Chapter 20 #3
He rubbed his eyes, sighing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. But you know what’s at stake.”
She knew well. Better than him, even. But she was sick of it.
Ever since they had started dating, the relationship, slowly, but surely, had turned into a minefield.
True, half of the explosives were planted by her own hand, but the other half was covered with dirt by everyone else who expected her to navigate through it without a map.
And right now, Celine was triggering all of them.
“You assume I don’t know what it looks like if Bastien and I are seen together all day—”
“Clearly, you don’t. Can’t you see he is doing this just to meddle with us? What does Bas care about being a model?”
“He is not doing it to mess with us,” Celine answered with more conviction than she felt.
She refrained from mentioning that messing with them was only a fringe benefit.
“Part of the prize, if we win, is ten thousand francs. I offered it to Bastien to pay your grandfather back in exchange for his help. And secrecy. That was our agreement. He is only helping me for the money.”
Jacques’s expression settled into a pensive press of his lips. She wondered if she had made a mistake telling him about Bastien’s end of the deal. If it would take him less than two seconds to use it to settle the score.
Bastien certainly would have.
Unlike his brother, Jacques wasn’t made of spite and reprisal and the kind of pride that crippled one’s ability to forgive or even ask for forgiveness. He was kind and generous and had never given Celine any reason to anticipate him throwing her to the lions.
So his pensiveness stripped down to regret, then weariness.
“Bastien I understand,” he tried again. “But you? Why did you think you couldn’t tell me, Cel?”
“I tried,” Celine sighed. “That evening when you assumed I was talking about being a cover girl again.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Besides, my mother couldn’t know about it, or else she would have never let me participate.”
“You thought I’d tell her?”
“You must see how important this is for me, Jacques—like your races are for you.” Jacques was staring absently over her shoulder, so Celine brought her fingers under his chin and tilted his face her way.
“Please understand that I didn’t mean to hurt you by keeping this from you.
It wasn’t because of Bastien that I didn’t tell you.
I wanted… I wanted to see how far I could make it, before word got out and my mother came to the atelier like a harpy and dragged me out. ”
“She would do that, wouldn’t she?” he mumbled to himself.
Silence spread between them as Jacques mulled over everything while dread pitted in Celine’s stomach.
She wrapped her arms around herself in a tight grip.
She didn’t think he would be so heartless as to tell.
Part of her even knew he would forgive her.
If not in private, then in public. And wasn’t that what mattered?
Suddenly, he nudged the tip of her shoe with his. “Well?” His head cocked to the side, a weak smile playing on his lips. “I assume you are still competing if you’re telling me now. What place are you in?”
Releasing the death grip she had on her arms, Celine exhaled. “There are only six contestants left and one of them is me.”
“Really?” Something in his voice changed. When she met his eyes, she found none of the frustration from earlier. “I’m not that well versed in the rules, or fashion for that matter, but I’m guessing that’s good.”
“It’s really good,” Celine said, forcing the words out between them. “But there are four more weeks left.”
“Celine?”
“Yes?”
“You can relax, ma jolie,” Jacques said. “I won’t tell anyone about the competition. About Bas either.”
Celine’s heart had stopped for several minutes until the need to beat and function sent it into motion again. “You won’t?”
“No.” He shook his head, then took her hand, slid off her glove, and placed a kiss on the inside of her palm.
“If it is your biggest dream, I wouldn’t do anything to stop you from chasing it.
But perhaps…” he trailed off. “I would love it if you told me more about it. I fill your head with jockey nonsense all the time. You can have a little revenge.”
Something inside her finally came loose.
Sneaking her arms underneath his, Celine hid her face in his chest, muffling a sob that wrecked through her chest. “I would love to, Jacques.” When she glanced up, the swell of tears shone on the corner of her eye.
“I should have told you earlier, I’m sorry. ”
Jacques brushed a kiss on her temple. “Let us put it behind us, hmm?” He glanced down at their entwined hands, and slid her glove back on. “It’s getting late,” he whispered, “I don’t want to keep you out too long. Sleep well, my love.”
Celine nodded. “You too. And tell your driver not to go too fast.”
He returned to the car, the door clicking shut. Once the fumes of the engine had dissipated, Celine finally unclamped her jaw. It felt stiff.
“Pack your bags, Celine LeBeau. Next station, purgatory.”