Chapter 27
The Vampire and Lover Boy
Celine dipped her chin in a swift thank you to the porter who opened the door for her, and stepped out into the courtyard. The evening chill seeped into her dress, causing a shiver to run through her. It was peaceful out here.
A pity that all Celine wanted to do was scream her frustration out of her lungs and break that peace. She slid off her gloves and flung them to the side. Then dug her nails into her palms and let out a silent shriek, heavy with all the heartache that had been choking her tonight.
Exhausted—she was utterly exhausted by everything.
Afraid someone might see her and whisk her inside again, Celine wandered the courtyard a little further, where water trickling from a marble fountain filled the silence.
She had expected to be enveloped in total darkness, but the pathway was beautifully lit by strings of lights wrapped around the hedges.
Mindlessly, she plucked one of the white geraniums and curled her fingers over it.
An abrupt urge to crush the flower into her fist overcame her.
“What’s wrong with me?” Celine whispered. One by one she uncurled her fingers; the geranium blossom opened up again. It did not deserve her anger. “It is but a simple yes. Why can’t I say it?”
What was wrong with her indeed?
You shouldn’t feel obliged to fix your parents’ issues. There are other ways. There are always other ways. Your parents are simply choosing a shortcut.
Despite Bastien’s words, she had spent the rest of the days leading up to this evening staring at her parents—at her father—feeling her mind agonisingly tear itself in half over the decision.
She had assumed the competition would have been over by the time Jacques proposed; that she would have known whether she had won or not; whether to tell him yes or no.
And then it had been postponed a week due to the alleged fire, so here she was, overwhelmed and on the brink of heaving.
Celine tossed the geranium into the fountain and sat herself on the marble lip.
She would be miserable with Jacques, Celine knew that much.
She had never loved him, despite her many attempts to.
She hadn’t felt a single one of those traits that made a romance great in books—no sparks when they touched, no losing herself into him when they kissed, nothing to set her heart aflame.
And once they were married and Jacques realised this too, he would hate her.
They’d be stuck together, tethered by misery and resentment and guilt and…
Celine could be saving them both a lot of hurt if she stopped being a coward.
But then there was Bastien, who hadn’t even deigned to come. Who caused all coherent thoughts to flee her mind and make her do stupid things. Who set, not only her heart, but her entire body up in flames at one single touch.
Celine dropped her head into her hands. She was being silly. Perhaps Bastien had that effect on everyone and Celine was no more immune to it than all of his other paramours.
As if in answer, a pair of glossy black shoes materialised in front of her. Celine parted her fingers to look at them better, determining just by the cocky stance who the person was.
“The party started hours ago,” she mumbled into her palms. “Don’t you know it is rude to show up late?”
“Impressive,” he muttered. “Did you take a guess or memorised all of my shoes?”
“I simply have a sixth sense when it comes to profligates.”
“Useful skillset?”
“Extremely,” Celine indulged him flippantly, slowly straightening up. “Especially when it comes to you.”
She raked her eyes over Bastien, who was in a navy blue vest and a pristine shirt of the same colour. He looked surprisingly groomed. Gravel crunched as he shifted around and settled next to her.
“I do come bearing gifts, however.” Bastien grinned. “Does that make up for being late?”
Interest piqued, Celine asked, “You got me a gift?”
He placed a velvet box on the fountain lip and slid it towards her. “It’s your birthday, no?”
Yes, but she hadn’t expected Bastien to show up, much less to bring her a present. “I-I suppose. But…you’re broke.”
“Ouch.”
“I just meant you shouldn’t have wasted your money on a gift for me.”
“It’s not a waste, Celine,” he said, immediately flashing a cheeky smile. “Not when it’s for you. Plus, it would be a shame for it to remain inside a glass case at the store. Open it.”
Celine ran a finger over the velvet lining of the box and clicked the tiny hinge open. Inside, glimmering like a sprinkle of diamonds, rested a heart shaped wristwatch, the golden hands already ticking. It looked exactly like the one she had seen at—
“Is this the one from Maison Molyneux?”
She recalled that day. She had been so upset with him that she had hastily picked a few gifts for Jacques, without even looking at what she was buying, and had stormed out of the store, forgetting the watch for herself.
