The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(55)

Pippa sobbed louder, but wrapped her arms around Celine’s waist.

“I’m sorry, Pippa,” Celine whispered. “I don’t know what’s come over me. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“I—I wish I could help,” Pippa said through her tears. “I almost lost you once. I can’t do it again.”

“I know,” Celine whispered. “But I have to find a way to make sense of all this chaos.”

Pippa nodded. “I understand. But please, Celine”—she looked up, her face flushed and her voice quavering—“please don’t put yourself in any more danger. Stay away from Bastien. Away from Jacques’. Away from that cursed world.”

Celine said nothing.

“Promise me,” Pippa pleaded.

“I promise.” Celine wiped the tears from Pippa’s cheeks as she lied to her closest friend.

And she planned to keep lying, until she learned the truth.





CELINE





This was the height of foolishness. She deserved whatever ill fortune came her way.

Less than three hours after promising Pippa she would stay away from Sébastien Saint Germain, Celine stood outside Jacques’, searching for an opportune moment to stomp onto the premises and demand an audience. It didn’t matter how long it took. Celine had no intention of leaving until she’d obtained answers.

Who was Bastien to her? What did he know of her lost memories? Would he help her?

At first she considered making a request of the same imposing gentleman with the earring who’d allowed her upstairs at dinner that night last week. But something told her he would not be so accommodating this time.

After Celine wasted half an hour hemming and hawing about the best way to proceed, she shored up her resolve and marched through the narrow double doors, her chin in the air.

The establishment had begun its preparations for the evening’s close. Servers polished silver trays and wiped crystal glasses, stacking them in preparation for the next day. A young girl swept the shining wooden floors while two other boys set chairs atop the empty tables.

“Mademoiselle, may I help you?” the girl with the broom asked, her Créole accent lilting.

“I wish to speak to Sébastien Saint Germain,” Celine said.

The girl stepped back in surprise. Then dipped into a curtsy. “Un moment, s’il vous pla?t.”

A minute passed before the dark-skinned gentleman with the earring approached from behind a swinging door. “Mademoiselle Rousseau,” he said without preamble. “It is not right for you to be here at such a late hour.” He glanced about. “Have you come alone?” His thick eyebrows shot into his forehead.

“Yes,” she said, defiant. “I am tired of allowing society to dictate my behavior.”

He almost smiled. “Be that as it may, I—”

“Pardon the interruption, monsieur, but I have no intention of leaving until I’ve spoken with Sébastien.”

“Alas, Bastien is not here.”

“I think you’re lying to me, monsieur. And I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.” Celine grabbed a chair and sat, taking a moment to arrange her marigold skirts. “I’ll wait here until Bastien comes to speak with me.”

That time, the gentleman offered her a fond smile. “I apologize, mademoiselle, but we are closing our doors soon. What you ask is simply impossible.”

“Improbable perhaps. But not impossible. I will wait outside all night if need be. It is a sad state of affairs when a girl must resort to threats in order to be given the attention she is due.” She folded her ungloved hands in her lap. “If I’m outside all night, I hope it weighs on your conscience.”

“Rather uncompromising of you, mademoiselle,” he said.

“Hmmm. Rather like looking in the mirror, I’d wager.”

His laughter was rich. Unexpected. Familiar.

Celine blinked. Took to her feet. “Do I know who you are, monsieur?”

“You do.” He nodded. “I am Kassamir.”

Her teeth clenched in frustration. How much had she lost? How much would she give to have these missing pieces returned to her? “I apologize for not recognizing you, Kassamir. I’ve recently—”

“I know, mademoiselle.” His sympathy was unmistakable. “I know of your troubles.”

“Kassamir,” she repeated, her features twisting in the wake of his kindness. “I . . . can’t continue like this, with such glaring holes in my memory. You helped me before. Please help me again.”

He took a deep breath. “You wish for my help even though it may not gain you the peace you seek?”

“It doesn’t matter. I . . . need to know the truth.”

Kassamir nodded again. “Wait here a moment.”

Five minutes passed. The girl with the broom motioned for Celine to make herself comfortable. Celine accepted the offer and returned to her seat. After another fifteen minutes passed, the remaining workers had all but completed their evening chores. Celine watched them dim the gas lanterns and draw the drapes closed, her annoyance on the rise, her foot tapping against the newly mopped floors.

Soon she was left alone in the large room, shrouded in near darkness. Celine considered leaving, but if she failed to wait a mere hour after making threats to loiter all night, she would never be able to show her face at Jacques’ again.