Epilogue
July found Paris quickly, bringing about the tanning heat of summer days and the alleviating showers of the evening. They were a rare treat, but appreciated by those who hadn’t already driven down to the Riviera and were instead still strolling through the busy city streets.
Celine LeBeau was part of the latter, as she tilted her cheek towards the mellow rays the afternoon sun provided, patiently waiting at the entrance of Avenue Montaigne.
Activity had died down since morning, but a few socialites were still prowling the shops, heaping bag after bag of purchases on their drivers’ arms. Celine smiled at them; she missed the evenings when she dragged poor Charles along every store at Place Vend?me and offered encouragement when the car doors wouldn’t close because of the shopping boxes.
She had been too busy recently to make time for that.
Requests for custom pieces had come pouring in the moment word had come out that Celine LeBeau was opening her own fashion house.
If the girls in her social circle had once copied her style, now they wanted to own something Celine had made, and Celine had merely been too eager to start working on each booking, even while the renovations on Maison Reneau were still ongoing.
Recalling why she was standing there, waiting, Celine redirected her attention to the sound of bike tires screeching in the distance.
Monsieur Ménard had confiscated the Cadillac after Bastien had failed to pay him back, although he had forgiven his grandson, surprisingly proud that Bastien was working towards something that truly mattered to him.
(Considering he had been fired from the ten jobs Juliana had tried to find him.) So once his accounts were opened again, Bastien had immediately purchased a bike.
And if she were honest, Celine preferred it to the car.
It pulled up now in front of her, along with a furious gust that ruffled the pleats of her skirt. She looked askance at him as she scrambled to keep her dress down.
“Will you ever stop doing that?”
“Why?” he asked, sauntering up to her, a smirk on his lips. “I’ve already seen everything there is to see and oh, if I recall it correctly I’ve done more than that—Ouch!”
That last part left his lips when Celine started beating him with her clutch.
“Hey, hey!” Bastien cried out. “I thought I was allowed now.”
“You, yes,” she huffed. “The rest of the city… I’d rather not give them that privilege.”
He only grinned, seizing her wrists to stop her from bruising him like a peach.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Celine demanded.
“Because I like you.”
“Only like?”
“Love,” he corrected. “I love you, Celine.”
She hummed, skeptically, then returned the sentiment in Farsi, “Asheghetam, Bastien.”
His eyes widened so suddenly Celine thought some important bodily function had stopped within him. But then his cheeks flushed red and he tried everything he could to hide his face somewhere. In the end, he dropped his head on Celine’s shoulder, pulling her into a hug.
“Did you get shy just now?” she asked.
Bastien mumbled something incoherent against her neck. He looked up. “You can’t just go around saying that, darling. Do you want me to get a heart attack?”
“Why, did I say it wrong?”
“Not at all. You said it perfectly.” He brushed a quick kiss on the tip of her nose, then let his eyes linger on her for a while, taking in the girl before him.
Celine did the same, still hoping time would slow down and stop entirely for them, even though she knew Bastien wasn’t going anywhere.
While he was still known for the insane parties he continued to throw, he had taken a break from being Heartbreak Boy, causing some girls, according to Ana?s, to mourn over the loss.
Celine didn’t care for any of that. Reformed philanderer or not, they both knew he was hers and she was his, fundamentally and irretrievably in love with each other, and that was all that mattered.
As for Celine’s reputation as Glamour Girl—the face of the biggest brands and their lines—journalists had made sure everyone knew she owned her own fashion house now.
She wasn’t Chanel’s poster child anymore, since the LeBeau name itself had become a dernier cri on every magazine headline.
She was the face and creator of her own brand, and she couldn’t be happier.
“Let’s get inside,” Bastien said, drawing her to the present. “We are holding up the celebration.”
“Oh, they’ve already started.”
“Without me?” His eyes widened. “How dare they!”
Ecstatic jazz seeped out of Maison Reneau—now Maison LeBeau—mingling with the lively air of Avenue Montaigne. The inauguration was today. All their family and friends, and even Monsieur Baudelaire and Gabriel had been invited to see the grand reopening.
They had been working relentlessly for two months through all the renovations the place required, which had burned through most of their funds from Monsieur Baudelaire’s cheque.
Bastien had decided to invest all of it into the House, even though he had caught Celine several times trying to mail the cheque to his grandfather.
But after arguing for days where to start—with Celine refusing to change most of it and Bastien insisting they made the place their own—the sign with the new name had been put up first, painted shiny and silver.
Celine had gotten her dream sewing machine a week later, as well as managed to convince Coco to stay in Paris and work with her, while Bastien had decided to expand the entrance hall of the boutique, which was currently teeming with guests and music and flower baskets.
