Chapter 1 #3
Celine narrowed her eyes. Before she could object, a slip of paper slid from the sketchbook as Bastien flipped another page. It fluttered onto the dark carpeted floor, unfolding to reveal its contents.
“A competition?” Bastien mused. His eyes skimmed the announcement slip. “A fashion competition. Ten contestants, ten weeks—”
Eyes wide, Celine rushed to take it from his fingers and hid it within the fold of her dress. “It’s nothing!”
“Really?”
This was the other reason why she had been fretful for the show to start.
Celine needed ideas for a new design, and alluring cabarets like Folies-Bergère were her fallback to get inspired.
An announcement had been posted that the owner of Maison Baudelaire—the most distinguished House of fashion in Paris—was holding a competition in a few days, where the winner would inherit the rights to his fashion house along with the prize of ten thousand francs.
Celine had already sketched the design she was going to submit, the one that might give her a chance in the competition, but uncertainty still remained.
What if she was able to come up with a finer gown than the one she originally intended to apply with?
She needed options. There could only be one submission per person, one submission that would impress Claude Baudelaire enough to choose that person as a participant in his inheritance game.
And only ten designers would be admitted to compete against each other until one of them was announced the winner.
It was Celine’s dream to direct her own fashion house, so she hadn’t told anyone about the competition, save for Ana?s, and even she didn’t know much. Bastien wouldn’t give it a second thought before he spilled her secret.
And if her mother were to find out, Celine could kiss her dreams goodbye.
“You have to promise not to tell any—”
The partition to their booth slid open and another waitresses stepped inside. Celine was going to wave her off, if only the woman hadn’t slithered towards them, situating herself on Bastien’s lap.
Celine’s arm dropped limply to her side.
“Hello, Bastien,” the waitress drawled sweetly. She was beautiful, like the dancers up on the stage were, like all the girls cabarets like this one hired to lure patrons into frequenting their establishments over and over again. Her thin lips twisted into an expectant smile. “Did you miss me?”
Bastien tossed the sketchbook on the table, his interest in it dwindling briefly.
“So much that I couldn’t sleep, chérie.”
Celine, who had been so baffled by the scene, accidentally let out a snort.
Two pairs of eyes fell on her. Bastien's grey ones darkened to a menacing black.
Celine tried to cover her astonishment with a cough, but alas. It mattered little. Bastien would say the most obscene things to her every time they met. What was a little retaliation?
“Do you even know her name?” Celine asked. Five minutes ago you were kissing another.
The girl appeared intrigued by the question too, and shifted where she was sitting on his lap to look at him better.
To Celine’s disappointment, Bastien didn’t even bother to appear bashful. Glancing up at her, he guessed: “Manon?”
The slap landed before either Bastien or Celine could even see the waitress lift her hand. “Sophie!” she exclaimed, shooting to her feet. “Manon is my sister.”
Celine watched regretfully as the waitress got up and walked out into the first floor again. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said anything, but Bastien littered the city’s streets with broken hearts every week. It was highly unlikely that Sophie had been his one true love.
“You have a propensity for ruining my fun, don’t you, baby vamp?” Bastien rubbed at his cheek. A faint handprint was slowly making an appearance on his skin.
“As do you, Bastien,” Celine replied flatly. Seeing that he was distracted, she stretched to grab her sketchbook. “Now, I need you to promise not to tell anyone about this.”
“You want me to lie? Tsk, tsk, Celine, don’t you know that’s a sin?”
“Trust me, this tiny lie is the one thing on your list of sins that would go unnoticed by the heavenly eye.”
Bastien simply leaned back on his chair and smirked.
“Don’t say a word,” Celine pleaded. For this only, she would plead. She wouldn’t let Bastien play with her dreams because he had nothing better to do than torment her and Jacques. “No one else knows. No one. And I would like to keep it that way.”
She could see confusion and amusement dance across his face like water ripples moving along the Seine. “Why? A fashion competition is hardly anything incriminating.”
Celine ran a finger down the spine of her sketchbook. “Not everyone thinks so.”
He remained silent for a moment, assessing her. Celine could only guess what his mind was brewing. He knew something Jacques didn’t—something Jacques, as her boyfriend, should know, yet Celine had chosen not to tell him.
“Alright, I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Bastien decided, rising from his chair. “I am curious to see how long you can keep on lying once you get accepted.” He pushed open the partition and tossed a cocky grin over his shoulder. “Ten weeks are an awfully long time, baby vamp.”