“Do you want another bruise, brother?” Bastien cut in.
“Is that your way of admitting you gave me the first one?”
“You did this?” Celine asked, her kohl-lined eyes narrowing in disbelief.
He couldn’t blame her; their arguments had never gotten physical before. “So what?” Bastien blurted.
“Careful, Bas. It sounds like an admission to me,” said Jacques.
A muscle feathered along Bastien’s jaw. His right hand slowly curled into a fist.
It prickled him that Jacques wasn’t reacting, that his brother was just standing there, abnormally calm. The foreboding smirk he had flashed Bastien after their quarrel reappeared, however, now it seemed to taunt:Go on. Make a scene in front of Grandfather’s rich friends. Then wait for Benjamin to tell you you’re never walking through the mansion doors again.
Bastien waited a few more seconds. Then dropped his hand to his side, biting down on his molars so hard he was about to dislocate one. “Truce,” he forced out. “For tonight.”
He regarded Celine next, but she held up a hand.
“You should go,” she said flatly. She wasn’t even acknowledging him, her attention fixed on the bangles around her wrist. “You’ve done enough for one night.”
This hadn’t been the plan at all.
He was supposed to drive them apart, not towards each other and conspiring against him.
Bastien clicked his tongue. He needed to reevaluate here. He also needed another drink. And a distraction.
His gaze wandered off, over the guests, searching, until he found exactly what he needed.
Jeanne Hugot, one of his old paramours, was looking like a lost little lamb by the bar set up in the foyer. For all that their relationship had been, it had ended just as it had started two years prior: with neither of them acknowledging it as fact. So if Bastien stirred things up again, she would be game.
“Don’t worry, I was on my way,” he said distractedly, already elbowing through the throng of guests.
He heard Jacques’s voice behind him, rising and falling with his mood. Then he felt Celine’s incinerating gaze on his back as he took up Jeanne’s hand, slid the black glove off her fingers, and kissed the back of it.
Chapter 17
Bastien: 1. Celine: 0.
It took Celine all the willpower located in her body to stay rooted in place when Bastien dipped into the crowd and disappeared towards Jeanne Hugot. She took two flutes of champagne from one of the passing trays, downing the first in one gulp and twirling the other between her fingers, using it as a distraction. Bastien had just crossed a line, and then some. She was having trouble tolerating his ridiculous schemes. After the incident with the needle, she had thought they had built a bridge over that chasm of petty pranks and bickering nonsense—a bridge made out of the thinnest rope, but a bridge nonetheless. Now it felt as though Bastien was sayingOops, I guess I forgot to mention, baby vamp. I haven’t tied my end up properly. Sorry if it snaps and you plunge to the ground.
“He is doing this on purpose. Just because he thinks I told—” Jacques was saying when he suddenly cut himself off. A lock of golden hair fell over his face. He brushed it away with a rapid flick of his fingers. “It doesn’t matter. Are you alright?”
Celine was seconds away from zoning out. She had a feeling Jacques had gone off on a tangent about the bruise, but she was hardly listening. Jeanne was tugging Bastien by his military belt into the darkest part of the hall, and soon they were out of Celine’s sight.
Celine huffed into the glass, fogging the sides.
“Celine? Are you alright?” Jacques repeated, wrestling her attention away from the empty space where Bastien had been.
Celine finally looked his way. A wave of different expressions undulated across his face, as though he couldn’t decide whether to be shocked or offended or concerned at her utter lack of focus.
“Oh, yes. I’m fine.” She shook her head, vivifying her brain to keep up. “I just feel awful for this.” She pointed at her dress. “Me, coming here as Cleopatra, and Bastien as Antony—what it suggests—”
“You are not the one who needs to apologise,” Jacques said calmly. “I know you didn’t plan this.” His voice might have displayed ease, but his demeanour was betraying him. His shoulders were tense, his hands fisted at his sides. “Bas came to discuss something with Grandfather today, and left to go on the warpath.”
Celine chewed on the inside of her cheek. That explained his behaviour. Marginally.
She looked up at Jacques, taking in the purple scab on the corner of his lips. “Areyoualright?” Celine touched the side of his mouth lightly, drawing her fingers away when he winced. “Did he really hit you?”
“It’s really fine, my love,” he said, leaning in to press his lips to hers. “With some luck, it will go away before the next race.”
