“You guess right,” chimed Anaïs. “Which reminds me, here.” Unzipping her purse, she pulled out a small porcelain container shaped like a cat and handed it to Bastien. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”
He turned the coin bank over in his hands and threw his head back with a whine. “Do you see?” he exclaimed. “Jules, do you see what I’m reduced to?”
Juliana chuckled and began fixing a cigarette between her lips.
Anaïs crossed her arms over her chest. “Hey, be nice!”
“Why? The figurine is going to get me more money if I pawned it than your pity coins inside.”
“Fine, then give it back.”
“No,” he moped, cradling it to his chest. “You can’t take back a gift.” At any rate, it would afford him a few shots to drown this whole affair with.
“Back to the issue at hand,” Juliana cut in, letting smoke trail through her lips. “Your solution, prodigal son?”
“A nagging, fashion genius,” he said. “Celine LeBeau.”
“What?” Anaïs spit out her tea.
“You two can’t tell anyone. Emphasisingyou,” he pointed a finger at his sister. “Celine doesn’t want anyone to find out.”
Juliana pulled a face. “Your brother’s girlfriend is helping you?”
“The one and only. She has entered a competition to win ownership of Maison Baudelaire and ten thousand francs, and you’re looking at her model. She gets the House, I get the money. As simple as that.”
Anaïs began complaining about why she didn’t know any of this, why Celine hadn’t told anyone. But Juliana quietly took another drag of her cigarette, attention pinned on Bastien. She had that look on her face that told him she knew exactly what he was thinking and that she thought it was stupid.
Instead of saying something, she waited until they finished their tea, wrapped a box full of desserts for Anaïs, walked her to the door, then returned to her chaise, giving Bastien that same knowing look.
“You are planning on ruining your brother’s engagement, aren’t you?”
“Nothing gets past you, Jules.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Forgive me for being blunt, but this is allyourfault, not his. Or this Celine’s.”
Miffed, Bastien took out his flask and filled his teacup to the brim. “Have you turned into a Jacques sympathiser all of a sudden?”
“No, but I knowyou,” she said, switching to her versatile English. “And you find someone to blame every time you act out and dear old grandpa cuts you off.”
Bastien thinned his lips, continuing in French. “Clearly, this time he isn’t just cutting me off. And besides, I just want to rile Jacques up a bit. Everyone acts like he’s this golden boy who can do no wrong.”
“As far as I know, he is.”
“Way to twist the knife, Jules.”
She leaned forward casually and propped her chin in the crook of her palm. “I’m sorry, I just think this is a bad idea. This girl is helping you—”
“She’s getting something out of me too, don’t forget,” Bastien returned irritatedly.
“—and you want to what? Steal her chance at having a happy life just to get back at your brother?” Juliana asked, disregarding his protests.
“Please,” Bastien scoffed. “They don’t even love each other. To say nothing of how different they are. I’ll be doing them both a favour if this engagement gets cancelled.”
Why Grandfather had thought Celine a perfect match for Jacques was beyond his comprehension. Try as she might to make them believe otherwise, Celine was defiant in spirit. Bastien had known her before Jacques had—they’d been classmates, having both enrolled at the same school (which also happened to be the strictest school in the city), and having both broken enough rules to get them expelled. The only difference was that she had never been caught.
Nevertheless, his point remained. She could eat Jacques alive if she wanted to.
Juliana cut him a look. “And you knowsomuch about love.”
