Chapter 34
The Final Round
The chaos inside the House only amplified when Celine and Bastien arrived.
Practically glued to their cubicles, the two other remaining contestants were arranging their collections on clothing racks.
Gabriel’s busy feet flitted about the designing hall as he shouted commands which mostly went unheard.
Celine took a deep lungful of that distinct fabric smell, now mixed with the frizzy excitement in the air, and smiled to herself.
More than forty people were walking, talking, and arguing, creating a perfect pandemonium where everything could get lost in a heartbeat and equally found just as quickly.
“We will wait in the other hall,” Ana?s said over the noise, touching Celine’s shoulder. “Come find us before the show, okay? I want to wish you luck.”
Jacques managed a reassuring nod, following behind Ana?s.
Celine and Bastien headed towards their cubicle. Two racks with five hangers each were waiting for her designs. Celine started rearranging them slowly, careful not to disturb the ornaments or pull at any threads.
“Mademoiselle LeBeau, Monsieur Reneau, I was afraid you weren’t going to show up.”
They spun as one, greeting Monsieur Baudelaire with a synchronised, “We wouldn’t think of it.”
He regarded Bastien with the hint of a smile, then turned to Celine.
“The dresses look perfect, Mademoiselle LeBeau.” Handing her the slip with the numbered directions, he tapped on the last. “Choose your favourite to close with. The rest will go out according to the paper. And here’s something else. ”
Reaching for a clothing rack behind him, he unhooked a lovely lilac dress with golden details accenting the corset and hem, and held it out to her.
Celine looked up, puzzled. “Who’s this for?”
“You, of course. A small gift, for my last three contestants,” he said, pointing at Franz and Elise wearing custom made outfits as well. “Make haste now.”
With that, he left to find Gabriel and terrorise him concerning the rest of the models.
Celine blinked a few times, reeling in the fact that Claude Baudelaire himself had made a dress specifically for her, then recovered fast when Bastien took the slip of directions from her fingers. “I’ll help the models into their dresses. You go and get ready.”
“Excuse me?” Celine glanced at the ten male models Monsieur Baudelaire had provided. All of them beautiful. All of them looking like they had stepped out of a Pre-Raphaelite painting. She frowned at Bastien.
“Try not to short-circuit now, baby vamp. I’ll keep it professional.”
Celine grumbled under her breath, but she took the dress Claude had designed for her, and skirted the cubicle to slip into her new attire. Once done, she set to search for the other contestants. Franz’s station loomed in sight first.
Celine approached, heedlessly inspecting his designs. The one he had stolen from her had apparently undergone serious changes. “What happened?” she asked, tone biting. “Did you suddenly grow a conscience?”
Franz didn’t lift his head from the button he was resewing. “Does it matter?”
Celine supposed it didn’t. “I simply wanted to wish you good luck. We should part with a good word, no?”
Franz continued with his work, ignoring her.
Very well. I tried.
Just as she was heading for Elise’s station, Celine heard a faint “Good luck” from him.
With a small, satisfied smile, she paused in front of the next cubicle.
Elana was sitting on the desk, long legs dangling back and forth as she peeled a tangerine.
Elise, like Franz, was busy helping her models into their gowns.
But Elana looked up; her eyes glinting. “Oh, Celine!”
“I came to say good luck,” Celine said. “Your sister…”
“I’ll let her know.” Elana winked, a friendly grin lighting up her entire face. “Good luck to you, too.”
“M-merci!” she returned, her voice wavering. She was unsure whether Bastien had talked to Elana beforehand or not. Regardless, Celine wanted to make sure, so she continued to hover by the station, fidgeting with the watch at her wrist.. “About Bastien…”
“Oh, that ended weeks ago.” Elana munched down on a slice of tangerine. “He was too in love with you, anyway.”
Oh. Gabriel had said the same thing. Biting down on her smile, Celine nodded another thank you and stole away from the designing hall altogether.
She was quite reluctant to wrestle her eyes away from the flashes of opulence all around her: Elise’s Gothic line, Franz’s Belle Epoque designs, and lastly her Art Deco clad models.
But anxiety was beating like a second heart in her chest, loud and erratic, and she needed a quiet moment to calm her nerves. And a quiet place.
She found the backstage empty, and pulled the curtain to the side to peer at the hall.
Gabriel’s panicked voice instantly swept across the stage.
The first guests must have filed inside already, but he really started hyperventilating when the designers arrived.
Celine had a sense to duck out of view as Coco Chanel smoothed out her black dress and sat in the first row.
Edward Molyneux entered next, fine-looking and sharply dressed.
Celine admired them from afar. Her lips parted in awe when Paul Poiret, the King of Fashion, joined them.
