“It wouldn’t kill you to rent some place bigger, you know,” he remarked, letting his gaze wander, curious to see whether anything had changed. To his disappointment, other than a pile of books on the floor that kept growing and the new bamboo fans hanging from crooked nails on the wall, everything else remained where it always stood: two velvet chaises facing each other; behind them a bookshelf, because Juliana enjoyedlooking at the spines when her guests started to bore her; the feather boa tossed over a red lampshade on the corner, the floor sprinkled with glitter and confetti which she trailed back home after every performance; the kitchen to the right. There was only one other room, Juliana’s bedroom.
“I’m assuming one of the chaises will be my new sleeping arrangement?”
“Unless you prefer the floor.”
“Yourbed is rather comfortable…” he trailed off.
“Do you want to sleep in a carton like an abandoned kitten?” Juliana said sharply, her red lips curling like a cat’s. Bastien turned around. Met her gaze and shook his head. “Then zip it and like it.”
“Do make nice, Jules,” he sulked. “As you said, I am abandoned. I need comfort right now, not military commands.”
She was already heading to the kitchen. “So, tea and brandy?”
“One more than the other.”
“Isn’t that what got you into this mess in the first place?” she asked, filling a kettle.
Bastien slouched into his seat, draping his arms over the backrest, and stretched his long legs on the coffee table. “Champagne, actually.” A few sequins had fallen off her stage costume and had stuck to the chaise. He flickered them off. “A bathtub full.”
There was amusement in Juliana’s voice as she asked, “Edward VII?”
“I told you I’d do it one day.”
“And I wasn't invited because…”
“Mischievous as you might believe yourself to be, Jules, I am more. You would have thought it too wasteful and spoiled my fun.”
“Itistoo wasteful.”
Anaïs appeared confused by their conversation, but she let them catch up, opting to look around the apartment. She gazed at the sepia photographs of Juliana’s stage performances like she was in a museum, stopping at a particular one near the bedroom. “When was this taken?”
Bastien craned his neck to look at it, and realised it was a framed photograph of him and Jules.
“And why do you have a black eye?”
“Why do you ask so many questions?” he retorted and heard Juliana chuckle wickedly under her breath as she prepared their drinks.
That had been the day ofthe kiss incident. When Bastien was fifteen he had fancied himself in love with Juliana, and because his arrogance hadn’t been humbled quite yet, he had assumed she loved him too. That she dreamt of kissing him as much as he dreamt of kissing her. Juliana had gracefully punched him square in the face right before he could so much as lean in. Bastien wasn’t sure why she had decided to still be his friend even after the debacle, but he was glad for it.
“A bird came flying straight for him,” she said now to Anaïs, sticking to the lie they had told Monsieur Ménard that day. Juliana set a tray on the coffee table, nagging Bastien to move his feet away. “Pecked him right in the eye.”
“Yes,” he added. “An evil bird.”
Anaïs looked like she needed more convincing. But she forgot all about her inquiries when Juliana went into the kitchen again and brought out a glistening stack of petit fours. Gingerly, his sister took a seat next to him, cradling a cup of tea in her hands.
Juliana did the same on the other chaise, except she drew her legs up, placing them on full display in front of Anaïs. Bastien shook his head. His friend had a proclivity for teasing every girl who happened to lay eyes on her. She had told himonce that she liked how their cheeks flushed and their speech became an incoherent jumble of nervousness whenever they were around her. Bastien couldn’t blame them. Men, too, were reduced to mumbling idiots in Juliana’s company.
“You and I are not that different,” he had told her.
“Yes, we are Bas,” she’d replied. “I don’t see them as dolls to play with.”
He had been a little annoyed by that, but couldn’t bring himself to care enough to respond. Love had never been something of interest to Bastien, and to love one person alone was even more incredulous to him.
He looked at Anaïs, searching for a reaction, but his sister had masterfully fastened on her poker face and was nibbling at a petit four, paying no attention to Juliana’s legs. Juliana on the other hand was scrutinising her. When she slid her eyes over to Bastien, she gave him a look that conveyeddon’t blame me; if I had a sister, she wouldn’t have been off limits to you either.
Touché.
“So tell me,” she said aloud. “How do you plan on fixing your money problem? I’ll lend you all you need, of course, but I’m guessing your grandfather crossed off borrowing from the list of options.”
