Page 32 of Sacrifice
Er, no.
“Well, there you are.” Lucien opened one of the ornate front doors and ushered her inside. “Then all I shall say is that we are going to a club in the ancient depths of Paris. You’re going to love it.”
He led the way into the hall. The interior decor was old-fashioned French meets modern art, a clashing juxtaposition of aged oak and David Hockney. Something odd was suspendedin a jar, seemingly pickled. Eve squinted curiously at it while Lucien stepped back out to grab their bags.
He shut the door with a glass-juddering bang. “Céleste?” he shouted out, “Céleste, es-tu là?”
There was a clip-clop of heels coming from somewhere out of sight beyond the base of the stairs, and then a woman appeared, wiping her hands on a cloth. She was around Eve’s age, maybe a year or two older, and wore a figure skimming dress of dark red.
“Lucien, mon chéri. C'est si bon de vous voir.” She slid a hand around Lucien’s waist and kissed him on the mouth. Lucien put a hand to her face and then said, “Celeste, this is Eve.”
Celeste turned her head while her body stayed aligned with Lucien’s. Her eyes ran over Eve from head to toe.
“Eve,” she said in a soft voice. It wasn’t exactly welcoming, but not entirely unfriendly either. It made Eve’s skin crawl.
“Celeste, was it?” Eve smoothed down her skirt and, when she caught the glimmer of a laugh on Celeste’s face, stood a little taller.
“That’s right,” said Celeste in a purr. She was almost as tall as Lucien and thin as a rake. Her dark hair was cut into a sharp chin-length bob and her eyes were green and cat-like. She stood over Lucien like she owned him.
“Eve is a special friend, Celeste. Let’s make her feel welcome.”
“Bien sûr,” Celeste said, and Lucien stepped away from her to pick up the bags.
“You got my message?”
“I have freshened up the master suite and the blue room for yourspecial friend. Dinner will be another half hour. You are early.” She raised an admonishing eyebrow at him and Lucien bit at his lip.
Well, this is fucking weird.
Eve shuffled from foot to foot. Who the hell was this woman?
Celeste prized Eve’s bag from Lucien’s hand and it looked like an excuse to touch him. Crazy jealousy seared in Eve’s chest.
“You must be tired,” Celeste said in a low voice. She turned away and made for the stairs, brushing against Eve as she passed. “Follow,” she said and sashayed up the stairs like a cat padding away. Her body moved with a kind of feline grace that was as irritating to Eve as she suspected it was sexy for Lucien.
Eve looked at him wide-eyed. He shook his head and waved Eve on. He was coming too.
At the top of the stairs, however, he peeled away to the left while Celeste went right.
“I’ll see you downstairs in a minute,” he said, and then disappeared through the closest door. Eve followed her bag and Celeste into a room on the other side of the staircase, which was indeed mostly blue. Celeste dropped the bag to the floor and Eve kicked off her heels. Teetering about was doing nothing for her confidence.
Celeste sat down on the bed and stretched out her long legs.
“You’ve known Lucien long?” she asked.
“Not that long, no.”
“I see.” She smoothed a hand down her body to the hem of her dress which rested mid-thigh.
“We met at the museum, the British Museum. I’m working on his exhibition.”
I’m not some dumb floosie, bitch.
“Of course you are.” Celeste arched her body and flexed her shoulders. “Are you fucking him?”
Eve choked out a laugh. “I don't think that’s any of-”
“I can give you some tips. Tell you what he likes. What do you say?” She tipped her head. “The English are so stiff.”