“I had it engraved for you,” Bastien said, tipping the box sideways to show her the lettering on the silver strap.
Celine brought it closer to examine the words. “C'est le bon moment si c'est toi,” she read, and glanced up at him. It’s the right time if it’s you. “Bas—”
“Happy birthday, Celine,” he said, and gently worked the clasp around her wrist. The band fit perfectly.
It was possibly the only gift she would be using out of the pile that kept growing with every guest that arrived late to the party.
Celine moved her wrist around, letting the watch catch a sliver of moonlight and reflect it right back.
A smile graced her lips—the first genuine smile she had shown tonight.
“This is lovely, Bastien. Thank you.”
“If I had known gifts were the way to put a smile on your face, I would have given it to you earlier. Aren’t people supposed to be happy on their birthdays?”
Clicking her tongue, Celine cursed herself. She hadn’t expected anyone to find her out here, in the middle of a breakdown. She had forgotten to go back to that state of pretend-delight when Bastien had approached.
“How silly you are sometimes.” She tried to derail him. “Of course I am happy.”
“Really?” Quietly, Bastien draped his jacket over her shoulder, and Celine was engulfed in the warmth and the pleasant smell of tobacco and mint that always seemed to cling to his clothes. “Then why did you look like you were heading straight for the guillotine back there?”
Celine huddled into the jacket, sulking. All that effort straining the muscles of her face for hours had come undone within a minute of Bastien Ménard sitting next to her.
“Wow, no comebacks. Have you run out or are you planning on switching to physical combat, and push me into the fountain?” When Celine hid further into the jacket, he tried again, softer this time, “Are you alright?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Celine sensed her lungs contract at the lie. “Everything seems alright, everyone is celebrating—”
“I did not ask about everyone. I asked about you.”
She let out a shaky breath. “I’m fine, Bastien. Perfectly and thoroughly, fine.”
He looked far from convinced, but he dropped the subject. Slowly, his pinkie crept over hers where their hands rested on the marble lip, toying with the hairsbreadth space between them. His touch was faint, yet it was sending wild sparks up her arm.
Celine dragged her hand away and plunged her fingers into the fountain to cool them off. “Why didn’t you come inside?”
She had been waiting for him to make an appearance. She didn’t want to admit it, but for the first time, she wouldn’t have minded even if it was to create a scandal.
Bastien wasn’t of the same opinion apparently.
“And watch you kiss Jacques up close while you made a whole display of how you love him?” He retrieved his own hand and ran it through his hair, freeing the strands from the gel. “I wouldn’t be able to stand that, Celine.”
“Why?” She hadn’t meant to, but the question carried a bitter bite. Her fingers started forming violent ripples in the water. “What’s that got to do with you?”
“Plenty,” he said quietly.
Plenty.
Silence settled thickly over them, invaded only by the sound of silver water droplets trickling into the fountain. Sitting side by side, they watched the white geraniums tremble in the breeze. They seemed intent on ignoring the issue arising between them for as long as they could.
They were failing miserably. Celine kept checking to see if Bastien was still there, Bastien kept stealing glances and hastily turning his head away when Celine would catch him.
She sighed. “We shouldn’t have kissed again. You wanted to be friends. That’s not the way to do it.”
Bastien raised a brow. “You reckon so?” Leaning back on his hands, he stared ahead. “I don’t regret it.”
“Of course you don’t. Look at you—you’re practically gloating. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was written in capital letters in your evil plan’s blueprint: KISS CELINE.”
“Maybe,” he smirked, and it was nothing short of wicked delight. “That first kiss might have served a specific purpose. But the second one…” He tossed her a teasing glance. “I just wanted to kiss you again.”
He said it so nonchalantly that Celine had trouble determining if he was being genuine.
“Would you stop looking so surprised? It’s not as though I have never flirted with you.”
“Y-yes,” Celine stammered, admitting it. “To annoy Jacques. Not to—” she broke off, unsure what to name this thing between them. But that wasn’t right either. He had flirted with her even when Jacques wasn’t around. “Were you really flirting?”
He lifted his brow. Yes.
Perhaps that kiss had meant something to him, however superficial. Celine didn’t want to lean into that small hope but she was uncertain about everything else. First the studio, then the gift, then those engraved words, and now this.