Page 62 of Saint Céline
“Good morning,” Sophia said, yawning.
“How long have you both been standing there?” I asked, stepping aside so Miss Astoria could charge into the living room like a tiny white general claiming new territory.
“Long enough to hear the emotional abuse,” Anya replied, crouching down immediately as the cat rubbed against her ankles with surprising enthusiasm.
Miss Astoria inspected Anya’s offered hand, then decided the kitchen counter looked more interesting and leapt onto it with graceful precision. Sophia’s eyes widened in quiet delight.
“Oh, she’s elegant.”
“She licks trash bags at three in the morning,” I said tiredly, following the cat into the kitchen while rubbing sleep from my eyes.
“That’s still more graceful than most men at Bellamont,” Sophia answered, pouring a third mug of coffee without asking if I wanted one.
Anya pointed dramatically at the cat. “Miss Astoria, would you die for me?”
The cat walked directly past her toward the bowl of wet food I had set down.
“I’ve been rejected by an animal named after inherited wealth,” Anya announced solemnly.
Miss Astoria chose that exact moment to leap directly onto my shoulder instead. I caught her automatically, her small body warm and surprisingly heavy against my neck.
“Jesus Christ.” I muttered.
Sophia burst out laughing, the sound light and genuine for the first time in days.
“She climbed you.”
“She always does that when she wants attention,” I muttered while carefully prying white fur away from my face.
Anya leaned against the counter beside me, watching the cat settle more firmly on my shoulder. “You know,” she said carefully, “this apartment feels less sad now.”
The honesty of it startled all of us slightly. Sophia looked toward the living room windows where rain streaked softly down the glass, and the ocean beyond Bellamont disappeared beneath fog. “I think we needed something alive in here to ward off the bad energy.”
Miss Astoria purred loudly against my ear, the vibration travelling straight through me. I scratched beneath her chin the way she liked and felt something dangerous loosen inside my chest.
My phone buzzed against the counter.
Thad.
I stared at the screen for one second too long. Sophia noticed immediately, her gaze sharpening with that gentle concern she could never quite hide. “So,” she said carefully, pouring cream into my coffee, “are we pretending the boyfriend situation is normal again?”
I looked away from the phone. “It is normal.”
Anya made a skeptical sound from the other side of the counter.
“You haven’t seen him in almost a week.”
“I saw him three days ago.”
“You stared at the ocean for twenty minutes afterwards like a war widow,” Sophia replied calmly, sliding the mug toward me.
“I’m not that dramatic.”
“You’resodramatic,” Sophia said. “We’re frequent observers.”
Miss Astoria chose that exact moment to sneeze loudly into the silence. None of us moved. The sound was so sudden that it cut straight through the quiet kitchen like a tiny explosion of white fur and accusation. Then Anya slowly set down her own coffee cup, her pale eyes narrowing with dramatic suspicion as she looked between me and the cat still perched on my shoulder.
“Céline.”
