The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(56)

“It isn’t a secret.” Odette pushed aside her plate of Limoges porcelain to rest her elbows along the scalloped table’s edge. “I simply have no interest in them.” She paused, her expression thoughtful. “In truth, I much prefer the company of women, in all respects.” Odette pronounced this plainly, watching for Celine’s reaction.

It took Celine a moment to comprehend the full meaning behind Odette’s admission. Her eyes went wide the next instant, color creeping up her neck. “Please know how flattered I am, but—”

Odette snorted. “I don’t mean you specifically, you delicious narcissist. Though you are genuinely beautiful . . . and would undoubtedly prove to be a genuine nuisance as a result. Years ago I swore never to love anything more beautiful than myself.” She heaved a dramatic sigh. “Thankfully that leaves my options wide and varied.”

Laughter caught in Celine’s throat just as she took a sip of wine. It burned at the back of her tongue, causing her to cough like a silly young woman in her cups.

“But let’s not lie to each other, mon amie,” Odette said above Celine’s coughing. “You don’t wish to be rid of all men, do you?”

“I do.” Celine cleared her throat and wiped the tears from beneath her lashes. “They are nothing but a bother.”

Odette wagged a finger at Celine. “Menteuse. I see the way you look at Bastien.” She leaned closer, her expression sly. Knowing.

Celine startled, her hand jostling her water goblet. “What are you—” She sat up, her heart hammering in her chest. “How do I look?”

“Parched, mon amie. Like you wandered the desert for forty years, seeking the Promised Land.”

“I look . . . thirsty?” Celine groaned, her cheeks reddening. A mixture of anger and embarrassment washed through her veins. She considering denying it. Tried in vain to conjure a plausible explanation. Then lifted her chin in defiance. Why should she have to lie?

“Very well,” Celine announced. “I won’t deny it. I’m attracted to Bastien. I think he’s . . . too beautiful to be real.”

Odette clapped as if she’d just heard the world’s foremost soprano perform her favorite aria. “This is now my favorite thing you’ve ever said.” She proceeded to giggle in a way that reminded Celine of being a small girl. She didn’t know anyone who giggled like that anymore. “Now”—Odette paused to tap an index finger along her chin—“what to do about this situation . . .”

“Nothing,” Celine said determinedly. “There is nothing to do. I have no intention of pursuing anyone like Sébastien Saint Germain, Odette,” she warned. “Nothing will come from your rather naked attempts to interfere. You know as well as I do that Bastien isn’t a proper young gentleman.”

“And you require a proper young gentleman?”

“I do.” Celine nodded with conviction.

Her expression dubious, Odette pursed her lips. “We’ll discuss this later.” She shifted tack with the ease of a dancer. “Tell me what you think about my idea for the masquerade ball.”

Grateful that Odette had changed the subject, Celine did not hesitate to reply. “I think you shouldn’t go as Marie Antoinette. I daresay there will be at least fifteen other women dressed accordingly for the occasion. Because it’s expected. I say you do something unexpected.” A shrewd gleam alighted her gaze. “Don’t go as the wife. Go as the mistress.”

“Pardon?” Odette let out a burst of laughter. “This, from the girl who requires a proper young gentleman!”

Celine waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind that. You should go as Madame du Barry.”

“Scandaleux!” Odette clapped gleefully. “The society matrons will be positively bug-eyed!”

“And it will be the dress no one forgets,” Celine promised.

“I’ll do it . . . but I must insist you accompany me to the masquerade ball, as well as another soirée I’m keen to attend.” Odette toyed with the silk ribbon about her neck. “Rumor has it the host—a member of a new krewe known as the Twelfth Night Revelers—plans to decorate his gardens after A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

Though both ideas tantalized Celine with possibility, she shook her head. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Not even if Bastien is there, in all his impropriety?” Odette winked.

“Especially not if he’s there.”

“Ah, don’t be so difficult, mon amie.” Odette paused meaningfully. “You already admitted he’s . . . how did you say it?”

Celine groaned, regret blooming in her stomach. “Too beautiful to be real.”

Something clattered to the floor behind her.

The blood drained from Celine’s face in a sudden rush. She froze in her seat, her eyes wide. It took only a glance in Odette’s direction to confirm the obvious.

Sébastien Saint Germain was standing behind Celine.

Listening to every word she’d just said.



* * *





    “Je suis désolée.” Odette wrinkled her nose, clearly not sorry at all.

Celine considered balling up the silk napkin in her hand and hurling it toward Odette’s doll-like face. She reconsidered in the next instant. Although it might prove satisfying in the moment, it would do little to help her situation. Her pulse wreaking havoc through her body, Celine turned around.