The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(65)

Celine nodded. Michael’s fingers threaded through hers as he drew her to his side. For a second, she hesitated before wrapping his hand in both of hers.

It was time for her to make a decision.

Though it pained Celine to admit it, Pippa had been right about many things. Michael Grimaldi was a good man who obviously cared a great deal for her. It would be foolish of Celine to ignore that fact. Pippa said love was a choice. A wise young woman would choose to love a young man like Michael.

But Celine could not shake the memory of that kiss she’d shared with Bastien. For long days and long nights, she’d tried to forget it. Tried to ignore the way her hands had trembled. The warmth that had pooled in her belly. The touch of his lips against her skin.

An onslaught of emotions had roiled through Celine in the five days that had passed. She was angry at all the lies. Frustrated by the realization that everyone refused to help her retrieve her memories.

But more than anything, Celine felt the weight of her sadness most keenly.

She’d lost so much. More than she could begin to fathom. Two nights ago, she’d toyed with the idea of breaking her promise to Bastien. She’d gone as far as to don a simple frock and walking boots, intent on going to Jacques’ once more and demanding . . . something from him. Anything from him but this icy distance.

Thankfully Celine had come to her senses before leaving her flat. She needed to forget about Sébastien Saint Germain. He’d made it clear he did not want anything to do with her. She would not debase herself by begging for attention from any man, much less one like him.

Bastien was the kind of young man who cared about himself, first and foremost. True, he felt remorse. But never enough to take responsibility for the pain he caused or to choose a different path. Michael Grimaldi was steadfast and direct. Celine never had to doubt his affections or his intentions. A young man like this deserved to be loved.

Michael deserved Celine’s love.

Never mind the voice in the back of her head, the one she could not seem to silence, the one telling her it wasn’t quite right.

Michael and Celine continued their stroll, past the tines of black wrought-iron fences onto the paved walkway before Saint Louis Cathedral. Over the course of the last few months, Jackson Square had become one of Celine’s favorite places in New Orleans. It was strange, therefore, that she didn’t care for the structure at its heart: the tri-spired church with its famed clock tower. The last time she’d attended Mass there, she’d become dizzy and light-headed, an unsettling sensation spreading through her stomach. Pippa had escorted her from the nave the very next second, vowing that they could simply attend Mass elsewhere in the future.

“Violence has taken so much from us both,” Celine mused to Michael.

“I wish I could have spared you such suffering.”

“Everyone keeps saying how lucky I am that I do not remember most of it.” Her lips quirked to one side. “Sometimes I’m inclined to agree.”

“Only sometimes?” Concern flared on Michael’s face. “Are there moments you wish you could remember it, even if it meant reliving the horror?”

Celine toyed with telling him how much she despised being sheltered from the truth, no matter how dark it might be. But she didn’t know if Michael would understand. He did not seem like the kind of young man who found beauty in darkness, as Celine often did. He seemed like the type who always looked to the light. “I feel as if I’m missing so much of myself,” she said. “It makes me feel . . . broken. As if I will never be whole again, no matter what I do.”

Michael stopped walking. Turned toward her and took both her palms in his. Slowly, carefully, he brought her right hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to it. “You are not broken, Celine. Not at all.” He paused. “And if it is important for you to remember everything that happened, perhaps we should speak to someone about it.”

“Another doctor?”

“I will make inquiries.” A determined look formed on Michael’s brow, as if he already had in mind the right person to ask.

Though she doubted it would make a difference, his conviction settled some of the turmoil lingering in Celine. Michael had done that for her from the day she woke up in the hospital over two months ago. Her sense of misgiving was ever present, but at least when Michael was with her, she didn’t feel quite as lost.

A part of her wanted to recoil from the sentiment. She hadn’t always been this way. Hadn’t always needed someone beside her to feel safe. After losing her mother at an early age, Celine had learned the value of self-reliance. Now she resented its loss.

“I wish we both had answers,” Celine murmured over their joined hands. “I wish I could uncover the truth of what happened to your cousin.”

“And I wish what happened to you had not happened,” Michael said. “I wish I could erase its truth.”

When Celine looked up, he was watching her with a new kind of tenderness. He’d been so careful the last few weeks. Never once had Michael pushed her to return his obvious affections or caused her to feel uncomfortable.

But something had changed tonight. Celine could tell in the way he looked at her. The spark of something she’d never seen in his pale eyes.

His gaze steady on hers, Michael leaned forward. “I hope I might always be there to keep you safe. That is . . . if you’ll have me.”