Her mother’s excitement was a tad too much for just a birthday soirée that was two months away. As much as Celineloved extravagance and glamour, she knew a party held at the Ritz wasn’t going to be just a party. Anaïs had only confirmed her suspicions when she had shown up at her doorstep that morning and whispered that Jacques planned to propose that same night in front of everyone.
Nevertheless, Celine’s inattention wasn’t the result of that. The competition would already be over by then and, assuming she won, marrying Jacques wouldn’t be necessary anymore.
Celine was, however, reeling with anxiety over the face that every boutique and atelier they had visited that morning had been in close proximity to Maison Baudelaire. The risk of running into one of the contestants from the competition had been too high. Shopping now at Place Vendôme was going to be, by all technicalities, a disaster.
“She is probably thinking about Jacques,” Anaïs chimed. “He does the same,aaaaallday. He nearly toppled down the stairs this morning because he was admiring a photo of you.”
“You exaggerate.”
“Do I? He has a bruised elbow because of it.”
Celine started tugging at her gloves, itching to scratch her wrist. It had been glowing red all morning from all the excuses she had tried to make to get out of shopping with her mother.
“Well,” Celine said, catching her mother’s glare and dropping her hands in her lap. “Tell him I’m sorry my beauty is a hazard to his health.”
Madame LeBeau tsked. “Tell him yourself. Aren’t you two meeting later today?”
”We are.” Celine sat up straighter. “At the races.”
Anaïs nodded along. “Jacques is competing for thePrix de l’Arc de Triomphe.”
“Wish him good luck for me.” Madame LeBeau’s perky nose twitched. “You know I’m not a fan of horse races…”
Celine blocked her mother’s voice, focusing entirely on the smug look Anaïs was giving her. It was almost as if her skull had been pried open and her friend was digging in for the thoughts it contained. It was time, Celine supposed; she had to tell Anaïs about the competition or risk getting caught in this thin web of lies she was walking on.
The car finally idled to a stop.
Celine stepped out after her mother, taking a deep breath to dislodge the anxiety creeping in her chest. Place Vendôme was buzzing with pedestrians and trucks unloading their shipment boxes for some of the stores. The latter seemed to have caught her mother’s eye, because Madame LeBeau barely managed a brisk, “Be right back,” before she dipped into the Boué Soeurs boutique to be the first to browse their new products.
Celine, meanwhile, felt herself being steered away by Anaïs who had looped their arms together.
“There’s a rumour going around,” she said breezily, sliding her eyes over her friend as though she knew something Celine didn’t. Which was probably true. There was nothing that could go undetected by Anaïs. The only problem was that she lacked the ability to keep that knowledge to herself—gossip slipped from her lips like tea from a chipped cup.
“Intelligence agents have less information about what happens in France than you do,” Celine jested.
Anaïs waved a delicate hand in the air. “France has nothing to do with this. It’s about you.”
In her periphery, Celine saw her mother inside the shop, gesticulating at a dress. She pulled Anaïs further away from hearing range. “What rumour about me?”
“That Rue Cambon has suddenly become appealing to you recently.” Celine stiffened, but said nothing. Maybe Anaïs didn’t know. “How’s the competition going? Coming up number one, I hope?”
Celine’s heart stopped. Her entire body halted; her muscles strained to move like the rusted cogwheels of a clock that hasn’t ticked in a while.
A beat passed. Then her palm shot to cover Anaïs’ lips. “Shhh.” She threw a look over her shoulder to make sure that her mother was still inside Boué Soeurs. “My mother doesn’t know. No one, actually, knows I got in.”
“I know that too,” Anaïs supplied evenly.
“How long—who—” Celine cut herself short. There was only one other person who could have told her and who should be preparing for a great deal of torture once she got her hands on him. “Do forgive me, Anaïs, but I will be murdering one of your brothers this evening.”
“You have my blessing,” she replied, and began rummaging through her purse. Fishing out a box of chocolate the confectionary store had gifted them, she popped a truffle into her mouth. “I suggest looking up medieval torture devices for better results. Although, there’s a rumour that Bastien cannot withstand being tickled, so you can start there, then escalate.”
Celine offered a genuine smile at the new information she had garnered, but neither the light jokes nor the thought of throttling Bastien soothed her anxiety and guilt. The emotions had been warring inside her for days now.
“Can you forgive me for not telling you earlier?” she broached. “I didn’t want to risk my mother finding out.”
“I figured as much. I know I’m infamous for being a bottomless pit of rumours, but”—Anaïs mimed turning a lock over her lips and handed the invisible key to Celine—“I also know when to shut up. Besides, this one comes with perks. If you win, I get haute couture for free. For life.”
Celine rolled her eyes.
