The inquiry seemed to rest on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t ask.
“Oh, you know—” Celine said, trying to block the view as he tilted his head, searching beyond her for a glimpse inside the house. He still deserved an explanation as to why his girlfriend was roaming inside an abandoned house. “—I came to look for something,” she mumbled. “A photo album. To show you.”
Jacques stooped to meet her at eye level as if he knew she was lying.
“And where is this album?” he asked, glancing at her empty hands.
“It’s a big house. My grandmother was a hoarder,” she chuckled nervously. “Who knows how long it will take for me to find it?”
Sliding past him, Celine scurried down the four exterior stairs of the building, and straight into the backseat of his car.
Jacques shook his head and entered after her. “You know, you’re a terrible liar, Celine,” he said, unbuttoning his jacket to throw it over her shoulders. To her surprise, he didn’t press on.
Celine felt horrible for doing this to him; for lying when she could tell him just as easily as she had told Bastien. Only she didn’t know why the words always got stuck in her throat.
“Are you still up for dinner at Larue or do you want to go elsewhere?” Jacques asked.
Her stomach rumbled with remonstrations at the thought of food. “Our original plan sounds perfect. But I demand dessert afterwards.”
He kissed the back of her hand. “As you wish,ma jolie.”
• • •
The multitude of lights that had blossomed around the city reflected across the Seine, drifting on top of the tiny waves like miniature stars. Thebateaux-moucheschugged thin streams of smoke out into the night.
On a whim, Celine linked her fingers through Jacques's as they strolled along the quay. The dinner had been delectable, the desert even more so, and Jacques had wanted to go an a walk afterwards—a little routine he had developed as of recently. Celine didn’t mind. It gave them a chance to talk.
“What are you thinking about?” Jacques asked. “You seem a bit zoned out.”
Celine looked up at him. Even after a long day Jacques looked like he had just stepped out of a fairy tale. In fact, he could do the exact opposite and walk straight into a book—any book—and the princess would have never pointed any differences between Jacques Ménard and her prince charming. He even had a horse.
Holding his left hand in front of them, Celine began turning his signet ring playfully around his finger, watching as the light from the lamps slid over it and glinted like a tiny star.
Perhaps Jacques beingPrince Charmingwas the exact problem—the very reason why she hadn’t fallen in love with him yet, even after a year of being together. He was prefect for every other person out there. Just not for her, apparently. Celine supposed that left only one option: the dark knight.
Her thoughts took a strange segue towards Bastien.
She frowned.
“Celine? Is everything alright?”
“Oh, yes. I was merely thinking,” she replied, attention sharpening on him again. “…About us.”
“Us?”
“How we came to beus, actually.”
They had never acknowledged the fact that they were dating because their parents wanted them to. Neither of them had been able to say no then; neither of them had objected, or questioned it, or even discussed it with the other. They had simply accepted the fact that they were to go out together and then one day get married, and that was it. They had both learned the steps of the dance and went on performing, even in front of each other, to the point where Celine couldn’t tell anymore if Jacques was being genuine or simply putting on an act, like she was. She didn’t know if he resented her, or if he was content with this decision. She, herself, was not.
By the confused look he was giving her now, Celine supposed he hadn’t planned on thinking about their situation at all.
“I know are parents suggested—”
She was cut off.
“I chose you long before that, Celine,” Jacques said softly.
“You did?”
