversation.
“Goodnight,ma jolie,” Jacques said as she walked them to the door. He leaned in to brush a quick kiss on her lips and lingered reluctantly by the threshold, causing Bastien to bump against Celine.
Jacques didn’t seem to notice his brother’s glare at all. Or care for that matter. “Will you have dinner with me tomorrow evening?” he asked. The two lanterns flanking the door made his hazel eyes light up.
Celine blinked. There it was again—the something different in the way he was looking at her. She still couldn’t point exactly what it was though and it prickled her. The whole night had been bizarre and overwhelming, what with Bastien becoming her model and her being accepted in the competition. Jacques’s twinkling eyes could wait another day to be decoded.
“You two are sickening,” Bastien groaned. “Move it along, Jacques. I have places to be.”
Celine narrowed her eyes at him over her shoulder. “I wasn’t aware brothels closed at night.”
“I wasn’t aware brothels closed at night,” Bastien mocked and pushed past her. “Goodnight, baby vamp,” he whispered,slipping a piece of paper into Celine’s palm as he walked out into the driveway. “You sure drive a hard bargain.”
“What was that about?” Jacques sniffed.
Celine shook her head, trying to wipe the scowl off her face. “Nothing.”
“So, dinner? Tomorrow?”
“Of course, Jacques. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,ma jolie.”
Celine closed the door behind them, and waited for the screech of tires to fade away before she smoothed open the note Bastien had slipped her.
Maison Baudelaire. Front gate. 9 o’clock.
Don’t be late, or you’ll owe me a kiss.
-B
A kiss?! Preposterous!
