The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(18)

Proper young women certainly wouldn’t feel so enlivened by the very idea of danger. Nor would they already be seeking out the next chance to feel their hearts pound in their ears and their faces flush as though they were too close to a candle flame.

Further proof that something was broken inside Celine.

Breathing deeply through her nose, Celine reached for her friend’s hand, her touch gentle. Comforting. “I’m sorry, Pippa,” she said. “I’ve been distracted by all that happened. Of course you don’t want to meet with Odette tonight after . . . well, everything. I completely understand. We’ll return to the convent at once.” She was careful not to let her disappointment show, though she felt it keenly.

Her friend had risked enough this evening on her account.

When Celine moved to retrace their steps, Pippa dawdled behind her. Celine turned in place. “Pippa?”

Pippa quirked her lips to one side. “You really wanted to go, didn’t you? You were happier tonight than I’ve ever seen you before. Freer.”

Celine thought to lie. But she was wearied by the notion. So very wearied.

She simply nodded.

A warm light filled Pippa’s gaze. “It was like getting a peek into who you truly are,” she said softly. “It made me feel like we were really friends.”

“We are really friends.”

Pippa shook her head, but it was not unkind. “Not yet. But I hope we will be. I do so want to be your friend, Celine.”

Celine swallowed, something clutching around her heart. “I want to be your friend, too, Pippa. Very much.”

Pippa nodded. Then she took hold of her skirts once more, resolve flashing across her face. “We shouldn’t keep Odette waiting.”



* * *





Less than two blocks away, Celine and Pippa caught sight of a brass sign positioned above the slender double doors of a well-lit establishment.

It read Jacques’ in fancy script. Etched above the name was a familiar symbol: a fleur-de-lis in the mouth of a roaring lion. In the distance, the pier loomed ominously, the water around it glittering like a sea of black diamonds, ready to swallow its supplicants whole.

“Oh,” Pippa said, realization dawning on her. “It’s a restaurant.”

A similar wash of surprise passed through Celine. It felt odd for Odette to direct them to a restaurant, especially for the purpose of a dress fitting.

Based on the long queue snaking around the front, it was clear the owner of Jacques’ knew how to capture the attention of a crowd, especially for a Monday evening. But on the outside, the structure itself looked rather ordinary. Red brick and black lacquered shutters enclosing three stories. Gas lamps blazing between tall, narrow windows. Polished wooden floors stained a light caramel color. Drapes of deep burgundy damask cascading down the walls.

Yet to Celine, something about it felt . . . off. Like a picture frame hanging askew. As if the restaurant had dutifully mastered every detail of the mundane, with the intention of wearing them as a mask. Concealing what, Celine could only guess.

Each time the door opened, the crystals hanging from the chandelier beside the entrance chimed merrily like they were welcoming newcomers. Then the lingering notes turned melancholy. A clash of discordant sounds, the slightest shift to minor key.

To Celine, it rang as a quiet warning. Still, everyone in the room kept smiling, oblivious to the unseen threat. Her gaze slipped across the contented faces of Jacques’ countless patrons.

How was it they could not feel it, too?

Perhaps Celine was mistaken. Perhaps these observations formed from a place of wishful thought. Maybe she sought proof she wasn’t the only one forced to wear a mask. And in doing so, she’d falsely found a kindred spirit . . . in a restaurant.

How ridiculous. She chastised herself. What kind of silly fool shared a silent understanding with a structure of brick and mortar? Celine committed to casting aside her concerns like a stone lying in her path.

Pippa touched Celine’s shoulder to catch her attention. “Should we seek out the gentleman Odette mentioned earlier today?”

“Mais oui. Lead the way.” Celine sent a deceptively careless grin over her shoulder.

As soon as the two girls crossed the threshold of Jacques’—Pippa pausing with a twinge of trepidation—the figurative stone Celine had cast aside rolled back into her path. She must be mad, seeing and feeling things not even in the demesne of possibility. But even in the most fevered of her dreams, it would be impossible to ignore this truth:

Jacques’ was anything but ordinary.

It was not about what Celine saw. It was about what she felt.

A strange sensation rippled across her skin, tingling through her blood, taking root in her core. Something hooked around her spine, drawing her in with an unspoken promise. Something . . . otherworldly.

Yes. That was it. It was as though she’d wandered into another realm. Not Heaven. Not Hell. But somewhere in between. A liminal space, spanning both light and dark. Whatever it was, Celine felt comfortable there.

An elbow struck Celine’s right arm, snagging her from her observations. The server who hastened past them offered an apologetic glance, his features knitted along his freckled brow. In both hands, he balanced trays laden with covered dishes of gleaming silver. Celine tracked his progress through the room as she directed Pippa closer to a wall of wooden paneling near the entrance, out of the main walkway’s path.