iii.

"YOU ARE DISTINCTLY RADIANT, MADEMOISELLE," MONSIEUR Antoine Girard—a man of accomplished thirty years who owned the string of the popular Girard cafés littered all throughout Paris, as a result of his late father's success—spoke into a rather awkward silence that had descended in the east drawing room of the Bonfamille manor.

The man's tone was etched with a haste, as though he had only a set amount of time to exhibit his compliments for the lady of the house, before he was overruled—pushed out of the witness stand and reduced to sit in a pew at the back. Except, this was no courtroom, neither a church. This was Laur's passionately decorated east drawing room which she had reserved to only receive guests in.

Every furnishing had been meticulously made and pondered upon, every color chosen that resonated with Laurentine Bonfamille's own taste and her younger sister's casual acceptance—for the younger Bonfamille's interests did not exactly lie in entirely the same lane as her elder sister's.

"Utterly, mademoiselle," Monsieur Baptiste Durand let out next, eagerly seeking to capture his own ground.

"And may I compliment you on the beauty of your abode?" He continued, raising beady eyes over to examine the mint green wallpaper of the drawing room, as the beautiful crystal light fixtures on the ceiling shone warm yellow light on the gentleman's bald head.

Monsieur Baptiste Durand was a banker. He was aging now, a man of a little more than fifty, but he had dealt with aiding Laurentine when she had opened her first bank account. He had had enough wisdom on everything she had needed to know as a young girl handling newly earned money, and though she had long since acquired a different banker to aid her in the dealings of her current finance, Monsieur Durand had seemingly remained a recurring face in her periphery—as proved by calling cards sent on both special and random occasions alike. Laur felt a certain respect for him inside her still, for he was a man who hadn't taken advantage of her young form and her early money. He had helped her save it, giving her wise advice that had helped her get to where she was at present, in many ways.

"Yes, yes," Monsieur Antoine Girard agreed hastily, an irritation leaking from his manner as though the mere presence of another gentleman in the room annoyed him.

"You have exceptional taste as well as radiance, mademoiselle," The man affirmed, fixing his light eyes in hers.

Lines marked the man's thirty year old face in a way that seemed to Laur to be an attractive edge, a testament for the dedication he took in his work and success. He wasn't bald underneath his top hat like Monsieur Durand, but his hair was thinning enough to afford all those present, a generous glistening of his scalp.

Laurentine had met Monsieur Girard—the café connoisseur—at the opera house a few months ago, when after a routine performance of hers he had sought her out and complimented her with a bouquet of roses. She had thought him very attractive, a certain dominance about his manner that had struck her. Then, a few weeks later, at a charity function upheld by the opera house, wherein guests could buy a dinner with one of the opera performers at a charity auction, with the proceeds going to charity, he had bid the highest for her and had arranged for a private dinner at a rooftop of one of his own cafés.

Though Laur had been excited and had dressed beautifully for the occasion, the dinner itself had been far from memorable, and Laur hadn't agreed to anymore with him even after his consistent persistence. She remembered feeling disheartened after the conversation he had incited, though she could not at present remember the exact negative way he had talked about most things that she had shared—that mattered to her—with him. Still, she respected him for the vast donation he had made at the charity auction for just a dinner with her, and had resorted to being kind with him whenever he sought her out.

"Merci beaucoup," Laurentine spoke then, managing a smile as Berlioz stirred in her lap, reminding her of his own presence.

She was seated across from the gentlemen, her posture straight as she tried to focus all her attention onto them. After all, they had generously came to call on her on Christmas day, when surely men like them should be taking respite from their busy work courtesy of the holiday.

Berlioz's stirrings made her heart lighten slightly, and despite telling herself to stay attentive to her callers, she picked him up to her chest and pressed a kiss into his fur.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen," She managed then, smiling as she put Berlioz back onto her lap and stroked his fur.

"Berlioz hates it when my attention drifts away from him, don't you, my darling? I've been told he's already quite spoilt, aren't you, my heart?"

The kitten purred in a stubborn agreement, pressing himself against Laur's stomach. She laughed, and the sound of it twinkled like glass crystals brushing against each other gently in the silent drawing room, stirring the present gentlemen's demeanors in a way that only they could understand.

"You see, I just got him six weeks ago," Laurentine uttered, her eyes sparkling as she set them into the gazes of the gentlemen, sharing with them the latest reason of her concrete happiness, knowing how tedious she was getting uttering that fact to everybody she was coming across, except her heart was so full that she could only hope other people didn't mind.

"And I can't imagine being without him," She beamed, her eyes seeking out the third and final gentleman in the room, who hadn't—aside from a greeting—spoken anything more to her.

