The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(86)

“Liar. You wouldn’t hurt me.” Despite everything, Celine Rousseau still refused to retreat.

Bastien could not admire her for it. He would not admire her for it.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he said. “I’ve killed before, Celine. Countless times. And relished in doing it, never once asking for forgiveness.” He meant to terrify her with this admission. To seal their fate once and for all.

Celine exhaled slowly, her breath shaking as it left her lips. “So have I.”

Bastien’s hand dropped from her throat, tension flowing from beneath his skin, his chest tight with surprise. He thought about accusing her of lying. But she wasn’t lying. He knew her well enough to realize a revelation like this could not be a lie. It was too brutal, like truth often was.

Celine raised her pointed chin. Angry tears welled in her eyes. “I killed a man with my own two hands.” Her fists balled at her sides. “It’s why I ran away from Paris.” She inhaled, her body trembling. “And I don’t feel sorry for it, not in the slightest. I’m not afraid of death, Sébastien Saint Germain. Nor am I afraid of you. It is you who should be afraid of me.” She shoved him once more, the tears spilling down her cheeks.

Bastien grabbed her hands. Steadied her as she took in another ragged breath. His thoughts roiled through his mind, questions collecting on his tongue. “Who?”

“I killed the boy who tried to rape me.”

The fire left his body in a soul-stealing rush. It was the same as always. Whenever Bastien was about to destroy something, he felt ice, not fire. “Good,” he said, not trusting himself to say more.

“Maybe we’re not so different, you and I.”

It was so far from the truth. So close to what his heart longed to believe. Bastien couldn’t help himself. He shifted a palm to her face, brushing away her tears with his thumb.

“Tell me why you have Anabel’s ribbon,” Celine said, her green eyes shimmering. “Please.”

Bastien’s grip tightened, his hands cradling her chin. He abhorred the need to explain himself. Despised the meaning behind it. “Reach into my left breast pocket.”

Her brow furrowing, Celine withdrew a length of butter-yellow silk from its place over his heart. Stitched on one corner of the worn handkerchief was a set of initials:

    ESG



Confusion gathered along the bridge of her nose. “What—”

“It belonged to my sister, émilie,” Bastien said. “She gave it to me the day she died.” He took a breath, the air burning through his lungs the instant he uttered her name. “I carry it with me always. It gives me strength.”

A moment passed in silence. Celine waited for him to speak, as if she knew no pithy words of condolence would make a difference, even after more than a decade.

“She died for me.” He fought to conceal his pain, as he always did. To make light of it, so no one would know how the memories of his past still haunted his present.

Celine cast him a searching glance. “You shouldn’t hide how you feel, Bastien. Not from me. I promise never to judge you for it.”

“And why would you make such a promise to a boy you barely know?”

“I think you know why.” She did not look away.

Again he was held in thrall. Here was true power. The power to captivate without a word.

In that moment, Bastien no longer wished to hide from Celine. Not anymore. With her, his pain was not a weakness for an enemy to exploit. It was a strength, just as émilie would have wanted.

“I feel . . . shattered when I think of my sister,” he said, his voice graveled with unchecked emotion. “Like my heart is made of glass, the pieces splintering through my chest.” Each word was an unburdening. A truth longing to be set free.

Celine nodded, her expression wistful. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could all have hearts made of diamonds?”

“Unbreakable.” Bastien’s lips crooked into a half smile.

In her eyes, he saw an answered question.

Love is an affliction.

“We shouldn’t,” he said softly.

“But we will.”

“No.” Still Bastien could not stop himself from touching her. From letting his fingers slide along her heated skin. “We won’t.”

“Yes, we will. Just like you’ll help me set my trap at the masquerade ball.”

“I will not.”

Celine leaned into his caress. “Such a liar.” She pressed the full length of her body to his, a flame igniting in her gaze. “And a coward,” she breathed beneath his chin, the sensation curling down his spine.

Before Bastien could offer a rejoinder, Celine surged onto her toes and slanted her lips to his. The instant they met, she softened in his arms, molding against him. He surrendered, the rest of the world melting away. When her tongue brushed across his lips, Bastien groaned, no longer capable of restraint.

This was not a kiss of curiosity, nor was it one of tentative exploration. It was wild. Reckless. And Bastien could do nothing but respond in kind. He’d wanted this the first night they met. When Celine had grabbed his cravat. When she’d stared him down—expecting Sébastien Saint Germain to cower in fear—she’d stolen his splintered heart.