Celine tied her bicycle to a lamp post and strolled down Rue Royale. The sun was high in the sky, tossing its warm rays across silver-topped buildings and shiny motorcar roofs. The traffic was idle, but pedestrians filled the street on both sides, some on a stroll, some coming in and out of House of Molyneux, one of the biggest ateliers flanking the street. Celine paused before the boutique’s windows, under the shade of the white awnings. Anaïs was nowhere in sight.
Sighing, she turned her gaze to the clothes displayed behind the glass. As far as her opinion went, Edward Molyneux produced the ritziest fashion articles for women. Perhaps…she could step in for a moment, take a curious look inside. Anaïs was known for being late to plans anyways.
Her fingers were inches from the door handle when she brought herself to a halt and tilted her nose upwards. There was the whisper of a familiar scent in the air; it had been trailing her ever since she left her bicycle at the end of the street.
A mixture of tobacco and mint.
Bastien.
Celine tossed a glance over her shoulder, and sure enough, Bastien was there, arrogantly striding towards the boutique.
“Oh, not today,” she groaned, quickly entering the store and slamming the door shut. Bastien was quicker. He caught it before it could collide with his nose, pushing it open against Celine’s struggles to keep it closed.
Her arms gave out treacherously; he grinned.
“It’s true what they say. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” Nimbly, he took her wrist between his fingers, eyes dropping to the bandage around her finger. “Or pricked, as the occasion happens to be.”
He looked unusually neat. The morning had dawned rather cold, so he was wearing a cream knit sweater, with his shirt collar sticking out. No part of his attire, for the first time, was rumpled. Au contraire, he looked almost as put together as—as Jacques. Celine suppressed a shiver at the second thought that crossed her mind. That sweater made him look huggable.
“It hasn’t healed yet?” Bastien tugged her fingers closer to his lips. “Maybe you ought to let me lick your wounds. It might heal faster.”
Celine snatched her hand away and pivoted before he could notice the goosebumps covering her arm. “What do you want, Bas?”
He kept close at her heel as she marched into the store, browsing through glass displays filled with sparkling jewels and beaded shawls. The rest of the boutique spanned numerous elevated cabinets exhibiting hats, gloves, and House of Molyneux’s newest collections that a couple of employees were still arranging.
Although the store wasn’t empty of customers or employees, Celine felt completely alone with Bastien. The events from a few days ago kept playing in a loop in the back of her mind; the way he had dropped before her the second he had seen the blood; the shattering concern that had filled his eyes; the meticulous attention he had dedicated to removing that needle.
Did Bastien Ménard have a heart?
Because driving her insane? Celine could get behind that. Rendering her speechless with his wanton chatter? She could accept that too. But caring for her like he had done at the steps of Maison Baudelaire? She couldn’t wrap her head around it.
She had built such an impenetrable image of Bastien Ménard in her mind that she thought no manner of pitiful human suffering could make it past the callouses on his heart. Let alone her injured finger.
“You know what I want, darling,” Bastien chimed, keeping pace with her idle maundering through the boutique. “Something you should have given me as a thank you for that.” He pointed at her bandage. “All it takes is one kiss and I will be out of your hair forever.”
Celine rolled her eyes and shifted her attention to the glass displays and the silver wrist watches encased within. A heart shaped one in particular caught her notice; she stopped in front of the counter to view it better. Bastien paused beside her.
“What are you looking for anyway?”
“I was waiting for Anaïs.” She considered him, suddenly realising how strange it was that Bastien had shown up at the same place, at the same hour she would be today. “Why areyouhere?” Celine asked tersely. “Getting a kick out of following me, I reckon.”
“Sorry to disappoint that little fantasy, but I draw the line at stalking.” Bastien brought his hand down on the glass, blocking her view. “I saw your bicycle outside the avenue. I simply wanted to check how you were taking care of your injury.”
Even a saint wouldn’t believe Bastien Ménard’s heinousness could be limited by moral lines. Celine didn’t buy his act whatsoever. But it explained Anaïs’s insistence that they met today. She had set up a rendezvous for Bastien.
Just as Celine was about to inquire further, a perky employee sprang up on them from behind the counter. “Good morning—ah, Mademoiselle LeBeau! It has been a while.”
She did her best to smooth the wrinkle of irritation from her forehead and flash him a dazzling smile. “Yes, it has.”
“And…Monsieur Ménard?”
His surprise was unmistakable. Clearly, he had expected Jacques to be accompanying her, not the protagonist of scandal columns.
Regardless, he straightened his expression and plastered on a mechanical smile. “What can I help you with?”
Celine cursed the moment she had decided to pry her eyes open this morning instead of dying in her sleep.
“I’m here to pick up something for Jacques,” she explained. When the employee’s curious gaze veered back to Bastien, she added, “Who better to help me than a family member, hmm?”