He was also young, thirty years old like Monsieur Girard, though unlike Monsieur Girard, he was dressed in a rather unpolished and careless way—a distinct roughness in his attire that signaled to his less well off financial bearing. A certain Monsieur Pierre Fournier, who lived a few streets down from the Bonfamille manor. Monsieur Pierre was a travelling salesman—as Laur had gathered from the hasty introduction he had made at the door to Manon, and had often stopped by the opera house whereupon Laurentine had signed two posters for him amongst the many others she had signed for the rest of her audience who had lined up outside of her dressing room that day during the charity event week at the opera house.

She didn't remember his face, or even the fact that she had ever spoken to him, yet still she had allowed Manon to bring him into the east drawing room to join the party of the two gentlemen already present. It was Christmas day, and the least she could do was offer him some sweet refreshments and send him back on his way. Also, she remembered seeing his name on one of the calling cards left at the mansion yesterday, so it was just as well that he was here calling and being treated to some Christmas refreshments.

"Do you have any pets, Monsieur Fournier?"

Laurentine tried to make conversation with him, feeling strange as to why he wasn't speaking. Perhaps being in the presence of a banker and an owner of a successful string of cafés had an adverse effect on the man's esteem. Or perhaps, she ought to be the one engaging conversation more. This was her drawing room, was it not?

"No, mademoiselle," The man responded with a sudden curtness, before clearing his throat loudly.

"I find pets too bothersome."

Laur's brows furrowed at the uncalled for observation, as she felt a disappointment spread inside her. Instinctively, she curled Berlioz up to her some more as if in protection.

"This cake is delicious, mademoiselle," Monsieur Antoine Girard let out abruptly then, his eyes seeking Laur's, as Manon walked into the room with a tray of glasses fizzing with a light pink colored drink.

"Merci," Laurentine managed a distracted smile, watching the man take another spoonful of the chocolate cake she had made.

For some reason, she suspected the man's indulgence in the cake to be conditional. For he certainly didn't look as though he was genuinely enjoying it. Instead, his terse manner of lifting the spoonful of cake to his mouth seemed to be fighting against a grimace. He looked out of place in his polished suit eating a Christmas chocolate cake. He looked as though regardless of owning a string of cafés all throughout Paris, he hadn't indulged in any of the delicacies in his life.

"I just made it," She offered fully, "I am glad it is to your taste."

"Our tastes align greatly, mademoiselle," Monsieur Girard uttered then, and Manon almost toppled a glass over, creating a loud clink as she grabbed it just in time.

Laurentine bit her lip to maintain her composure, the atmosphere in the drawing room shifting as it rendered to her discomfort. Making up her mind, she got off the sofa, holding Berlioz to her chest protectively.

All three gentlemen stood up immediately in succession.

"Please have your refreshments gentlemen," Laurentine managed, putting on her best smile. "Manon will serve you if there is anything else you need, but you must excuse me now. Berlioz is getting rather restless and I do have my sister and a friend in need of my attentions."

Monsieur Antoine Girard's face visibly fell, and Laur noticed irritation seep into his facial expression.

"Thank you for coming, gentlemen," She spoke. "Merry Christmas."

With that she turned on her heels and walked out of the east drawing room, her gown flaring around her as she nuzzled Berlioz against her neck, breathing more easily as the east drawing room of the mansion was left behind.

──── ౨ৎ ────

Christmas Day reached it's sweet end when Laurentine Bonfamille found herself in the west drawing room, the grandfather clock striking midnight with a gentle bang as the indulgence echoed softly through the silence of the mansion, punctuated by the crackling of the fire in the fireplace.

She was exhausted, and in a way she felt as though the day had escaped her so fast. There was a certain melancholy when a day passed by wherein nothing that she had clearly imagined had occurred. Her plans had been slightly thrown awry with the amount of callers she had received. Laur had planned to spend the day alongside Colette Blanc and Adelaide, yet though they had both been under the same roof as her, she'd had to excuse her self whenever Manon had come announcing the appearance of more gentlemen.

If Laurentine had counted correctly, she had received twenty guests, all in pairs of three's and four's. Her ability to make cordial conversation had been drained by the time she had said goodbye to her twelfth guest, yet still she had forced herself to give all the rest of the incoming callers the time that she could.

Most of all, neither Berlioz nor she had gotten to taste the cake she had made. At least, Adelaide and Colette had had a slice each.

"Darling," Laur mused softly, stroking her kitten's fur as the monsieur slept peacefully in her lap, his form illuminated by the firelight coming in from the hearth.

"I shall bake you another cake tomorrow," She uttered gently, her eyes on Berlioz. "And it shall be just for you, I promise."

Footsteps were heard then against the carpet as Colette walked back into the drawing room, plopping herself on the carpeted ground and pulling a quilt over to cover her form.

"Is Adelaide asleep?" Laur asked, watching Colette smile as the girl exhaled, melting into the comfortable spot she had created for herself.

"Yes," The dark haired girl answered, "She was asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. It is no wonder how tired she gets, with the way that this squirrel talks."

