Jezebel (4 page)

Chapter 4

Celeste

Paris 1984

Celeste found it impossible to calm her racing heart. Gabriel had driven her to her dorm and asked for her number before wrapping her up in his strong arms and kissing her goodnight. She was giddy with anticipation, but also felt a slight hesitation in her joy. Could she truly be so lucky to meet someone so intriguing, so handsome and so intelligent who might also feel so lucky to meet her?

She dropped onto her bed and thought about the
way
he had kissed her.
Twice.
Some of the greatest things in life were moments you collected with your eyes closed, like dreaming or kissing. Celeste had always preferred collecting moments over things, and Gabriel was another moment added to her mental arsenal. The moment had been worth cherishing, tucking aside for a rainy day long in the future to pull her out of a mood.

Mara rolled and grunted something inaudible from her bed. Celeste quietly laughed at her friend.
Would he call?
she wondered. He was nothing like what her parents had described. She noted that she hadn’t felt a pull this strong toward a man since she met Matteo. She was besotted. Questions burned in her mind. Her heart raced and her blush persisted as she tried to get comfortable in her bed.

Gabriel Fontaine had worked her into a hormonal frenzy.

~
***
~

You have to eat,” Mara pushed giving her a pointed look.

“What if he calls?”

“Exactly.” Mara said.

“Huh?” She raised her eyebrows confused.

“So what if he does, Cece? You can’t sit here all day because he kissed you.”

“Twice,” she clarified with a smile.

“My God, I’ve never seen you this . . . worked up.” Celeste bit her lip to stifle the grin on her face.

“It would be really, extra lame to sit here wouldn’t it?” Celeste finally gave in. She knew it was foolish to sit by the phone waiting for a man to call, but the anticipation made it hard to risk missing hearing his voice.

“It would. It would also be very un-Celeste-like.” She thought about Mara’s statement. She was absolutely correct. She stood before slipping her feet into flats.

“You’re right. Breakfast.”

“Crepes or croissants this morning?” Mara asked, looping an arm through hers.

“Crepes. Always crepes.”

“Let’s stop and grab Matteo too,” Mara suggested.

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving him out.”

At four o’clock, Celeste had nearly tricked herself into forgetting that Gabriel may call her. Brunch had been delicious and packed with witty banter from her two favorite people. She was thick-in-the-thrall of her studying when the phone rang. She jumped, clutched her chest and tried to calm her breathing. Mara, unaffected by the intrusive noise, picked up the phone.

“Bonjour,” she giggled. Mara only answered the phone in French when she was trying to be funny. Celeste shook her head in amusement. “Hmm, I’m not sure, let me check.” Mara grinned at Celeste.

Celeste shot her a look that begged to know who her friend was talking to.

“Aw, yes. Celeste
is
here, but she’s studying, because she gave up hope that the handsome prince from last night would actually call.”

She jumped from her desk chair and snatched the phone from Mara’s hand. “Hello?” she answered breathless.

“Cheri, your friend thinks she’s witty.” Gabriel’s deep baritone vibrated through the receiver and straight to her core.

“True. She does. Sometimes she even
is.
” She laughed, but glared at her friend.

“Did I really keep you waiting?” he asked. Celeste drew in a breath, not wanting to answer. “Je suis tellement désolé, cheri,”
I’m so sorry, darling.
She puddled on the floor at his words.

“I was plenty busy today,” she finally spat out.

“I’m sure. Listen, I’d like to take you out, tomorrow.” Bold. Straight to the point. Celeste appreciated those qualities.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“Is there someone else I should arrange it with? Please don’t tell me Mara is your keeper. I think that one would torture me for fun.” He chuckled.

Celeste let out a laugh before answering. “I might like to see that, actually.”

“S’il vous plaît, pas de,”
Please, no,
he groaned.

“What did you have in mind? Sundays I try to get home for dinner with my parents.”

“I will pick you up at eight tomorrow morning, then. We’ll be outside mostly, so dress for that.”

“And my parents’ dinner?” she hedged.

“Tell them you can’t make it. We’ll be late.”

Celeste twisted the phone cord around a finger. “That’s bold. What makes you think I won’t tire of you by dinner time?”

“Mon instinct.”
My gut.
He seemed to have an answer for everything.

“
Are you always this demanding?” she asked playfully.

“When I want something,” he answered. Celeste’s breath hitched.
“And you want . . .” she flirted.

“Don’t fish for compliments. It’s beneath you, Cheri,” he answered in a curt tone.

Celeste pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it as if it had just slapped her. Her heart sank into her stomach at his rudeness. Mara raised her brows in silent question. She let out a groan, hoping to indicate her irritation.

“Celeste,” he called. She put the receiver back to her ear. “I’m sorry. That sounded harsh. Please, tomorrow, let me show you what I want. How much I want it.”

She thought about his request, swallowing the knot in her throat. “Please,” he repeated.

“Alright,” she answered, brow furrowed, feeling hesitant.

“I promise, you’ll have the
best
time.”

“Right. Well . . .” her voice faded.

“Au revoir,” he said.

Celeste mimicked his goodbye and hung up the phone, feeling perplexed.

“What in the . . . what was all that about?” Mara asked. “You looked like the phone sank its fangs into you!”

“I don’t know. He asked me out. I thought I was just flirting, but he snapped at me. It was weird.”

“So don’t go,” Mara said with a shrug.

“He apologized. It just seemed . . .
odd.
I’m sure I’m making more of it then necessary.”

“You? The sensitive one?” Mara giggled with sarcasm.

