A mistake indeed. Anything that entered Anaïs’s ears escaped from her lips just as quickly.
“Where is Jacques tonight anyway?” Celine asked, bringing her drink up to her lips to hide a wince of embarrassment.
Anaïs shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. Besides, you see my brother more than I do.”
Celine’s cheeks heated like a furnace. Jacques Ménard was Anaïs’s older brother—one of them—and Celine’s boyfriend. Andwhile that meant she was inclined to spend the entire day with him if she wanted to, Celine, in fact, did not. She did not spend her days with him, nor her nights; even when she made an effort to spend time with him, her heart and mind weren’t in it. Anaïs, all-knowing though she was, was oblivious to this—the truth about their relationship—and Celine had never found the right time to tell her.
She made a poor attempt at changing the topic. “I owe you for that article, Anaïs. Really, ask for anything and it’s yours.” Celine motioned at the dress. “Although it seems like spying on Percy behind the bushes has turned you into a proficient thief.”
Anaïs chuckled nervously. “Consider us even?”
Now that the excitement over the news had faded, Anaïs’s attention seemed to veer to the ground floor, eyeing the girl she had entered with. Her heel tapped impatiently to the faint piano notes coming from the band on the stage.
“You want to go back to her, don't you?”
Anaïs tried to look apologetic this time. She bit down on her lip as if it would prevent the blush from reaching her cheeks. “She is…really fun.”
Celine rolled her eyes, though not reproachfully. This was what their nightly routine of sneaking out really served for—for Anaïs to frolic in secret with her paramours and say to whoever saw her that they had been mistaken, the girl was simply her best friend Celine, and for Celine to find her inspiration at the only time the entire city came to life.
“You won't be lonely?” Anaïs asked in earnest. “I can bring her here—”
“There's no need. I have my sketchbook.” Celine gestured at the stage that was stirring with light and nimble footsteps. “And plenty of entertainment.”
Anaïs looked like she wanted to apologise but Celine waved a reassuring hand. "We see each other every day. Go have your fun."
Pushing off her chair, she drew Celine into a dizzying hug. “You're the best, Cel.À demain!”
Anaïs’s voice faded as she rushed down the stairs, taking them two at a time in her excitement. Celine smiled after her friend and brought out her sketchbook and pencils, propping them on her table. She could get a few ideas down before the hour was up and she had to get home.
Flipping over to the last gown she had sketched, she ran a gloved finger over the design.Thiswas the true reason she was seen at cabarets at ungodly hours of the night.
Celine LeBeau was in love with fashion.
Paris might hold its charms during the daylight hours, when the gardens were in full bloom and became more vibrant under the warm sun, but it was nighttime when the allure of the city was irresistible and glamour poured out into the streets like a river of sparkling champagne. Everyone assembled their best attires to go out, offering Celine an easy way to study the tendencies in fashion.
And while the streets of Paris provided plenty of models, it was its cabarets that interested Celine along with its showgirls with their flashy, extraordinary costumes that delivered the inspiration for most of her haute couture designs.
Celine rested her chin on the crook of her palm and tossed another glance down at the floor. The show was taking ages to start, but there was a tiny group of girls by the left wing of the stage, gathered around a particular table, whose clapping and giggling robbed her attention.
Curiosity at the ruckus got the better of her; Celine leaned over the balustrade to see more clearly.
Below her booth, Bastien Ménard was leaning back on his chair, ensconced between two girls. His brown hair had been freed from the gel and rumpled beyond fixing, no doubt by countless loving fingers running through it. A smile of content spread on his face as the girls doted on him like he was a stray puppy.
“Is that what you think we’ll be doing later?” he asked one of them, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth in a way that only suggested mischief. His brown skin glowed with a pink flush and so did the girl’s cheeks when Bastien caught her chin between his fingers, tilting it towards his face. And, as if he could feel Celine’s eyes on him, he made a show of kissing the girl right then and there.
Then he looked up.
Celine’s chin slipped from the crook of her palm. The sudden collision with his gaze rocked through her bones like a tank.
“Oh no,” she breathed, ducking out of view.
She cursed herself for not asking Anaïs to stay. Bastien might pretend he hadn’t seen them here as a favour to his sister, but Celine knew he wouldn’t offer her the same courtesy. He had gained a particular appetite for driving her insane ever since he had discovered how fake Celine and Jacques’s relationship was and how desperate they were to make it seem real in public. And because Bastien and Jacques had a little vendetta going on between them, now that he knew where to poke, Bastien spent every chance he got trying to test his brother’s patience, and Celine’s by proxy. And finding her at a dance hall alone, without Jacques knowing or anywhere in sight, would give him plenty of ammunition.
Celine strained her neck to look at his table again, nearly toppling over the railing in her panic. The girls were stillcrowding the space, chatting with one another, but Bastien’s chair stood empty.
That was when the partition behind herswooshedopen and Celine's spine went stiff with apprehension.
“Hello, baby vamp.”
