Nevertheless, she was more surprised that he had shown up earlier than her. Monsieur Ménard’s demands must have truly turned Bastien into a desperate man.
“Just so you know,” she said, startling him, “I am not giving you a kiss.”
Bastien lifted his eyes from the text languidly and laughed at what she was wearing. “Aren’t you taking this whole secrecy business a little too seriously? It’s March. You will melt under that.”
Perhaps the shades, the cloche hat, and the scarf underneath it had been a little too much.
Celine sighed. “Melt or not, it is my business.”
“Come now, darling.” Placing his book away, he hoisted himself from the wall. Instinctively, Celine took a stiff step back. She realised she should have wedged more distance between them when Bastien easily reached out his hand and took herchin between his fingers. “If you sigh like that every time we meet, I’m afraid it will go to my head. And what would people think if—God forbid—someone happens to hear you?”
“Are there ever any instances where you don't sayeverythingthat crosses your mind out loud?”
Taking a long drag from his cigarette, Bastien let out a flippant, “Unlikely,” through wisps of smoke. He offered her his elbow. Celine hesitated.
“I don’t bite,” he said. “Unless you like that sort of thing.”
“The day that I ask you to sink your teeth into me, Bastien, trust that I am suffering under severe psychosis. And even then, I would be more inclined to ask you to shoot me.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such a violent woman. I might have to warn my brother, who knows what you’ll do to him in be—”
Celine’s hand shot to his mouth before he could finish that sentence.
“Let me make one thing clear,” she hissed, clamping her fingers tight around his jaw in hopes that the threat would reach him properly. “People usually have a tiny voice in the back of their head, whispering that what they are about to say or do is entirely stupid. And while I am aware that yours is wholly corrupted and possibly so faint that it hardly goes through, do listen to it, before I get it in my head that sewing your lips together would be a great favour to the society. Understood?”
Undeterred, Bastien smiled against her palm.
“That was strike one,” she stated, and pushed his head away. “You have two left.”
“And after that?” Bastien taunted, voice lilting with a strange amusement that made her shoulders tense a bit. “What will you do after strike three?”
Celine was going to murder him, and she was going to delight in seeing his eyes pop out while she strangled him with her gloves.
To Bastien’s luck, he was spared the violence when the wrought iron gate of Maison Baudelaire thundered as it opened, and a lanky young man in a dazzling lavender suit poked his head through. “Mademoiselle LeBeau?”
Celine whipped on her heel, shaking her head to remove the haze Bastien had smoked right over her thoughts. He seemed intent on making her the source of his amusement now that deargrand-pèreMénard had cut him off and everything came at a steeper price than Bastien could currently afford. Even entertainment. Without the inheritance, there were no profligacies, and without profligacies, there was only Celine and Jacques and a grand scandal in the making. She could excuse their proximity at events with the fact that they would soon be in-laws. But every day? What reason did she have to meet with Bastien Ménard every day? Not to mention, her mother would become hysterical if her daughter was rumoured to be having an affair withHeartbreak Boy.
“That’s me,” Celine called back to the young man, quickening her step to greet him prudently.
Bastien, meanwhile, sauntered behind her like a Grande Dame whose step had slowed down over the years due to her heavy skirts. Celine left him at his leisure, pinning her attention on the vestibule by the entrance gates.
“Celine LeBeau,” she supplied, a little out of breath, shooting out a hand to greet him. “I am—”
“Acceptance sheet,” the young man interrupted curtly.
Celine’s hand dropped. Hastily, she shuffled through her sketchbook and plucked out the cream embossed letter. “Ici—”
He practically snatched it from her fingers, letting out a small, curious hum as he inspected it with a swift glance. “All seems correct,” he approved, looking up at her again. Then his gaze wandered off, searching for something beyond her shoulder.
A second later, a furrow appeared on his brow. “I am sure you were aware that a model is required for you to compete, Mademoiselle LeBeau?”
“Yes, and I have one.” Latching her fingers on Bastien’s wrist, hard enough to leave marks, she hauled him into view. “See?” she chimed. “And he’s taller than most.”
“Oui, I do see. But your model cannot be a man. It is against the rules.”
“Rules?” For a minute all Celine could do was stare at him blankly and process that simple word.
She tried to recall the specifics mentioned in her acceptance letter, but she couldn’t remember reading anything about her model’s gender requirements. Bastien yanked her suddenly to the side, letting another contestant and her model pass through. The young man at the gate granted them entrance right away.
