Page 28 of Saint Céline
Céline
Thad’s father ordered the wine before I had even taken off my coat. A bottle from their own vineyard, of course, though the sommelier already knew that before Mr. Rodriguez said a single word. The man appeared beside the table with the kind of quiet reverence people usually saved for bishops and billionaires, presenting the label like an offering he hoped would be found worthy.
Mr. Rodriguez tasted it, swirled the glass once, and gave a small nod. “Still too young,” he said, though he smiled as he said it, the way men do when they enjoy pointing out imperfections in something they own. “But it opens well enough for tonight.”
Thad nodded like he understood exactly what his father meant. I smiled the same way, tilting my head just enough to show I was following along. The restaurant sat near the harbor, all polished wood and low lighting, with wide windows that looked out on Blackwater’s unfinished grey water and blackboats and the blurred lights trembling on the glass. Outside, the rain kept falling in steady silver lines. Inside, everything felt warm and expensive, the kind of place where grief looked inappropriate unless it stayed quiet and well-dressed. So I made mine both. I wore a navy blue Gucci dress that brought out the green in my eyes, the fabric smooth against my skin, and I kept my posture straight and my voice soft.
Thad’s hand rested on my knee beneath the table, heavy and familiar, like a reminder that I belonged in this moment. His thumb moved once against the fabric of my skirt before it stilled, like he had decided he had given me enough comfort for the night. Mrs. Rodriguez watched me across the candlelight.
“You look beautiful tonight, Céline,” she said, her voice carrying that elegant severity she wore as easily as her diamond studs.
“Thank you,” I answered, lowering my eyes with the right amount of modesty.
“That’s very kind of you.”
She studied me the way she always did, gaze moving over my face, my earrings, the thin gold bracelet Thad had given me after the funeral. A quiet assessment. I passed. I always passed. Mr. Rodriguez lifted his glass.
“To Katherine Montgomery,” he said.
For a moment, the whole table stilled. Thad squeezed my knee under the cloth. I kept my voice soft.
“To Katherine.” I replied.
Everyone drank. The wine tasted like oak and dark fruit and something faintly bitter that lingered on my tongue too long. I hated red wine but put up with it for Thad.
“I spoke with Edward Montgomery again this afternoon,” Mr. Rodriguez continued, setting his glass down. “Terrible time to discuss business, obviously, but grief has a way of clarifyingwhat needs to be handled. He wants to move forward with the coastal development project before winter delays everything.”
“Dad,” Thad said, though he did not sound disapproving, only cautious, the way he got when he wanted to look thoughtful in front of his parents.
“What?” Mr. Rodriguez glanced at me. “We are all adults here.”
I gave him the gentle smile I knew he expected. “It’s all right. Mr. Montgomery has always preferred to stay busy when things are difficult.”
That was true enough. Katherine’s mother had cried into my shoulder three days ago so hard I had needed to hold her upright, but yes, the family stayed practical.
Mr. Rodriguez looked pleased by my answer. “Exactly. A practical family.”
Thad leaned closer to me.
“You okay?” His voice had softened, but his face stayed composed.
“I’m fine,” I said, touching his hand lightly. “I promise.”
That satisfied him. It usually did. Across the table Mrs. Rodriguez watched the small gesture with faint approval. Dinner moved the way dinners with wealthy families always moved, smoothly, with any real danger hidden under expensive silverware and careful conversation. Mr. Rodriguez asked about my classes. Mrs. Rodriguez asked whether I had thought about taking time away from Bellamont. Thad told them I was stronger than anyone gave me credit for, then smiled at me as though he had handed me a gift.
I smiled back because I knew how to be loved at dinner tables. I knew how to tilt my head when men spoke about business, how to laugh softly at jokes that were not funny, how to make mothers believe their sons had chosen well. I knew how to become the girl who fit beside a future someone else had alreadypaid for. Thad Rodriguez was not cruel. That made everything harder. He was handsome and predictable and occasionally kind when he needed to look good. He opened doors, sent flowers, kissed my forehead in public, and assumed all my silences meant I was simply tired.
With Thad, I could become Mrs. Rodriguez one day. Not loved deeply, maybe. Not known. But safe. Safe had once been the most beautiful word in the world to me. Now, sitting beneath the golden restaurant lights while his father spoke about permits and shoreline rights, I kept hearing Professor Moreau’s voice from the lab.
Break up with him.
I pressed my thumbnail lightly into the side of my wineglass.
No. I would not. Vincent Moreau did not get to walk into my life and steal my choices. I have no idea how much he knows about me, but I will not let him control my life over it.
“You’re quiet,” Thad murmured later, when the plates had been cleared.
“I’m listening.”
