Chapter 19 #3
And, with blistering speed, Celine found herself wanting more of it—of him.
She wanted Bastien to extensively demonstrate why Jeanne had been so eager to comply with his whims at the masquerade.
Why she hadn’t cared if someone were to find them like that.
Why other girls wanted him and were so ready to offer up their hearts, despite knowing he would never love them.
Celine’s fingers nimbly found their way into the silky strands of his hair, pulling back so that he could meet her eyes.
“Celine.” He was breathing hard. They both were. Her lipstick had smeared all over his mouth, but Bastien didn’t seem to care. “Tell me, does this feel like I don’t know how to love?”
Celine wanted to tell him that this wasn’t love, that it was only desire, but part of her wasn’t sure she could tell the difference at the moment either. She found him entirely, undeniably bewitching, just like everyone else did. It was impossible not to like him.
“You are enjoying this, aren’t you,” he teased.
Was she? Her heart was beating wildly, wanting to break through her rib cage, but the only other place it could flee to would be into Bastien’s.
“You would be a fool to think I would ever stoop so low as to enjoy this with you, Bas,” she managed as his lips latched onto her collarbone, redirecting her attention.
On the other side of the house, the sound of the doorbell rang out mutely.
Celine brushed it away. Who would possibly see an abandoned house and ring the—
“Jacques!” she exclaimed.
Lifting his head from her neck, Bastien grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Bastien,” he spelled out.
“No, you idiot,” she said, slapping his hand away. “Jacques is here.”
To his credit, Bastien paled a little. “What the hell is he doing here?”
“Long story,” Celine panted, frantically trying to move away from him. “He’s come to pick me up—I have to take off this dress.” Twisting her arms uncomfortably, she struggled to reach the rest of the buttons. “Ah! Help me!”
The broken door handle was more than an invitation to enter the house. If Jacques’s patience dwindled before she could make it downstairs, then he would undoubtedly find them like this.
The doorbell rang again.
“You still haven’t told him about the competition and this place?”
“Now it’s not the time,” Celine hissed. “Help me.”
“Turn around,” Bastien said briskly. He tugged at her dress roughly, but the buttons were small and the loops even smaller. He managed to undo only a few.
“Bas, HURRY!”
“I’m—trying. Why did you have to sew so many?”
Celine looked down at her hands. “They looked good.”
She heard him mumble a curse as he struggled to reach the middle of the gown.
The bell continued chiming, its echo ringing through the empty structure. “Ah!” Celine shook her hands anxiously. “There’s no time. Just—just rip it off!”
Bastien let out a chuckle. “Of all the people who have asked me that before, I never thought you would make it on the list, Celine darling.”
“BASTIEN!”
“Alright, alright. Just hold your breath so I don’t pinch you.”
Celine did as she was told. The stitches she had made were provisional, only one thin thread looping in and out to attach the pieces together.
It merely took one swift movement for Bastien to bunch up the fabric and rip the bodice in half.
Star-shaped buttons flew everywhere, filling up the attic and each visible crack in the floorboards.
The rest of the gown rippled at her feet.
Celine clutched her arms around herself, trying her best to preserve whatever bit of modesty she could. But to her utter disbelief, Bastien had turned around, letting his gaze wander aimlessly about the room.
“Leave them to me,” he said, waving a hand at the buttons. “I’ll stay here and sew them on. You go put on another dress and meet Jacques.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Now, unless you want him to find you standing half naked in front of me…”
“Merci,” Celine uttered quickly. She gathered the dress she had on earlier and scurried behind the folding screen. Through its flimsy blinds she could see Bastien drape the tattered gown over the mannequin again, pinning it in place with needles.
Was he really going to sew the buttons on one by one?
She didn’t have time to overthink it, for the bell rang again, sounding, if possible, even more annoyed. Grateful for the lack of buttons on her other dress, she smoothed out the short sleeves, threw a pink sash across her shoulders, letting it flow behind her.
“I’ll take my leave now,” Celine said, combing her fingers through her hair, straightening the mess Bastien had made of the strands.
“If you actually stay, feed Milady a treat once in a while. She gets grouchy otherwise. And take her home for me. Francine always answers the door, so you shouldn’t worry about running into my mother,” she instructed, ready to leave, when Bastien called her back.
He had been oddly quiet since the dress had come off.
“Your lipstick...” he broke off. Tentatively, he crossed over to her, and licked the edge of his thumb, using it to wipe away a smear of pink from the corner of her mouth. “We don’t want Jacques finding out, right?”
Celine stood unmoving for several, panicked heartbeats.
“Stop worrying that pretty forehead. I offered to teach you a few things and that’s it. I won’t tell,” Bastien promised. “I’m rather fond of my face, especially my nose, and I have a feeling that’s what Jacques will aim for if this little tidbit gets out.”
Forcing herself to believe him, Celine nodded. “We will talk tomorrow. Don’t be late. Or suffering from a hangover.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
· · ·
Bastien stepped away from the window after watching Celine get into the car and drive off with Jacques.
The hairpin he had found at the steps of Maison Baudelaire was still in his pocket.
He had come to bring it to her, to use it as an excuse for showing up after days of silence. And then he planned to apologise.
He had done none of that.
Bastien brought a cold hand to his lips to erase the searing sensation that lingered on them. “Why did you have to ask for a kiss, Celine LeBeau?”
The only answer he got was a melodic meow from Milady.
He should be thrilled. There was nothing better than a kiss he could use against Jacques. Instead Bastien only felt guilt. Guilt that he had almost gotten her kicked out of the competition and guilt that he had treated her poorly at the soirée.
Maybe he just needed to set things right. Surely, there had to be something Celine would want from him, other than getting back at him for the masque.
Bastien dragged his eyes along the floor where several more star-shaped buttons lay scattered—he had a dress to fix first. “Come on, Milady. We’ve got work to do.”
“Meow!” The cat stretched, jumping from the seat by the window, and curled herself around his ankles.
“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, petting the soft space between her ears. “Treats first, I know.”