Trembling, Celine forced a smile, blinked, and blessed whoever had invented waterproof mascara. “No, I wasn’t ... I wasn’t thinking about him.”
Jackie put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. “Oh, sweetie, don’t try to be brave. Go ahead and cry. When I think of the way that schmuck demanded his ring back while you were still in the hospital, for God’s sake—”
“Darling, darling, are you all right?”
Celine winced as her mother appeared from behind her in a cloud of Chanel No. 19. Francine Fontaine started patting Celine’s cheeks as if her daughter had fainted.
“Y-y-yes, M-M-Mother,” Celine managed between pats.
“It’s Lee,” Jackie supplied. “She can’t stop thinking about him.”
“Oh, my poor darling, darling girl.” Francine stopped patting, came around the settee, and sat down. Snatching up Celine’s hand, she squeezed it in both of hers. “Don’t waste one more tear on that horrid man. He wasn’t worthy of you!”
If Celine’s stomach hadn’t been churning with anxiety, she might have laughed. A little more than a year ago, her mother had used that same tone to insist that she accept Leland Dawber III’s marriage proposal. Her entire family had agreed he was perfect for her: a no-nonsense, take-charge type who would give her the direction she needed. Lee had a villa in Rome, a chalet in Switzerland, a successful chain of hotels, and an answer for everything.
And she had always wanted a husband and children. Much more than she wanted a career, though she could hardly admit such an old-fashioned idea to her family of Nobel Prize nominees, business moguls, and assorted overachievers.
Lee had swept her off her feet so completely, she had started to believe she was in love with him, that he might finally be the one. Especially when he had surprised her by slipping an engagement ring on her finger, that night last December, after they had run through Chicago’s Lincoln Park like a couple of kids and made angels in the snow.
But that evening hadn’t ended the way either one of them had expected.
Leland Dawber’s abrupt departure from her life a few weeks later had come as a surprise to everyone. Especially to her. She had really believed he cared for her—until he abandoned her when she needed him most.
“It’s ... it’s not Lee,” Celine said, trying to catch her breath and calm down.
“Then what is it?” Jackie prodded.
“It’s ... I’m ... “ Celine barely managed to stop herself before it all came tumbling out.
Everything her doctors had told her before she left the States.
Unexpected complication, Ms. Fontaine ... one more surgery ... important that we don’t delay. They had couched it all in their best bedside manner, but she had gotten the point: the surgery would be risky, but if she didn’t have it, she would die.
The bullet fragment embedded deep in her back, the one they had thought best to leave in place, the one so tiny she couldn’t feel it, was shifting, slowly. Dangerously close to a major artery. Before long, it would kill her. Perhaps not this month or next month, they said, but within a year. Surgery was her only hope.
She was scheduled to enter the hospital in two weeks.
“I’m ... I’m tired,” Celine said quietly, glancing from her sister to her mother. “That’s all. Just tired. Still having a bit of jet lag, I guess.”
She couldn’t tell them. Not tonight. Her family had just recovered from the unpleasantness she had brought into their lives last year. She could at least let them enjoy their holidays. Another day or two would be soon enough to break the news.
“Oh, darling, darling, are you sure that’s all it is?”
“Yes, Mother. I think I’ll call it a night and go up to bed. Give my apologies to Uncle Edouard and Aunt Patrice, will you?” Celine kissed the air on either side of her mother’s cheeks before turning to Jacqueline. “And kiss little Nicholas good night for me?”
“Of course. But are you sure you don’t want to stay even a few minutes longer? At least until the eclipse begins?”
“No, I’ll let you scientific types tell me all about it tomorrow. I’m not into eclipses—I’m a finer artist, remember?”
“Fiber artist,” Jackie corrected softly, hugging her. “I’ll make sure Harry gets some pictures for you. You get some rest.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “And if I run into a great guy with dark hair and brown eyes and a movie-star smile, I’m sending him up.”
“Absolutely.” Celine flashed what she hoped would pass for a tired-but-happy smile before she all but bolted from the settee. “Good night, Mother. Good night, Jackie.”