Chapter 6 #2
Celine took a good look at him, attempting to measure his seriousness.
When she found nothing but frank curiosity in his face, she said, “I’ve dreamt of becoming a designer since I was six, when Francine took me out for our afternoon stroll and I stood in front of a boutique’s display for two hours, staring in awe at…
one of your mother’s designs, actually. And ever since, I have tried everything in my power to make that dream come true.
Francine tells me the manager had to come out to pry me off his storefront and yell at me for getting fingerprints all over it. ”
There had been no tutors, no guides she could have followed towards learning.
There had been only books on sewing she’d had Francine purchase secretly, and swapping the dust jackets so her mother wouldn’t find out.
Her whole life had been hidden under her bed, behind the dressers, in the far end of her drawers.
Celine had even tried prying open the floorboards so she could stuff her sewing kit inside.
This was the furthest she had gone to making her dreams known to someone else.
“Do you understand now?”
Taking his cigarette case out again, Bastien placed it into her palm.
“You should know then, that I look best in maroon, sapphire, violet, and pink. Yellow washes me out and frankly, I don’t care that much for green.
So don’t let your evil side take over when you make my gowns.
” He pointed at the case, “I want that back once we’re done. ”
An earnest smile touched her lips. “Merci, Bastien. But I have to ask, do you mind showing a bit of skin? Most of my designs tend to be a little…”
“Are you seriously asking me that?”
“I do not know what you do in private”—she held up a finger in the air—“nor do I care to find out, but I won’t dress you up in something you’re not comfortable wearing.”
“Worry not, darling. I’m not particularly conservative.”
“Good. Now, arms out,” Celine ordered, pulling out a measuring tape from the basket of supplies Francine had left on the floor. “I need to measure you.”
“Now, now, where’s the magic word?”
“Arms up or I will find another model.”
Bastien sneered at her order, but obeyed nonetheless.
“Good boy.” Timidly, Celine extended her arms around his torso to bring her measuring tape to the front.
She avoided his eyes as she moved on to his shoulders next.
She was grateful for his lithe frame, it would make styling the gowns easier.
Grateful, still, that she didn’t have to style pants for him.
“What about you?” she asked, trying to alleviate the awkward silence.
“Hmm?”
“Were you ever interested in your mother’s work?” She still couldn’t believe he was Adalene Reneau’s son.
“Only when I was younger,” Bastien confessed. “She would always take me along to her studio.”
What a dream, Celine thought. Then she ventured, “Do you miss her?”
Bastien’s body tensed under her fingers. “I’d rather not chit-chat about this, if you don’t mind.”
“Alright, then you should probably know you will have to bring fabric rolls here for me,” she said, and felt his muscles relax at the switch in conversation. “I can’t have them delivered at my house. Maman could find out.”
“Paranoia runs that deep, huh?”
“You would be too if you knew my mother.”
Bastien clicked his tongue. “Trust me, I’ve been raised by more oppressive people. But I still get my way. All it takes is a little rebellion.”
That didn’t surprise Celine at all. “You know it’s different for girls. We breathe a little too loudly and they immediately think we’re doing something wrong.”
He pondered that for a moment. “Ana?s gets away with a lot of things.”
“That’s because she has your shenanigans to cover hers.”
As far as Celine knew, in the Ménard family, Ana?s was the little angel.
Between Bastien’s wild appearances in the scandal columns and Jacques’s shiny trophies on the front page, Ana?s’s comings and goings went unseen.
There were times when Celine envied her; times when she wished she had a sibling to share the blame with.
Once done, Celine jotted the numbers down on her sketchbook alongside a full size rendering of a faceless Bastien. It was going to be her framework for her sketches.
“You’re not going to measure the rest of my limbs?” Bastien asked absently.
“I don’t require the rest of you to sew a dress.” In truth, Celine didn’t think it proper to measure the lower half of his body. Yes, it would mean nothing, yes, it would be for the sake of fashion, but there were some lines she refused to cross. “What I have is enough.”
“Good, then I’ll be on my merry way.”
“No,” Celine scoffed. “I need you here to try the mock-up.”
Bastien groaned. “Which will take…”
“Two hours at best.” He was about to complain again when Celine held up her hand. “What do you have to moan about? I’ll be doing all the work.”
She watched him drag his feet petulantly towards the old bookshelf again, and began inspecting the spines. “At least you have books here.” He sighed, finding what little bright side he could. “Any preferences?”