Chapter 4 #3
Throwing one cautionary look at the door, lest someone found him sprawled on Celine’s bed, again, he scrambled to find a piece of paper to leave her a note, when something else that was sticking out between the pages of her sketchbook caught his notice.
A list—he realised—decorated with small stars and lines to emphasise the title’s importance:
Celine LeBeau’s Idols
Bastien snorted, but curiosity made him read through it.
Just as expected—and judging by half of the clothes Celine wore most of the time—Jeanne Lanvin was scribbled at third place.
The second was occupied by Claude Baudelaire—the very man who was hosting the competition.
And number one—Bastien’s expression shuttered when he read the name. Adalene Reneau.
He looked up at the framed sketches on the wall, finally realising why they had appeared familiar at first.
Placing the list where he had found it, he shut the sketchbook with a sharp thud and stepped out of the room.
· · ·
The dinner ended later than Celine had expected, with Bastien’s eyes pinned on her the entire time, an indecipherable smile on his lips. It was a little unnerving, but she tried to pay him no heed. She was only relieved he wasn’t making any remarks about their conversation.
“Goodnight, ma jolie,” Jacques said as she walked them to the door. He leaned in to brush a quick kiss on her lips and lingered reluctantly by the threshold, causing Bastien to bump against Celine.
Jacques didn’t seem to notice his brother’s glare at all. Or care for that matter. “Will you have dinner with me tomorrow evening?” he asked. The two lanterns flanking the door made his hazel eyes light up.
Celine blinked. There it was again—the something different in the way he was looking at her.
She still couldn’t point exactly what it was though and it prickled her.
The whole night had been bizarre and overwhelming, what with Bastien becoming her model and her being accepted in the competition.
Jacques’s twinkling eyes could wait another day to be decoded.
“You two are sickening,” Bastien groaned. “Move it along, Jacques. I have places to be.”
Celine narrowed her eyes at him over her shoulder. “I wasn’t aware brothels closed at night.”
“I wasn’t aware brothels closed at night,” Bastien mocked and pushed past her. “Goodnight, baby vamp,” he whispered, slipping a piece of paper into Celine’s palm as he walked out into the driveway. “You sure drive a hard bargain.”
“What was that about?” Jacques sniffed.
Celine shook her head, trying to wipe the scowl off her face. “Nothing.”
“So, dinner? Tomorrow?”
“Of course, Jacques. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, ma jolie.”
Celine closed the door behind them, and waited for the screech of tires to fade away before she smoothed open the note Bastien had slipped her.
Maison Baudelaire. Front gate. 9 o’clock.
Don’t be late, or you’ll owe me a kiss.
-B
A kiss?! Preposterous!
Uttering a brief goodnight to her parents, she climbed up the stairs to her room, with Milady trodding right behind her. Once inside, Celine closed the door, leaned against it, and slid down until she was sprawled on her bedroom floor.
She felt drained, oddly excited…and drunk, as if she had tripped into a barrel of rum. She breathed in, a heady scent wafting under her nose, and—
Ugh. The room smelled like Bastien.
Getting up with a sigh, Celine tossed open a window, then quickly changed into a nightgown, ignoring the gel in her hair that needed washing, and flopped onto her bed.
“He is insufferable,” she mumbled into the pillows. “And now he’s found another way to torture me. Slowly. For ten loooooong weeks.”
“Meow.”
“Yes, yes,” Celine replied, “I know I was the one who made him my model.”
On the bright side, he had accepted.
It was a strange request, and she wasn’t sure how desperate Bastien was about the money.
There was a chance his grandfather might change his mind again and Bastien wouldn’t need to play dress up for her anymore.
He would drop out, leave the competition and cost Celine her dream, but she had to trust him somehow.
She had to trust that everything would turn out alright.
Celine read the letter again, eyes narrowing down on the word kiss as though she could burn it off the paper with just one look. “Lá.” Scrunching it up, she tossed it across the room for Milady to chase after it. “Have your fun with it.”
Ten weeks. Celine could do it, assuming she’d be able to pass all of Monsieur Baudelaire’s challenges while lying successfully to her mother.
Assuming Bastien wouldn’t tell anyone about their deal and her secret ventures in the fashion world.
Assuming she would control her temper and refrain from killing her model on the first day.
Turning the lights off, Celine rolled onto her back again and stared at the painted constellations on her ceiling.
“Tomorrow will change everything, Milady,” she said to the cat as it climbed beside her and nestled into the pillows, purring contentedly. Celine smiled and petted the space between its ears. “Tomorrow my life will finally begin.”