“I know you do, Mademoiselle.”
Undeterred, Francine draped a thin shawl over Celine’s shoulders, urging her out the door before Celine could even think of sneaking back underneath her covers. After slouching all the way to the living room, she found her parents on their respective seats at the table—opposite each other and both facing Celine’s empty chair—quietly enjoying their breakfast.
“Ah, you’ve finally come down, my dandelion,” her father chirped. He folded up his newspaper and placed it to the side.
“Dandelion?” she echoed, a little distractedly as she took in the sight in front of her.
There were eggs in their little cups and slices of toast stacked high on a plate. Celine spied the bowls of yogurt and fruit and the warm pastries lined on a platter. Her mouth watered instantly.
Monsieur LeBeau made a vague gesture in the air above his head, hinting at something.
“Oh!” Celine realised she still had the rolls on and giggled sheepishly.
“Come sit,” he said. “Francine said you were feeling stressed, so she made a breakfast soup, or some such, to lift up your spirits. It has certainly lifted mine.”
“Yes, yes,” Madame LeBeau agreed absently, flipping through a rather dated bridal magazine. Unlike her husband, she didn’t lift her eyes from the text. “Sit. Eat. We haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’ve been here all week.”Celine plopped down on her chair. “And it’s not like you are seeing me right now, maman.”
“Yes, well…” she trailed off. “But you’ve only left your room in the middle of the night to steal chocolate bonbons from the kitchen.” Celine had thought she had been inconspicuous. “At this point”—Madame LeBeau lifted her eyes from the cover to examine her daughter and swapped the roll Celine was about to eat with a smaller one—“smaller bites,chérie, or you won’t fit into your dress.”
Celine frowned, but sinceshewas the one making the dress it didn’t matter that much. She could tailor it whenever she wanted. As long as her mother didn’t ask—
“Since we’re on the subject, I found the most beautiful neckline in these magazines. Do tell Madame Chanel to add it to the dress, you will look so lovely.”
Celine craned her neck to look at it. Her mother was right, it was lovely. The neckline stretched horizontally, drooping off theshoulders and curving a little in the middle to give it a faint heart shape. “Can you rip off that page for me?”
Madame LeBeau obliged with a warm smile.
It was moments like these when Celine couldn’t resent her parents. Everything they had done and worked for had been for her. All they were asking of Celine now was to marry Jacques—the perfect young man. And she could look at the bright side. There would be Anaïs—
Celine blinked.
Anaïs!
“Ah!” she exclaimed abruptly, rising so fast she checked the table with her knee.
“What’s gotten into you?” Madame LeBeau asked. She lifted her cup of coffee before it could topple over the food. “You startled the life out of us. I know you are stressed, but darling this is too much.”
“I have to go,” Celine announced. She had completely forgotten her meeting with Anaïs. And her friend hadinsistedthey get around today.
Her mother rose from her seat, ready to block her path. “Celine Heloise LeBeau, the one time we have breakfast as a family—”
“Désolé, maman, but I really have to go. I will make it up to you, I promise.”
Their driver Charles entered through the foyer at that moment, carrying with him their fresh laundry. Celine dodged the bags precariously, nearly knocking into him.
“Désolé, Charles!” She was almost out the door too when her father cleared his throat, bringing her to a screeching halt right in the middle of the foyer. If she looked down, she was certain there would be scuffs all over the floor. Celine winced as she turned around in slow motion, afraid that her father would join in the attempts to keep her glued to the family table.
Monsieur LeBeau only mouthed something:dandelion.
“Right,” she grimaced awkwardly. Giving her head a slight shake, she watched the rolls drop to the floor and scatter everywhere.
“Celine!” her mother shouted. “At least let Charles drive you. Do not take that bicycle, do you hear me?”
But Celine had already rushed out into the sun-soaked driveway, balancing on her two wheels as she pedalled out of the cul-de-sac.
• • •
