A silver burst of light illuminated his face.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Célestine rose onto her toes and kissed him.
It was impulsive.
Brief.
Entirely unlike her.
When she pulled back, Alaric looked surprised.
Célestine’s eyes widened.
“Oh.”
He smiled faintly.
“Oh?”
“I probably shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know anything about you.”
“You know my name.”
“And that you own expensive jackets.”
“An excellent foundation.”
She laughed, embarrassed.
Alaric gently touched her hand.
“Célestine.”
She looked up.
“Yes?”
“May I kiss you properly?”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
And beneath the last fireworks of the evening, he did.
The next morning, Alaric woke with a message from Célestine.
I’m sorry. Something’s happened at home. I have to leave early.
He called.
No answer.
He went to the apartment address she’d mentioned.
The receptionist told him she’d checked out before sunrise.
Alaric stood in the lobby holding his phone.
He tried calling again.
Nothing.
For three weeks, he thought about her.
Not constantly.
He still attended meetings, negotiated contracts, and returned to Paris.
But occasionally, in the middle of some ordinary moment, he remembered her laughing at the harbour.
Or the way she’d looked at him just before kissing him.
He knew almost nothing about her.
Only her first name, a few details about her family, and her unusual knowledge of historic architecture.
It was ridiculous.
He knew that.
It didn’t stop him from wondering.
Célestine returned to Paris to find that her mother needed another procedure.
The hospital bills were manageable only if she found steady work.
Bastien helped where he could.
He brought groceries, drove Odette to appointments, and occasionally watched Célestine stare at her laptop with the expression of someone trying to persuade a door to open by force of will.
One afternoon, her phone rang.
An unfamiliar number.
“Madame Vauclair?”
“Speaking.”
“This is the recruitment office at Maison Vesper. We’d like to invite you to a final interview.”
Célestine sat upright.
“Really?”
“Yes. Your museum experience is particularly interesting to the hiring panel.”
She closed her eyes.
For the first time in weeks, she felt something close to relief.
Then the woman continued.
“We’ll also be discussing your experience as a parent, of course.”
Célestine’s relief vanished.
“Of course,” she repeated.
After the call, she looked at Léonie’s name on her application.
She could still withdraw.
She knew that.
Instead, she put on her best navy suit the following Monday and went to the interview.
Maison Vesper’s headquarters occupied a restored mansion on Avenue Foch in Paris.
Tall windows overlooked a tree-lined courtyard.
The reception area smelled faintly of polished wood and expensive flowers.
Célestine had never felt so aware of her shoes.
An assistant led her into a conference room.
“Please take a seat. The director will be with you shortly.”
Célestine arranged her portfolio on the table.
She rehearsed her answers.
She reminded herself to smile.
The door opened.
A man entered carrying a folder.
“Good morning, Madame Vauclair.”
Célestine looked up.
Her heart stopped.
Alaric.
For a moment, he simply stared at her.
Then his gaze moved to the name on the application.
A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched his mouth.
“Well,” he said.
Célestine gripped the edge of her chair.
“Good morning.”
He closed the door.
“Have we met?”
