She breathed in deeply.Stop being a coward, Celine LeBeau.
“Well,” she started, “it has to do with why I was at the abandoned house today. But you have to promise not to laugh or tell anyone.”
“I could never,ma jolie… Unless you were hiding a dead body up there. Your dream is not to be a serial killer, is it? Because I would totally help you bury a body, but I’m not sure if I can handle cleaning up the blood.”
Gasping, she gave his chest a gentle shove. “Fortunately for you, my dream is nothing as ghastly as that. I was using my grandmother’s sewing supplies to make a dress.”
Jacques had stopped walking and was staring at her as if what she said was worse than a dead body in the attic. “Whatever for? Don’t you get at least ten dresses delivered monthly by actual ateliers?”
“I do, but…” Celine bit down on her lip. “I long to be a fashion designer.”
“Huh.”
Jacques was the one hesitating now. He seemed to be considering it, turning the thought over until it produced some other meaning while Celine’s chest rose and fell rapidly with expectation. Subtly, she squeezed his hand, prompting for the answer.
“Aren’t you one already?”
“I am?”
“La Vie Parisienneconsiders you a fashion idol. Isn’t that the same?” Celine parted her lips to correct him, but Jacques went on, “Surely you didn’t mean making the clothes.”
Laughing at her face would have been better than this passive aggressive way of calling her delusional.
Quietly, Celine leaned her elbows on the bridge, and tilted her face towards the river, absently following the yellow lights that flooded the ripples in molten gold. The evening had been wrapping up to a perfect end, why had she gone and asked for a game?
Perhaps it wasn’t time for Jacques to know about the competition yet.
“No,” Celine forced a smile. “No, I meant”—she worked her brain to find the closest link between a fashion designer and a fashion idol—“I meant that I would like to be more than a cover girl. Perhaps someone who gets to work with a designer in a sort of partnership, or other.”
She wasn’t sure if she was making sense anymore. Disappointment had set deep roots in her thoughts and whatever she was saying now felt randomly generated by a machine.
Jacques didn’t seem to have noticed it. He moved beside her, and placed a warm hand on her waist. “Grandfather’s philanthropic masquerade is coming up next month,” he said. “I will see to it that he sends out invites to your favourite couturiers. You can discuss the possibility of a partnership then.”
It might not have been exactly what she wanted but at least it was a start. Celine could show Jacques what she’d truly meant with time. The way things were going, they had their whole future before them.
She pushed off the railing and linked their palms again. There was one more question she needed answering.
“Why do you and Bastien bicker so much?” Jacques wasn’t the only one she needed to know better. Bastien’s quips kept growing wittier by the second and Celine’s personal assortment was running out of taunts that could match his. “I mean, you have been brothers now for six years. I know that if I had a stepsister I would have delighted in her company.”
“You know that Grandfather picks favourites,” Jacques said as though that explained things.
But Celine had a feeling that something more lurked beneath that easy surface. So she prodded him to elaborate and he reluctantly gave in.
“Some years ago, Grandfather let on that he would choose me as his heir even though I wasn’t related to him by blood at all. That ultimately placed Bastien at the centre of whispers and rumours and you can imagine how he reacted to all of them.”
“By becoming the centre of other rumours.”
The clubs he frequented; themaison closeshe was seen stepping out of; the people that claimed to have been his lovers, women and even some men; the shameless flirting and innuendoes.
Jacques nodded.
“Why didn’t he choose Bastien?”
“It’s a long story.”
Celine hinted ahead, starting off towards the long bridge. “We have time.”
But something redolent to an anchor prevented her from taking the next step. To her surprise when she peered behind, Jacques had stopped. “What’s with the sudden interest in Bastien?” he asked. “It’s not as though you know nothing about him. At least, you already know what everyone else does.”