Celeste picked a pillow up from her bed and chucked it at Mara’s head. She
was
sensitive. It was one of the things that people said they loved about her. She wondered briefly, as a pillow shot through the air at her face, if Gabriel would be one of those people.

“What the hell is going on here?” Matteo laughed as he stepped into their room. Mara and Celeste looked between each other and burst into a fit of laughter. Both of them lifted their pillows and chucked them at Matteo.

“Celeste was just asked out by Gabriel.” Mara drew out his name for emphasis.

Matteo picked up the pillows and carried them to Celeste’s bed. “Fiore mio, do tell.” He sat, pillows clutched to his chest on the edge of her mattress.

“There’s nothing to tell. He called and asked to take me out tomorrow.” She bit her lip as her imagination took off.

“She’s blowing her parents’ dinner off,” Mara interjected.

“Skipping family dinner?
Tsk, tsk.
” Matteo shook his head at her and cracked his knuckles. He grabbed a cigarette and lit it, letting it dangle between his lips. Mara fanned the air in front of her and scowled at him. Celeste moved to the bed and sat next to Matteo. He swung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She looked up into his dark eyes and smiled, happy to see him. He pulled her tighter to his side and kissed her hair as she melted comfortably into his side.

“I hope you have fun,” Matteo stated simply.

Celeste nodded and snuggled into the crook of his arm more. Mara jumped onto the bed, plucked the cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it out in the lid of a mason jar on the bedside table.

“Are we going to chat about this all night or can we put on Hill Street Blues?” Mara asked, smirking.

“HSB!” Matteo and Celeste shouted in unison.

The morning came much too quickly in Celeste’s opinion. She tip-toed around the room, gathering her shower things. She didn’t want wake Mara. Butterflies stormed around her stomach. She was excited and nervous for her day-long date with Gabriel.

She took her time getting ready. She carefully applied just the right amount of make-up, not so much to come across as
easy,
but not too little to seem prudish either. She wanted to look just right. She twisted her long brown hair loosely into a French twist, leaving little wisps down framing her face. She paired her jeans with an ultra-soft T-shirt that hung off one shoulder. At eight, she took one more long, hard look in the mirror, adjusted her shirt just so and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear before grabbing her coat and heading down stairs.

Gabriel Fontaine was leaning against a light pole, looking tall, muscular, and strong. She approached slowly, letting herself drink in his features. His hair was tied back in a low ponytail, his jacket open, exposing the tautness of his T-shirt, the firm physique hidden beneath. Long, jean-clad legs led to sensible sneakers. She wondered where he was taking her. Truly, it didn’t matter; just being near him made her stomach drop and her heart flutter frantically.

His arms opened wide when she stopped before of him. He pulled her into a warm embrace, and she wanted to be lost in the smell and sight and feel of him forever. His cologne lingered in her nose as she pressed her face into his chest. His touch was warm and electric. She felt his lips touch her hair before she pulled away. She liked that.

A smile tugged at her lips. “Hello, Gabriel,” she said.

“Celeste . . .” He drew her name out. “How are you?”

“I’m . . .” she started. “I’m good. Excited for what you have planned.” Her smile was large and genuine.

“As am I. On y va ?”
Ready?
he asked.

A spring wind whipped around them. Strands of hair blew across her face, sticking to her lips. He reached out and swept the hair aside with the lightest touch of his finger, tucking it behind her ear. Celeste was dazzled by the small but not insignificant gesture. His fingers trailed down, from behind her ear, tracing her exposed neck, collarbone and shoulder before running softly down her jacketed arm until their hands met. He laced their fingers together and smiled at her. She felt a stirring in her stomach; a nervous riot of butterflies taking flight. She mentally gained composure before speaking.

“So, where are you taking me?” she finally asked.

“I thought we could explore Buttes Chaumont today. Have a picnic and star gaze later.” His voice was satin—crimson satin—a dark, deep seductive sound. Celeste shuddered at the tingle traveling through her body.

“That sounds perfect, but I’ll never make it through the day without coffee first.”

“That can be arranged. Let’s stop up the street, have breakfast and get you your much needed caffeine before we head over.” He squeezed her hand briefly, causing a smile to bloom on her face.

The morning was nothing short of a quintessential late spring morning. Sun filtered through the clouds, coating everything in a pale pink. The clouds looked like brushstrokes flicked downward on a canvas.

As they walked, hand-in-hand, she wanted to take a needle and thread to the moment and somehow stitch it inside her forever. Gabriel led her inside the small café that she frequented often and pulled her chair out for her.

“Such a gentleman.” She laughed.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll grab it.”

“Mmm, I will have a cheese Danish and a coffee, please . . . milk only.” Gabriel nodded and set off to get their orders. Returning with their fare, he sat.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said.

“What exactly would you like to know?”

“Everything.”

Celeste laughed at his quick and precise answer. He was so . . . cocky, and assured. It set her on edge a bit, but also piqued her interest in him. Surely he wasn’t like this all the time?

Smiling and working hard to swallow her laughter, “Hmm,” she hummed as she tapped a finger against her temple.

“Okay, okay. How about, where are you from? What was your childhood like?” he asked.

Celeste frowned at his questions. As a young girl she was always sick, or at least, that’s what she could recall. From the age of five until she turned ten, she was in and out of hospitals. Test, after test, after test. Nothing was ever confirmed to be wrong. Everything within her appeared to be in proper, working order. Still, the headaches, stomachaches, and bouts of nausea persisted. Her parents had held her hand through it all. Her mother’s warm hugs had eased her fears and comforted her. Her father’s happy, crinkled-at-the-edges eyes had assured her that everything would be all right. And it mostly was. Homeschooled through the fifth grade, Celeste had been nervous her first day of middle school.