An abrupt breeze flowed along the river, ruffling her hair from the gel she had fixed it with. Almost instinctively, Jacques tucked the strand behind her ear.
“Yes.” He didn’t move his hand from her cheek, instead he cupped it, smoothing the pad of his thumb along the tiny freckle beneath her eye. “I had stopped thinking of you as just my friend before anyone suggested anything.” But when she didn’t respond, Jacques expelled a heavy breath. “Why do I have a feeling you don’t believe that?”
Celine looked down at her feet. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just that…”
Long before there was Celine, there had been Emilie—Jacques’s childhood sweetheart. One word from Monsieur Ménard and Jacques had broken her heart for the sake of this relationship.
Now, Celine wasn’t the sort to be plagued by jealous feelings for someone she didn’t love, but she worried that Jacques hadn’t forgotten Emilie as easily as he claimed to have had. And if that was true—and according to Anaïs it was true on Emilie’s part—who was Celine LeBeau and her faked romance to come between two people who truly loved one another?
She started twisting his ring again. “You realise we don’t have to go through with this, right? Our relationship, I mean. If you still love—”
Their thoughts must have run into the same channel because Jacques was already shaking his head. “That’s in the past. There is no one else in my heart but you now, Celine. Please believe that.”
Some small part of her had hoped he would end their feigned relationship right then and there, claiming his heart was still tied to Emilie’s. Celine would have been more than happy to oblige, relieved even. She felt like she was dragging him along, leading him on like…like a vampire!
Perfect. Maybe the magazines weren’t entirely wrong about Celine, even if she was doing it unintentionally.
“I do believe you, Jacques,” she said, easing the thoughts back into the remotest part of her brain.
“Good.” He leaned down to brush a lingering kiss on her lips. When he pulled away his eyes burned like two bright stars—a once in a lifetime phenomenon occurring right in front of her.
But there it was again! He was looking at her the same way he had last night. And the kiss had been different, too; nothing like the quick, impassive pecks they shared whenever others were around. It had felt as though he actually wanted to kiss her.
It hit her then—Jacques truly meant what he was saying. He actually liked her, maybe even loved—that’s what was different about him.
Celine swallowed, feeling like her heart had lodged itself in her throat. She didn’t know what to do with this revelation. Here she was, hoping he would tell her he hated the idea of their faked relationship as much as she did, only to discover he hadn’t been faking it for a while now.
Deep in thought, Celine started up ahead. If Jacques felt this way—if he had been able to fall in love with her—who was to say she couldn’t? She cared about him, deeply. So she would try; she just had to stop thinking that she didn’t love him. Celine believed in love at first sight, and she believed in soulmates, too. I they weren’t each other’s love at first sight, she might find out they were each other’s soulmates. Ones that were still wandering to find one another, even as their corporeal forms were walking side by side.
“Can I request something else of you then?” she said.
“Of course.”
They had reached Passerelle Debilly and quietly climbed up the stairs to continue the rest of their walk up on the bridge. Up here the sound of the waves that echoed underneath gotlost amidst the agitated engines of motorcars that drove on the other side of the street. Celine could feel the bright glow of the lights on the Eiffel tower as they winked in and out like shooting stars. She whirled in a heap of lavender skirts and began walking backwards. “Tell me about you.”
“You will trip like that” Jacques cautioned. “And you already know everything about me.”
“Almosteverything,” Celine teased.
Jacques laughed. “What else is there?” When she only raised a suggestive eyebrow, he rolled his eyes. “Oh, I see. The lady demands secrets.”
“Yes, she does.”
He mused over it briefly. “I’ve been talking all night. I think it’s timeIstarted asking some questions, no?”
“How about a game then?” Celine supplied, leaning against the railing and tilting her head back to look at him. “Nothing that requires any physical exertion. Just a thumb war. The loser gets to answer anything the winner asks, that way we will both get a chance.”
“Deal,” Jacques said. “I hope you have chosen a befitting battlefield, Mademoiselle LeBeau. Because I will be very disappointed if my girlfriend doesn’t beat me in a match of thumb war.”
“In that case, prepare for defeat, Monsieur Ménard.” She narrowed her eyes in an attempt to intimidate him, but Jacques only kept smiling. So they clasped their right hands together and were about to start when Celine shouted, “Wait! This isn’t fair, I’m left-handed!”
Jacques's smile turned into a procession of chuckles. “J'adore tes petites crises de colère. Very well, we shall switch.”
“But it won’t be fair to you that way.”
“I don’t mind,” he said softly. “I’d rather see you happy than win.”
Celine stood unmoving for a moment, certain she had felt a flutter of something in her chest.
