Page 13 of Lovesick Mannequins
Monsieur LeBeau’s eyes glinted behind his glasses. “This is why you're my favourite Ménard.” He hurried off towards the living room again, but not before saying, “And you will keep being my favourite as long as you don’t kiss my daughter.”
Celine bit down on her chuckle. Jacques’s face went through multiple shades of pure mortification.
He turned to her. “You find this amusing, don’t you.”
“A little.” Looping her arm through his, Celine guided him downstairs. “Come now, I’m starving. I’ve been looking forward to that cake all morning, I won’t allow anyone to take it from me.”
Jacques mimed the pain of having a knife stab his chest. “And I thought you were excited for tonight because you’d see me. Do I come second to cake in my girlfriend’s eyes?”
“Who has fed you such delusions?” said Celine. “It’s cake, Milady, then you. Know your limits.”
Jacques mimicked a stronger pain this time. “I come third after cake and second after acat?”
“Your reaction will be priceless when you learn where you stand onmylist, brother.”
Bastien strode inside that very instant, with that habitual smirk on his face and his hands shoved in his pockets. Celine wouldn’t have been surprised if he had mussed his hair before coming inside just to irk their families.
Any other day she wouldn’t have minded his presence. She actually admired his style, even though it stood in complete juxtaposition to Jacques’s. He always picked wild colours to wear—the quality of the fabric of his suits made her envious. She had no idea where Bastien had developed his taste in clothes, but there were times when she wished it were as easy to be friends with him as it had been with Anaïs.
“You two can stop the act in front of me. That”—he pointed at their entwined hands with an unlit cigarette before propping the thing between his lips—“is a pathetic excuse of yourundyinglove.”
Jacques’s hand tightened around Celine’s. “Do you need to pester everyone else whenever your life becomes a wreck?”
“Need?” Bastien mused, producing a silver lighter from his pocket. The sharpflickfilled the silence for a moment and was soon replaced by his smoke-filled sigh. “No, not really. Want, however… Come to think of it, yes, it does bring me a certain kind of joy.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
Bastien rolled his eyes.
“I’m glad Grandfather kicked you out,” Jacques continued calmly. “We will certainly get a few months of peace and quiet without you there.”
Celine had to lean forward as if to hear him better. “Kick him out? What do you mean?”
“The usual,” Jacques explained plainly, speaking as though Bastien wasn’t there at all. “You know how Bas is. This time though, Grandfather is asking him to find a job and pay foreverything he spent on his last shindig. Which is almost his entire trust fund.”
Celine reeled back in shock.
“I wasn’t aware we were sharing stories tonight,” Bastien retorted. “If that’s the case, I’ll go next. I’m sure you’d want to hear this one. The protagonist is none other than your lovely—”
“I think that’s enough.” Celine shot him a glare. “We are making the rest of the guests wait.” She threw a sidelong glance at Jacques, who was simply eyeing Bastien’s unkempt hair with distaste, and got an idea.
“Why don’t you go ahead,” she told Jacques, squeezing his arm lovingly. “Tell them we will be right there. I will lend Bastien my hair pomade so he can make himself more…presentable.”
Bastien scoffed, but before he could protest, she had seized his wrist in a threatening grip and was leading him up the stairs.
Chapter 4
An Irresistible Deal
Practically shoving Bastien into her room, Celine shut the door and turned the key to lock it. He was the last person she wanted to talk to right now, and she was certain she wouldn’t come out victorious without begging him for secrecy. But she had to find a way to make him stay quiet, other than taking a needle and sewing his lips shut.
Moving away from the door, Celine smoothed down her hair.
“I am flattered, baby vamp, really,” he said, placing down a porcelain ballerina he had taken from her shelf. “But don’t you think it’s in bad taste to lock yourself in a bedroom with another man when your boyfriend is right outside? I must say, it exceeds even my…” he tilted his head upwards, pretending forgetfulness. “What is it you like to call them?”
“Depraved tastes,” Celine reminded him flatly.
“Ah, yes, my depraved tastes. Then again, forbidden romances do pique my interest. Very well,” he began to loosen his tie, “if my brother cannot satisfy you—”
