The Belles (The Belles #1)(70)

Bree announces me.

Auguste whips around with a smile.

“Have a great session,” Elisabeth says, trying to attract his attention. He glances around her. She pouts, then retreats into her office, closing the door behind her.

I fight with my lips, trying to press them into a serious and professional frown rather than the grin that threatens to overtake them. “Hello, Mr. Fabry.”

“So formal now? Are we not friends?” He steps forward.

“Friends?” I say with a laugh, then swallow it. Standing with him feels like we’re exchanging a secret in front of everyone.

Ivy clears her throat.

“Have you had tea?” I ask.

“Yes, and it’s awful.” He lifts off a teapot lid. Hot vapors drift up like smoke. “Couldn’t you slip honey or sugar into it? To make it more pleasant?”

“That dulls the Belle-rose effects, unfortunately,” I say.

“Or fortunately, if you like pain.”

“Who enjoys pain?”

He starts to push his finger into the teapot, as if he’s going to plunge it into the hot liquid.

“No, don’t.” I reach for his hand.

“Are you worried about me?” he asks.

I pull back. “If you want to burn yourself, go ahead.”

He does, and I try not to gasp. “I don’t mind it. Sometimes it reminds me that I’m awake.” He flashes the now-red finger at me.

“You are odd,” I say.

“The good kind or the bad kind?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Ivy taps her hourglass. “It’s time,” she whispers to me.

“Are you ready to begin, Mr. Fabry?”

“Only if you stop calling me that. I’m not my father,” he says with a smile.

“Are you ready, Auguste?”

“Yes, now that you’ve asked me nicely.” He winks before his attendant leads him to the bathing chambers.

I return to the hall that leads to the treatment salon.

Ivy rushes behind me. “Camellia”—she grabs my arm—“how do you know him?”

“We’ve met before,” I say.

“When?” Her voice turns serious. “Where?”

I’m overwhelmed with the need to lie and withhold the details of how I know Auguste, like hiding a rare and expensive gem in a secret pocket. “Just around—at court.”

“You aren’t supposed to be friendly with young men.”

“What about old ones?”

I feel her scowl beneath her veil. “You need to be careful.”

“I know. I am.”

“It is forbidden.” She clicks her teeth. “And besides, he is one of Sophia’s suitors!”

“I know.”

“The passion between two people can ruin the arcana. Poison the blood with toxins.”

I touch her shoulder. “I’ll be sure to use more leeches. On the hour.”

“Camellia.”

“I’m only teasing. I was just being nice to him.”

“Too nice,” she warns.

“I’ll work on being mean.” I leave her standing there, and walk to treatment salon four. Roses sprout out of jeweled vases. Beauty-lanterns drift overhead like small suns, shining perfect beams of light across the treatment bed. Auguste steps from behind an ivory screen in a silk robe. I blush at the sight of him.

“You sure know how to take your time,” he says. “Are you trying to run up my bill?”

“I’m certain you can be patient,” I say, just before Ivy enters the room behind me like a dark cloud. I move a cart of bei-powder bundles, just to pretend to have something to do.

His eyes are on me. It sends a warm flush across my skin. “I did a lot to get onto your schedule. After your latest feat at court, my attendant said you were booked for ten months straight.”

“What did you have to do?” I find his gaze.

“Kiss three different women, plus send them flowers and love-themed post-balloons. The expensive kind, from Marchand’s shop.”

“Can’t you get in trouble for that? You’re one of Princess Sophia’s suitors.”

“I swore them to secrecy. I could be the future king, and they think all kings need mistresses. It’s made me more popular.”

“Disgusting.”

“I try not to disappoint.”

“Aren’t you humble.” I laugh, then turn my back to him. I light tiny tea candles beneath a chafing dish to start melting a skin-color pastille.

“I went to a lot of trouble to get here.”

“It sounds exhausting.”

“It was. Backbreaking work.”

I stifle a laugh. Ivy groans.

“What services would you like?” I ask.

“Make me look as handsome as I already am.”

“Who said you were handsome?”

“The women I had to kiss in order to take their appointments. Also, I was featured in last season’s male beauty-scope.”

“Good for you.”

“Are you not amused?”

Ivy clears her throat again.

Auguste turns to her. “Are you sick, miss? Because I cannot afford to catch a cold.”