He had worked with Bastien’s mother before the Great War, and though his boutique was less frequented now, his designs deemed dated, he still remained a fashion genius on Celine’s list. Then entered Sonia Delaunay, the Boué Soeurs, the Callot Soeurs, and lastly Madeleine Vionnet.
Celine pushed back the fresh wave of anxiety that rolled through her. These were the best in the industry; icons who had started movements in the world of fashion, not just designers who sketched for fun.
And they were here to judge her creations.
Oh God.
An arm suddenly circled her waist from behind, and Celine let go of the curtain with a start. Bastien chuckled as he nuzzled his face into her neck, breathing in her perfume, including that little hint of his own scent that still lingered from last night.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
Lifting his hand to her heart so he could feel her heartbeats, Celine said, “I’m trying not to pass out. The room is brimming with guests. Even designers have come to judge.” She turned in his arms. “What if we don’t win? I don’t want all of this to have been for nothing. And your debt—if we lose—”
She was cut off by his soft lips capturing the rest of her words in a loving kiss. Everything that had happened the past few weeks had proved that Celine couldn’t resist him. She gave in, her anxiety melting away along with her.
“Is that better?” Bastien asked, cocking his head to the side.
“Your magical kisses work well and all, Bas, but it doesn’t change the fact—”
He kissed her again, this time firmer to make his point.
“It is not going to be for nothing,” Bastien insisted, brushing away a strand of hair from her face.
“You learned a lot here, didn’t you?” Reluctantly, Celine nodded.
“And you made it to the final round. That means you were one of the best. And even if we don’t win”—his grey irises sparkled with eagerness—“there is still another place waiting to be our fashion house. If anyone is worthy of renaming it, it’s you.
” Bastien looked down at their linked hands.
“And you should know…she would have loved you.”
He didn’t need to say who. “Really?” Celine asked.
“Yes. For your designs and for loving her son.”
Celine wished—with all her heart she wished—she could offer him the same words, but they both knew what Madame LeBeau thought of him. She parted her lips to speak, when Bastien pointed at something beyond the row of chairs around the catwalk. “Look!”
Right where the sketch-lined hallway ended and the domed hall began, a slim silhouette was peering around. Celine’s heart stuttered at the familiar face.
Madame LeBeau entered the chair-littered hall, and instead of demanding to know where her daughter was as Celine was expecting, she sat down on one of the chairs in the front.
“What is she doing here?” she whispered.
Bastien grinned sheepishly, but said nothing.
Celine whirled on him. “What did you do?”
“Your mother might not like me, but I am terribly persuasive.” He shrugged.
“While you were breaking things off with Jacques, I was trying to reason with her. I told her everything—about the competition, what you’ve really been doing all these weeks.
My mother cannot be here, as much as I wish she was, but yours can. She should see your hard work.”
Celine was stunned for words. “Do remind me to thank you when all of this is over.”
“Oh, I definitely will.” That wicked glint in his eyes roused a few butterflies in her stomach. “Just a heads up, a plain merci won’t cut it.”
“I know your tastes, Monsieur Ménard. Worry not.” Reaching on her tiptoes, she brought her face up to his, close enough to kiss, then pulled away before their lips could touch. “That’s just a preview.”
“You are going to be in such trouble if you don’t keep that promise.” Bastien scrunched his nose menacingly. “The show will start soon. I better find a seat.”
“What? You have to be here with me!”
He squeezed her arm assuringly. “The stage is yours today, Celine. I will be watching from the front row.”
Celine stuck her head through the curtains again, locating Jacques and Ana?s two seats away from her mother. Ana?s was first to notice someone staring at them. Her lips formed a little, delighted O when she saw Celine, and started waving her arms in encouragement. Jacques offered her a sweet smile.
Celine let the curtain fall back in place. “Let’s go.”
The backstage was stirring behind her. The models had lined up in rows, their designers waiting in the back.
Franz was to open first, then Celine would go out, and lastly, Elise would close their presentations with her line.
Celine could hear her heart drum loudly in her chest as she took her place between them.
But she latched onto the thought that Bastien had planted in her mind—the possibility of reopening Adalene’s studio even if they didn’t win today—and the tension on her nerves eased.
Smoothing out the lapels of his violet jacket, Monsieur Baudelaire handed Gabriel the papers he’d been holding, and stepped onto the stage. The lights around the room dimmed and the row of fixtures along the catwalk flared up to illuminate him.
“Esteemed guests and revered designers, welcome to Maison Baudelaire,” he greeted.
“As you know, today marks the end of the competition that will announce the new heir of Maison Baudelaire. Ten young designers have been competing against each other for the past ten weeks, and out of those ten, the trio you will see next have made it to this very last round. They have proved to be remarkably brilliant young minds, with a determination to come first that has never ceased. However, only one of them will be crowned winner.” He clicked his cane once.
“I present to you, Franz Olivier, Celine LeBeau, and Elise Sartre.”