Chapter 35
Dreams Do Come True…In Unexpected Ways
The commotion died down around them, to some extent, as Monsieur Baudelaire rounded up the models and tried to keep up with the journalists that were spewing inquiries from left and right.
Elise’s name continued to be whispered through the hall, accompanied by praise and approval of becoming the next designer who would continue the legacy of Maison Baudelaire.
Bastien helped Celine down the stage once she was done introducing her collection to a group of journalists, too eager to get Glamour Girl’s account on ‘going from cover girl to designer’.
She didn’t want that to be the focal-point of their articles the next day, so she had kept her answers short and concentrated on the style she had chosen to compete with, haranguing them about fashion as a form of art until Bastien had pulled her away.
“You know they will still print whatever they want tomorrow.”
Celine wrinkled her nose. “That’s not fair. I worked really hard to end up as the cover girl who played designer for a little while…and didn’t even win.”
Indeed, they had lost. And on top of that, they didn’t even have the funds now to give Monsieur Ménard what Bastien owed him.
Their current circumstances were pretty much the same as they had been almost three months ago, except for the addition of romance, a ruined engagement, and a whole wardrobe full of haute couture.
“How are you feeling about that?” Bastien asked, walking them to a quieter corner. A look of concern rippled across his face at the lack of disappointment on her features. “You appear oddly calm. Should I prepare for a breakdown later on? In five minutes? Ten?”
“I am calm,” Celine said, and Bastien raised his brows in surprise. “I feel…strangely content. I guess I am happy I saw this until the end. I don’t have to stare at a wall and wonder what if anymore.”
“But this was your dream,” he said.
“Well…sort of.” Peering down at the elegant creation she was wearing, Celine realised she had been living her dream all these weeks.
Just like Bastien had said earlier, her time inside Maison Baudelaire had been filled with new knowledge.
Celine had been so busy hiding from her mother and sewing in the dark to notice that her skill had improved tremendously under the guidance of Claude Baudelaire.
Her goal might have been winning the fashion house, but she came out with something equally invaluable instead.
“My dream was to be a designer. I got to do that here. I only entered the competition because I couldn’t open my own House under my own name.
” Interlinking their fingers, Celine smiled up at him.
“And unless you’ve changed your mind about your mother’s studio… ”
“Not a chance,” said Bastien, understanding what she meant. “You are still getting your fashion house, Celine LeBeau.”
“Our house,” Celine corrected. “Even though…” The corners of her mouth slowly set into a dejected line. “Neither of us has any money to open it right away.”
“Let’s not worry about that right now,” Bastien said, draping his arm over her shoulders, pulling her closer. “We ought to enjoy this moment for a bit, don’t you think? It will probably be our last time standing here before Elise takes over.”
Celine leaned against him and peered around.
The outside world had not existed during the hours she had been inside Maison Baudelaire, preparing her next design.
There had only been fierce concentration, the art of creation, and the familiar whirring of sewing machines.
Celine was suddenly grateful she had taken a leap of faith the day she had applied and hadn’t allowed herself to give up at any point, even when the work had piled up and the lies were spinning out of control.
She was content—despite the loss, despite everything else she had done today. A weight that had been shackling her for so long had lifted off her chest, and Celine could finally reach the endless possibilities stretched before her. She was eager to taste all of them.
From her periphery, she saw Elise, who had finally freed herself from the journalists that had flocked her the moment her name had echoed across the stage. Celine disentangled herself from Bastien. “I will meet you outside,” she said. “I want to congratulate Elise for a moment.”
As she made to leave Bastien pulled her back.
“I am fine, I promise,” Celine insisted. She was happy that Elise had won. The future of Maison Baudelaire was in extremely skilful hands with her and Elana heading the House now.
“I know you are,” Bastien said. “I just wanted to give you this,” and leaning down, he pressed a quick peck to her cheek. “Now go.”
When Celine approached, she found that Franz had beaten her to it. His hand was stretched for a shake, a mix between a smile and a sneer resting on his lips. It started leaning more towards the latter when Celine halted before them.
“Stop being smug about it,” she said. “We both lost.”
