“Is that so?” He lowered his face into her hair, taking a deep inhale of the scent of roses. Then planted another kiss on the soft skin of her neck. “I should make up for being late, then.”
Bastien took her empty glass and reached the champagne flute over her shoulder. An offering.
“Jacques, what are you—” Celine cut herself short as she gripped his hand, pulling it closer to examine it, nearly spilling the drink. Running the pad of her finger over the scar on his thumb, she whisked around sharply. “You!” Her blue eyes brightened like lightning sparks. “Have you gone mad?”
In a snap, twisting his wrist so that she had his entire arm pinned behind his back, Celine pushed him towards the first door she found unlocked.
“Ow, ow, ow!” Bastien yelped as he was shoved face-first against a tiled wall.
This hadnotbeen the plan. Being up against a wall…he wasn’t opposed to that. But it was usually done by a girl eager to rip the clothes off of him, not one who looked like she wanted to rip out his eyes. Plus, the mask was digging into his skull.
Bastien tensed. “Why so hostile?”
“Why?” Celine gritted. “What the hell do you think you’re wearing?”
Even though his arm was turning numb, he still managed to summon a retort. “Where’s your sense of history, baby vamp? I’m Mark Antony.”
“Jacques was supposed to be…” she trailed off, and Bastien could only guess that realisation had sunk in. Celine shoved him again, harder this time. “I hope, for your sake, Bas, that this is a misunderstanding. Because if you sent—”
He was spared from hearing the rest of her threat when the lights flickered on and Anaïs sprung up on them, the reflective sequins on her dress blinding him temporarily. Though he could finally make out the green tiles of the second floor bathroom.
“What are you supposed to be?” Bastien asked, his words coming out incoherently from being smushed against the wall.
“Nothing,” Anaïs replied, leaning against the doorframe. “I am not here for the party.” She glanced at him, blinking a few times. “Who the hell are you?”
“Mark Antony,” Celine seethed in reply.
“And you are…” Anaïs’s attention veered to her. It took her a good minute and a brief once over to realise what was going on. Then she released an almost maniacal chuckle. “Merde, Bas.Jacques will definitely kill you tonight. And if he doesn’t, then Celine will.”
Bastien glanced over his shoulder at Celine, who was seething, fingers digging into his skin until she decided to release him. “So itwasyou who sent me this.”
“Relax.” Pushing himself off the wall, he rubbed a hand over his wrist, quite sure he would feel five crescent stamps from Celine’s nails. “It’s a harmless prank.”
His attention then landed on his sister again, aiming to give her a bitter look for being such a gossip, when she suddenly hiccuped.
Bastien squinted at her. “Are you drunk?”
“Nooo,” Anaïs replied flippantly, failing to pick at a piece of lint on her dress. She was definitely swaying in front of them, no doubt tipsy on Grandfather’s liquor. The soirées were the only time he left his office unattended. Locked, albeit vulnerable to his grandchildren’s copied keys. “If I was, I’d really think you were Jacques.”
Pushing past them, she walked towards the sink and turned the faucet on. The soft rush of water muffled the music coming from the foyer.
Bastien faced Celine with a teasing smirk spread wide across his lips. “And still,youcouldn’t tell I wasn’t him.”
“She doesn’t know what she is talking about.” Celine turned towards Anaïs, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “Anaïs, you are drunk.”
“Whatever.” She brushed them off. “I am expected at the dance hall in a few, a car is waiting outside. Though I would have loved to stay and see how you two explain this to Jacques.”
Celine sulked. “Traitor.”
“Sorry, Cel.” She planted a little kiss on Celine’s cheek. “Gossip doesn’t take sides.”
She was definitely drunk. “You’re not going anywhere in this state,” Bastien cautioned.
“Pshttt.” Backing away from the door, Anaïs waved him off. “You have other troubles at hand, Bas. Fixthooose.”
“You—” He winced as she tripped on the carpet, noticing, at last, that she was running out barefoot. “SHOES!” Bastien shouted after her.
Stopping on the edge of the staircase, Anaïs looked down at her feet, giggled, then proceeded down the stairs regardless. Bastien loosened an exasperated sigh. He didn’t have time for Anaïs’s shenanigans tonight. He had the uncanny sense that Celine was burning holes in the back of his head, and he had better return to their conversation before the party ended and the housekeepers found him tied to the bathtub by his entrails.
