Page 90 of Saint Céline
Silence filled the room.
“Wait, what? Finally!” Anya exclaimed.
Sophia stood suspiciously. “Why?”
I kept my eyes on Miss Astoria because it was easier than looking at either of them. The cat rubbed against my knee, tail high, completely unaware that I had just announced the collapse of one of the safest structures in my life.
“It’s time.”
“That is not an answer,” Sophia said.
“It’s the only one I have, Sophia.”
Anya looked between us, her expression losing its usual theatrical brightness.
“Did Professor Moreau say something?”
My hand stilled in Miss Astoria’s fur.
“Did he?” Sophia’s voice sharpened.
I stood quickly. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“That sounds like yes.”
“It sounds like I’m tired, okay?”
I looked at them. Both of them stood in the soft light of our apartment, worried and beautiful and too good at loving me in ways that made lying feel like dragging a knife through expensive silk. For one terrible second, I almost told them everything. The proposal. Katherine’s handwriting. Vincent’s threat. The fact that my life at Bellamont could disappear if a single file found its way to Dean Waverly’s desk.
But I saw the consequences too clearly. Even if they could get past the betrayal of my lies, Sophia would want a strategy. Anya would want blood. Both of them would want to protect me, and protection had a way of turning people into collateral damage.
So I smiled faintly.
“I should have done it weeks ago. You both said he and I had no chemistry.”
“Not like this.” Anya’s face twisted.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I wanted you to dump him because you were bored, not because you look like someone is holding a gun to your head.”
I laughed, but it came out wrong.
Sophia stepped closer. “Let us come with you.”
“No.”
“Céline.”
“No,” I said, firmer this time. “I need to do this myself.”
Miss Astoria meowed sharply at my feet, as if disagreeing on principle.
Anya looked down at her. “Even the cat thinks this is a bad idea.”
“The cat thinks everything is a bad idea unless it involves wet food.”
Sophia did not smile. I wished she would. Instead, she touched my arm lightly. “Text us when you get there. Text us when you leave. If you don’t, we’ll come find you.”