Mannequins posed in front of the tall windows, each wearing the gowns Celine had designed for the competition.
It had been Monsieur Baudelaire’s suggestion that the first thing their clients saw ought to be the very gowns which had made everything possible.
Unable to resist the allure of the fete, Bastien dropped a kiss on Celine’s temple, eyes glued to where the crowd was thickest. “I’ll be right back.”
Celine hauled him back by the collar of his shirt. “Bas!”
“What?” He raised his arms innocently. “We agreed: host duties are mine. Besides, I just want to see what all the noise is about. If I’m not there then that means someone else is being the life of the party and that just diminishes whatever is left of my frail reputation, Celine. It must be remedied.”
She rolled her eyes, releasing him. “Go. Have your fun.”
Bastien didn’t need further encouragement; he disappeared before she could blink.
Sighing, Celine scrutinised the room for a particular blonde head, but it appeared that even Ana?s had abandoned her.
Though she found her friend by the elevator, deep in conversation with Juliana.
A faint blush had spread across Ana?s’s face, and one look at Juliana and her serpent-green gaze and Celine understood why.
But she wouldn’t disrupt their exchange. Ana?s was a coward when it came to girls she genuinely liked. This was probably the closest she would get to Juliana without fleeing to the nearest exit.
Which reminded her—they needed to open up another exit door.
Filing the thought for later, Celine scanned the room again when a bouquet of peach-coloured roses appeared before her out of nowhere. She craned her neck and a delighted gasp left her lips. “Jacques!”
“You know, for two people who fight over you non-stop, my siblings sure disappear in time of need.”
“Well, at least I have one Ménard in sight.” Taking the roses from him, Celine brought them under her nose.
The past few months had provided a much needed respite for both of them, and had eventually brought about a fresh start to their friendship.
Jacques had even offered to help with the renovations, giving them plenty of time to discuss everything between them.
“Come keep me company,” Celine said. “The host is always lonely at parties.”
“Unfortunately…” Jacques scratched the back of his neck. “I, too, must bail. I only came to bring these and congratulate you for the big opening. Grandfather is waiting for a business deal. I promised I wouldn’t be too long.”
Celine picked at the petals in the bouquet, giving him a dirty look.
“I’m sorry,” he chuckled.
“Have something to eat before you leave, then. I have ordered the most delicious cake.”
“I have no doubt,” he said, walking backwards towards the refreshments table.
“You will trip like that,” Celine cautioned, remembering that he had told her the same once.
“I guess I picked a habit from—”
Celine winced as her words accidentally manifested into reality and Jacques indeed collided with someone.
“Je suis désolé. I wasn’t watching…” His words trailed off the second his eyes met Coco’s. “I…I’m…”
Amused, Celine’s brows shot up. She didn’t recall sending Cupid an RSVP for this evening.
“No apologies needed,” Coco replied to him in English as she brushed a hand over her dress. She lifted her head again, doing a double take at Jacques. “Oh, I know you! Star Equestrian—Jacques Ménard.”
Managing to shake off his stupor, Jacques took Coco’s stretched hand. “Enchanté, Mademoiselle…”
“Cosette Jones,” she said. “But I prefer Coco.” She looked abruptly at Celine, as if to ask permission, though there was no need for it.
Celine gave her a knowing look, happy that her friend had just found another reason to remain in Paris.
Coco returned her focus on Jacques promptly. “Let’s talk more over a drink.”
Jacques pointed at her hand. “You already have one.”
Glancing at her glass of champagne, Coco downed it like it was nothing. “Now I don’t.”
“But I’m supposed to—”
She didn’t allow Jacques a second thought before dragging him towards the refreshments table.
Watching them fall into a peaceful discourse, Celine took a sniff from the bouquet in her hands.
This moment right now, sharing her happiness with all the people she cared about, was everything she had dreamt of.
“I thought you were dying to be the life of the party?” she mocked, feeling Bastien’s presence by her side, before she even saw him draw near.
“You're more fun, Mademoiselle Cupid,” he said, drawing them towards a quieter corner and placing a lingering kiss to her lips. “Did you really just shoot an arrow at my brother?” he asked as he pulled back.
Celine shrugged. “Everyone deserves a happy ending.”
“Is that so?” Hooking an arm around her waist, Bastien folded her into a hug. “Tell me, is yours everything you’ve dreamed it would be?”
Celine thought back on everything she had done to procure this moment right here. All the tears they had shed, balanced out by the laughs they had shared. But she would experience all of those moments again if that’s what it took to stand inside her very own fashion house, with Bastien by her side.
“It’s more than that,” Celine told him, eyes glittering in delight. “C’est parfait.”