Page 2 of Saint Céline
For a second, I was ten again, standing outside the Montgomery house with two trash bags of clothes, listening to her apologize to the housekeeper for taking up space. The memory slipped away fast.
She reached up and touched my cheek. “You’ve done enough today, Selena.”
The name sounded strange after hearing Céline all morning. Before I could answer, Thad walked up. His expensive coat stayed dry under a big umbrella, and he gave me a quick hug that smelled like his cologne and rain. His hand rubbed my back once, twice, then dropped away.
“Hey, babe. You holding up?” he asked. His eyes already scanned the crowd, landing on Mr. Montgomery and the donors clustered around him.
“I’m managing,” I said.
He nodded like that was the right answer. “Good. The Montgomerys are grateful. I just talked to Mr. Montgomery about that development project his firm’s pushing. He remembered my dad from the club. Said he’d take my call next week.” Thad’s voice stayed low, but his chest puffed a little. He glanced back at me. “You did good with all this setup. Really pulled it together.” He kissed my forehead, brief and dry. “I’ll be over there if you need me. Don’t wear yourself out.”
He squeezed my shoulder once more and walked off toward the group of donors. I watched him go. Part of me wanted him to stay, to wrap both arms around me and just stand there without talking about connections or calls. But that wasn’t Thad. He offered what he could—those short bursts of support—and then moved on to the next useful conversation. The emptiness in my chest grew a little wider. I pushed it down and turned back to my mother.
Before I could say anything more, one of the Bellamont University staff hurried over.
“Céline, the florist needs to know where to put the big arrangements after the service.”
“I’ll handle it,” I said.
The woman gave me a grateful nod and left. My mother frowned a little.
“Céline ?” she asked.
I met her eyes. “It’s just a nickname from school. You know how it is with the rich kids. Everything sounds fancier.”
She gave a small, reluctant laugh. The tension between us eased. I hated how smoothly I could do that—say the right thing, make people relax, become whatever shape they needed.Another gust of wind came off the ocean, carrying the sharp smell of salt and wet earth. Down below the cliffs, the waves slammed against the rocks. Katherine used to stand there for hours in the winter, coat flapping, just watching the water.
I stared at the grey line where the sea met the sky a moment too long.
“You hide under your grief beautifully, Céline .”
The voice was quiet, right beside me.
Warm. Smooth. I knew it before I turned.
Professor Vincent Moreau stood under his own black umbrella. Rain darkened the shoulders of his coat. His dark hair had fallen across his forehead again, the way it always did when the wind picked up. He never had to raise his voice or step into the light. People just noticed him. Students relaxed around him. Parents trusted him. Even here, in the middle of a funeral, he looked like he belonged.
His eyes stayed on my face. Not soft with pity. Just watching.
Something twisted low in my stomach.
“I’m not hiding anything,” I said.
We stood there while rain fell between us. I felt the cold seeping through my shoes and the way my pulse beat too hard in my throat. He knew. I could feel it in the way he looked at me, like he saw straight through the steady voice and the careful smiles. But he didn’t push. Not yet.
Vincent smiled then. Small. Polite. The kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Of course not,” he said. “I’ll see you around…Selena.”
I froze as I watched him walk away. The rain kept falling, steady and cold, and I stood there with the words echoing in my head. The way he said my name—both names—made my skin prickle under the wet coat. I pulled my shoulders back, forced my face into the right shape again, and went back to the guests who had come for me, not for her.
2
Selena (Past)
The first thing I noticed about the Montgomery estate was how quiet it was.
It wasn’t the uneasy quiet that came after my father finally passed out on the couch back in Portland. This quiet felt different. Thick and calm. Like the big house swallowed every sound before it could reach the high ceilings.
