Page 91 of Saint Céline
“You’re very dramatic.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“And if Professor Moreau is involved in this somehow—”
“He isn’t,” I lied.
Sophia stared at me in quiet disbelief.
Then she said, very quietly, “You’re getting worse at that.”
I looked away first.
Before leaving, I changed into a black and white knit Chanel dress and brushed my hair until it looked soft instead of storm-tangled. I applied concealer under my eyes and lipstick just dark enough to make my face look intentional. If I were going to end one of the most useful relationships of my life, I could at least look like someone who had chosen it freely.
Miss Astoria sat on my bed watching the process with grave disapproval.
“You cannot come,” I told her.
She blinked slowly.
“You would only make things worse.”
Another blink.
“And Thad is allergic.”
She sneezed.
I loved her to death.
* * *
At Thad’s building, the doorman recognized me immediately and let me up without calling first. That small luxury hurt in a way I did not expect. Access. Ease. Belonging by association. The things I had worked so hard to collect, all of them slippingthrough my fingers because Vincent Moreau had decided to mess with my life.
Thad opened the apartment door barefoot, wearing dark trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. For one stupid second, I thought about how beautiful he was. Not in a way that moved me. Just objectively. A man built for engagement photos and vineyard dinners and the kind of life where children wore linen in summer and learned early that money could soften every hard edge.
“Hey,” he said, smiling. “You look amazing.”
I stepped inside.
The apartment smelled like lemongrass, rain, and the expensive candle I had bought him after he complained that his place felt too much like a hotel. The living room looked exactly as it had that night. Leather sofa. Marina lights beyond the windows. Bar cart. The armchair near the glass.
My stomach clenched at the sight of it all.
Thad followed my gaze. “You okay?”
I forced myself to look away from the chair. “Yeah, I am.”
He touched my waist lightly as he closed the door.
I stepped out of reach.
The movement was small but he noticed anyway.
His smile faded a little. “Céline?”