“Yes, well…” he returned to Elise. “You better keep up the good work. Maison Baudelaire’s reputation shouldn’t be wasted.”
“It won’t,” Elise replied evenly. “But you are welcome to visit and see that I’m keeping my promise.”
He looked like he was about to grumble something back, but once he noticed that Chanel and Molyneux were studying his designs, Franz scurried towards them, putting on a dazzling smile for their benefit. Celine shook her head and turned to Elise promptly.
“Congratulations,” she offered, putting out her hand. “I’m glad you didn’t make it easy.”
Celine might have imagined it, but there was a faint brush of pink along Elise’s cheeks, the deep brown of her skin radiating warmth. She hummed a shy thank you. “You weren’t far behind, either. Actually, I wouldn’t have minded seeing you win instead.”
Celine squeezed her hand in appreciation. “I wish you good luck with your fashion house, Mademoiselle Sartre. I hope that the invitation to visit can be extended. I would love to see what you do with this place.”
“Right,” Elise replied with an impish glint in her eyes. “You vampires need an invitation to come in. You are welcome any time, Mademoiselle LeBeau.”
The atmosphere around them had given way to an abrupt frenzy of loud conversation and camera flashes as journalists wound through the hall, snapping at everything and everyone who caught their lens.
Elise peered around for her sister. “I better find Elana. I would have wagered she’d be with your model, but I see that’s not the case anymore.”
Celine bit down on her lip and allowed a shy smile before Elise slipped away, leaving her alone in the hall. But not for long.
A sudden weight came crashing into her from behind, and two seconds later Ana?s’s face popped in sight. Celine had to spread out her arms and legs to keep her balance.
“Do I get haute couture for life now?” she asked, the point of her nose twitching eagerly.
“Only”—Celine heaved—“if you haven’t dislocated my spine.”
Quickly, Ana?s scrambled off her. “Désolé. I got lost in all the excitement.”
“What excitement?” Celine rolled her eyes. “We lost.”
“True, but your designs were incredible! I will make sure the articles won’t stop talking about them for weeks to come.” She didn’t allow Celine a moment to breathe before crashing into her again, this time in the form of a hug. “I’m proud of you, Cel.”
Celine returned the embrace, slightly slumping into Ana?s’s arms. It was comforting to hear someone else approve of what she had done, outside of Bastien.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, reluctant to let go of her friend. All the energy she had reserved for the last round was starting to deplete now that the competition was over. “Did Jacques leave?” she asked, craning her neck in search of him.
“He is outside, talking to Bas. They have…issues they need to resolve.”
Celine guessed what those issues were, but it wasn’t her place to meddle. It was time Jacques and Bastien fixed this on their own terms, at their own pace.
“And…” she trailed off expectantly, warring with herself whether to ask about her or not.
Her mother had been there before the show, but when the winner was announced and the entire room had fallen into movement, Celine had lost sight of her.
She didn’t want to think she had left because Celine had proven her right about the fashion world but…
Ana?s grabbed her by the shoulders and turned Celine around so she was facing the three steps that led up the stage where Madame LeBeau was standing, staring in awe at the designs. “I’ll go find my brothers,” Ana?s whispered, and swiftly left Celine alone with her mother.
It was impossible to decipher the expression on Madame LeBeau’s face. Pride, elation, regret rippled in a continuous loop. She approached Celine hesitantly as if Celine would bolt from her again.
“Did you really make all of these dresses yourself?” she asked, slightly perplexed as she gazed at the male models. They had make-up on to make them look androgynous, and with the ambiguous silhouette of the flapper style, Celine could scarcely tell they were men wearing dresses.
“It’s what I’ve been doing for the past ten weeks,” Celine explained.
She must have manufactured thousands of lies in that time span to hide from her mother, but here they were now, both of them standing inside Maison Baudelaire.
“Whenever I told you I was with Ana?s or Jacques…I was actually here, creating all of this.”
“The whole collection…” Madame LeBeau trailed off and Celine held her breath. “It was exquisite.” She was looking at Celine like she was seeing her daughter for the first time in her life. “And bold,” she chuckled. “Like you.”