“Good for you, because I really am an expert in the subtle art of sneaking in and out of a house.”
“Philandererandthief,” Celine hummed. Crossing her arms over the sill and placing her chin in the crook of her palm, she watched as Bastien climbed up the drainpipe.
His head materialised into view. Moonlight washed over his narrow cheekbones. “Is that what gets you hot and bothered?”
“I am already considering pushing you out, Bas. Do not make me actually do it.”
“What a brutal way to get men to fall for you,” he teased and reached out a hand. “Help me in.”
Celine’s fingers strained as she hesitated. She didn’t actually believe Bastien was demented enough to show up at her house like this for one of his little games. Maybe he really had something important to give her.
The windowpane creaked.
“Celine, darling, I’m growing roots here. So unless you want a Bastien tree on your window—”
“Just take my hand,” she relented, if only to get him to stop talking. To her terror, Bastien let go of the drainpipe instantly and was only holding onto her while he checked his footing on the sill.
“If you do end up falling,” she warned with a grunt as she lugged him inside, “I hope for your sake, Bastien, that those bushes underneath you don’t have any thorns in them.”
His head snapped up. “Thorns?”
And that’s all it took for Bastien Ménard to lose his balance, tumble forward through the open window, and collide with Celine. They crashed onto the hard, polished floor, and for the first time, Celine regretted not listening to her mother and placing that rug she had gotten for her beneath the window. It might have softened the fall a little bit.
On the contrary, the impact rattled all the bones in her body, just like she imagined the loudthumpof their tumbling frames to have rattled the skeleton of the house. Bastien groaned.
Celine didn’t have time to blink away the pain. She craned her neck towards the door as it opened to reveal a terrified Francine.
“What happened?” she asked at the same time as Madame LeBeau’s imperial voice echoed the same question through the house.
“Nothing, maman!” Celine quickly shouted a reply. “I just dropped a stack of books, I’m sorry.” Then she waved a hand at Francine. “Go distract her. Say anything you want, but donotlet her come up here. If she sees Bastien, she will murder all three of us.”
Francine frowned, but knew better than to object. Bastien, meanwhile, propped each of his elbows beside Celine’s head like he had all the time in the world to spend on top of her. Celine supposed he did.Hewasn’t the one who had broken their fall, or being currently crushed by someone twice his size, and judging by the slow smirk that was pulling his lips apart, she imagined he was stalling until her mother managed to get past Francine and found them like that. And then it would be goodbye Jacques, goodbye fashion house, and goodbye freedom. Forever!
“You know,” he broke off, pushing a stray hair out of her face with a gentleness that sent unsettling shivers down Celine’s arms. “We will need to settle this.”
“Settle what?” she grunted.
“Who fell for whom, obviously. I toppled over, yes, but you touched the floor first. So…” he trailed off. “Should I be the one to give my brother the news, or do you want to take the bullet for us both?”
“You’re luckyIdon’t have a bullet right now.” Building up all the strength she could, Celine thrust her arms against Bastien’s chest and pushed him off to the side. Then swiftly scrambled to her feet to put as much distance between them as she could. Even though his weight still rested like an imprint on her. Every part of her body was sizzling like power lines, charged and magnetised, drawing her towards him.
“So,” Celine propped her hands on her hips. “What was so important that you had to climb two stories for?”
She prepared for his usual banter, readying her own mind to work on a bon mot of her own. Except, Bastien looked like his attention had veered elsewhere.
In fact, his eyesweregazing beyond her shoulder.
“My, my, you sure are big on lace.”
Celine craned her neck around to check what had caught his attention.There—on her bed, spread like a colourful blanket, Francine had laid out all the laundry she had been folding, including Celine’s undergarments.
All the air in the room was suddenly cut off. “T-those are not mine.”
Bastien produced a thoughtful sound. “Is that so?” He raked his eyes over her body next, halting at the visible line of lace on her night gown. “And I’m assuming that’s not lace either, what you’re wearing right now? You might want to consider this whole designer thing if you can’t tell your fabrics apart.”
“Stop staring!” Celine wrapped her arms around herself. “And stop inspecting my wardrobe!”
“So, theyareyours,” Bastien went on as she scanned the room for her usual pile of clothes on the corner, but the floor was spotless. There was nothing she could take to cover up.Curse Francine. “I wonder what Jacques would say if he was aware of this particular information.”
