Page 67 of Saint Céline
“Holy shit, Céline.”
Sophia’s voice was softer, almost careful. “He… he did that while Thad was in the bed with you?”
I nodded again, unable to look at either of them. Miss Astoria purred louder, pressing her face against my stomach as if she could shield me from their stares.
Sophia exhaled slowly. “That’s… that’s not okay. That’s dangerous. He broke into your boyfriend’s apartment and—” She stopped, searching for words. “Céline, you have to see how wrong that is.”
“I know,” I whispered. “I know it’s wrong. I know I should have screamed or called the police or done anything except lie there and let it happen. But I didn’t. Because part of me… part of me wanted it.”
Anya leaned back in the chair, rubbing a hand over her face. The dramatic energy had completely drained out of her. She looked genuinely shaken. “Jesus. So he just… ate you out while your boyfriend slept next to you, and you came?”
I nodded, cheeks burning. The explicitness of it hung between us now, raw and undeniable. “He was so good at it. Like he knew exactly how to touch me. Thad has never once made me feel anything close to that. I’ve been faking it with him for months. Years, maybe. But with Vincent… I didn’t have to fake anything. I came so hard I couldn’t even make a sound.”
Sophia’s hand tightened on my knee again. The only sound was Miss Astoria’s steady purring and the rain against the glass. Then Sophia let out a long, slow breath.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “That’s a lot.”
Anya stared at the floor for a second, then looked up with a strange, almost dazed expression. “I mean… on one hand, that is genuinely terrifying. On the other hand…” She trailed off, then shook her head. “No. Never mind.”
Sophia glanced at her. “What?”
Anya hesitated, then shrugged. “I’d rather see her have sizzling chemistry with a hot, slightly unhinged professor than keep wasting her time with boring Trust Fund Thad who can’t even make her come.”
Sophia’s eyes widened. “Anya.”
“What? It’s true.” Anya gestured toward me. “Look at her. She’s glowing just talking about it. She’s been miserable with Thad for ages. He treats her like a trophy he can network with. But this professor… he sees her. He actually sees her. And apparently, he knows how to make her come as if her life depends on it.”
I stared at them both, stunned.
Sophia was quiet for a moment. Then she let out a soft, reluctant laugh. “God. I hate that you’re right.” She turned to me, her expression softening into something gentler. “Céline, I’m still worried. This is dangerous. But if you’re attracted to him… If there’s real chemistry there… then maybe it’s better than pretending with Thad. You deserve to feel something real. Even if it’s complicated. Even if it’s messy.”
Anya nodded firmly. “Exactly. Life’s too short to fake orgasms with a guy whose biggest personality trait is ‘my dad owns a vineyard.’ If Professor Moreau makes you feel alive, even if he’s a little insane… we’re not going to shame you for it. We’re your friends. We’d rather see you have passionate, terrifyingchemistry with someone who actually sees you than watch you slowly disappear into a safe, boring future with Thad.”
I looked down at Miss Astoria, who had curled back into a perfect white circle in my lap, purring contentedly. The relief that washed through me was so sudden and strong it almost brought tears to my eyes. I hadn’t realized how much I had been carrying the weight of that secret alone.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Sophia squeezed my knee once more. “Just promise you’ll be careful. And that you’ll tell us if it gets worse.”
“I will.”
Anya grinned, the dramatic energy creeping back into her voice. “And if he breaks into your room next, we want details. Preferably the filthy ones.”
I laughed despite myself, the sound shaky but real. Miss Astoria lifted her head and meowed once, as if agreeing with the plan.
17
Vincent
The preferential treatment I showed Céline had become impossible for the others to ignore. It did not bother me in the slightest. If anything, I found a quiet satisfaction in watching the slow realization spread across the lab like ink bleeding through paper. The students had grown accustomed to a certain order in my seminars, one where competence was rewarded quietly and publicly only when it served the greater point. But with her, the rules had shifted, and they felt it in every small adjustment I made.
The afternoon seminar unfolded in the usual way at first. Julian Price answered a question incorrectly for the third time that week, his voice trailing off as he realized his mistake too late. He sat three seats away from Céline, who kept her eyes fixed on her notes with the strained composure of someone trying very hard not to correct him.
“Not quite,” I said, allowing Julian to sit with the error long enough for it to sting but not long enough for it to drown him.
His face fell anyway. Céline’s fingers tightened around her pen.
I leaned back against the seminar table and looked directly at her. “Miss Martin, you seem to have an opinion.”
