Page 167 of Saint Céline
“You also stole something intimate from a dead girl who trusted you.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. The silence that followed felt crowded. Katherine’s name sat between us even though neither of us spoke it.
Céline looked down at her hands.
“You do not know what she was to me.”
“I know she created the version of you that Bellamont accepted.”
Her breath caught. “You think I do not know that?”
I stayed quiet.
She leaned back in her chair and turned toward the window. “I regret hurting her.”
I waited.
“I regret that she knew too much about me.”
The sentence landed between us. Not the theft. Not the lie. That Katherine had seen it. Céline realized what she had admitted a second too late. Her face closed.
“Do not analyze that,” she said.
“I am trying not to.”
“No, you are not.”
“No,” I admitted. “I am not.”
She stood up, chair scraping against the floor. Miss Astoria paused to judge us both.
“I am going to my room.”
“You have not finished eating.”
“I am done.”
“You have taken five bites.”
“Then congratulations. You kept me alive for another hour.”
She turned toward the hallway.
I should have let her go. She had the lock. She could use it. That had been our agreement. But agreements felt thinner when she walked away carrying that much anger on her shoulders.
“Céline.”
She stopped but did not turn. “What?”
“If you regret hurting Katherine, why do you keep trying to survive everything that hurting her gave you?”
That was too far. I knew it the moment the words left my mouth.
Her shoulders went tight. Then she turned slowly. The look on her face sent heat straight through me.
“You do not get to ask me that.”
“I just did.”
