The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(74)

Celine did not owe any man anything. By midafternoon, she’d decided that honor and loyalty were nonsense if they prevented her from living the life she wished to live. As soon as she closed up shop for the evening, she resolved to return to Jacques’ and demand to speak with Bastien again.

An hour later, she changed her mind. As much as she hated to admit it, Bastien was right. She already possessed all the information she needed. The madman responsible for her injuries was dead. She was safe. Barring a miracle, there was little chance of her memories being restored. It was time for her to resume her life. To live in the present, rather than in the past.

To choose Michael Grimaldi and build a future with him in the light.

For the rest of the afternoon, Celine behaved like an absolute boor. Just before sundown—when Antonia asked her to repeat herself—Celine scowled at her with all the vim of an outraged schoolboy.

“I would like to know,” Eloise commented in a contemplative tone, “how we might kill that bee in your bonnet.”

Celine’s scowl deepened. “What bee?”

“There is a . . . bee?” Antonia shrank into herself, her long brunette plait swaying like a pendulum as her eyes darted to all four corners of the shop.

Eloise pursed her lips. “If you want me to ask what is troubling you, then simply say so. I don’t have the patience or the inclination to tease it out of you, Celine.” Her grin was tight. “I’m not Pippa, after all.”

The way Eloise peered down at her made Celine want to disappear or lash out. The crown of intricately folded fabric atop Eloise’s head did not help. It was like being judged by the queen herself.

“Where is the bee?” Antonia demanded, her lovely accent turning high-pitched.

“There’s no bee, dear one,” Eloise answered. “But there will definitely be a swarm of some kind if Mademoiselle Rousseau doesn’t stop snapping at everyone who asks her a simple question.”

Appropriately chastised, Celine chose to sequester herself in the back room until closing, where she passed the time sorting a new shipment of decorative buttons and lace trimming. Only once did she leave, to wish both Antonia and Eloise a good evening. Then she bustled about tidying the space, the war within her continuing to wreak unseen havoc. Half an hour later, she still had yet to decide whether she would ignore all good sense and make her way to Jacques’.

After dimming the gas lamps and securing the inside of the shop, Celine stepped out the front door, withdrawing the key to lock it from the side pocket of her navy-striped frock.

As Chaucer would say, why was it so hard for her to let sleeping dogs lie?

I’ll never understand the fascination with the infinite. There is an end to everything, to good things as well.

Chaucer was an ass. And the infinite captivates us because it allows us to believe all things are possible. That true love can last beyond time.

Celine stopped short, the brass key dangling from her fingertips.

The memory that washed over her was rich in detail. She could see the moonlight reflected in Bastien’s gunmetal gaze. Hear the rich baritone of his voice. Feel the way he looked at her through the darkness, the heat in his eyes unmistakable. Smell his nearness, the spicy bergamot wrapping around her like warm silk.

She’d wanted to kiss him that night. He’d wanted to kiss her. She was certain of it.

Like a string of unraveling thread, the memory began to fall apart, as if it had never existed in the first place.

Frustration barreled up Celine’s throat, making her want to shout into a void. She whirled in place and caught the last traces of the sun as it began to vanish along the horizon. She stood still for a moment and watched the colors melt across the sky.

It was beautiful. Something Celine could trust. Whenever she would lose hope as a child, her father would tell her to remember that every setting sun brought the promise of a rising dawn. A tomorrow that could change the course of today.

Maybe Celine didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.

But she knew what she could do today.

Celine spun on her heel and nearly collided with the broad-shouldered young man standing on the sidewalk behind her.

“Putain de merde,” she muttered as two strong hands shot out to steady her. As the familiar scent of leather and bergamot assailed her nostrils.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Bastien said, his hands falling from her arms.

“Then why are you standing there like a panther ready to pounce?” she demanded as she straightened the front of her bodice and tried her best to ignore the traitorous flush creeping up her neck. “Do I look like your next meal?”

A half smile curved up one side of his face. “You always could make me laugh.”

The way Bastien looked at her made Celine want to throttle him. “You’re welcome,” she said. “One day I hope you return the favor. For I have yet to find you the slightest bit amusing.”

His expression sobered. He shifted back, his hands in his trouser pockets. “May we speak in private?”

“Why?”

“There are some things I wish to say.”

“Am I going to like what I hear?” Celine knew she was acting like a child. But if everyone insisted on treating her like one, she was happy to oblige them.

A brow crooked into his forehead. “Do you usually like what you hear?”