Laurentine laughed softly, her eyes falling to Berlioz's form in her lap, the lush carpet soft underneath her form.

"She has such ideas, Colette," Laur managed, "Such plans for herself."

"They are all so different from what I imagine for her. So different from anything I have ever heard."

"She's afraid," Colette spoke then, fixing her dark eyes onto the crackling fire.

"Of what?" Laurentine blinked in confusion.

Her friend looked back at her then, a somber look in the girl's eyes.

"Of you leaving, Laur," Colette shook her head once. "Adelaide seems to be convinced of the fact that she is going to wind up alone in this mansion. This home that you bought for yourself and her."

The blonde haired performer shut her eyes briefly, a painful discomfort raging inside the beautiful girl's heart as she fixed her glittering blue eyes back on her best friend.

"That is not true," She uttered, "I'm not going to leave her. I'm going to help her achieve all her dreams, and I'm going to be there while she reaches them."

Colette nodded, settling her gaze back into the crackling fire.

"I know, but for a girl like Adelaide, that is hard to believe when you are always bombarded with gentlemen callers whenever you are home. She pretends to be indifferent, she knows you won't just settle, but she's just afraid that one day everything will happen so quickly that it will take you away from her."

Laurentine shook her head in defiance, her heart constricting in her chest.

"Adelaide isn't—" Laur started, grappling at words, "She's strong, and resourceful, and she's not such a fearful person. She trusts me, why then would she believe that I'll leave her?"

"Little sisters," Colette frowned a playful frown. "That is your burden to bear, mon chéri."

Laurentine nodded, exhaling a sigh. "I will speak to her. She must understand that I'm always here for her. I do not have the need or the want to marry the first rich gentleman I see. I'm privileged just as I am, and neither will I let Adelaide succumb to that fate if she doesn't want to."

Colette nodded in agreement, as the girls slipped into a calm silence. Their eyes met again after a lapse had passed, and a certain inquiry passed in their gaze, from one girl's end to the other, whilst the latter exhaled a submissive sigh.

"My boutique in Marseille," Colette began then, her fingers clasping onto each other as she tangled them nervously.

"I'm going to lose it in a week."

Laurentine Bonfamille blinked. "What? Why?"

"Marseille is no longer what it used to be, Laur," Colette shook her head. "The entire area that my shop—as well as other establishments—is located on, has been bought from underneath us all. We have been given the time of a week to evacuate."

Laur couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her best friend's sole dream of escaping Paris, finding a boutique in Marseille and designing to her heart's content, was already ending so abruptly. She remembered scribbles of dresses and lavish gowns being exchanged on pieces of torn paper in a hidden attic room in an orphanage, the ink stained and bruised fingers of one twelve year old girl handing it to the shaking and equally bruised hands of another twelve year old girl, as though a secret more valuable than gold and all the riches in the world was being exchanged.

Laurentine had to stifle the urge to look at her hands, because for a second she suspected those old bruises to have returned.

"Marseille has been plunged into the endeavors of real estate," Colette continued. "There are wealthy men, a handful of business tycoons trying to buy the entire city. After buying the lands, they keep whatever small businesses they think worthy, letting those people enter into a new contract with stricter terms with them, all the rest of the small businesses need to go. Elsewhere, they just clean the entire land they have bought, starting construction for new buildings to take over the space. It's all just a nightmare."

Laur exhaled, her heart thudding in her chest. "I can't imagine.."

"Coming back to Paris was such a shock this time around, Laur," Colette swallowed. "Because Paris was just how I left it. It feels as though nothing that is happening in Marseille has effected Paris yet. But Marseille has only so much lands and businesses to offer, if those wealthy business tycoons set their sights on Paris next, who knows what will happen."

Laurentine thought of the Roses Bleues opera house. She had been working at the place since she had turned nineteen. The opera house had been the first one to offer her a performance contract, where the previous opera houses she had worked at had only had her working backstage. The Roses Bleues opera house was the most successful opera house in France, causing most others in Paris to shut down in the previous years.

If what Colette talked about was to occur in Paris, the opera house was safe, for it was no small business.

"I guess I'm just disappointed but not surprised," Colette spoke then. "I am too.. flighty. I never stuck to one boutique endeavor long enough to solidify myself. You know how I kept restarting things and relocating to most spots in Marseille."

"I just lost my chance to make a footing," The dark haired girl let out a sad laugh. "The day before I left for Paris I saw posters of the Roses Bleues pasted on almost every wall, your name amongst all the other famous opera singers that were performing on Christmas eve for the special. Living here in Paris, you truly don't realize the stir that your opera house causes outside of Paris in every city in France. Most of the people travelling alongside me to Paris were only coming for the Christmas special. All families excited to see this opera singer perform, or that one."

"Almost three of the passengers in my coach were excited to see you on stage," Colette smiled, her eyes in Laur's. "And I realized too late that they are talking about my best friend. I lost my chance to brag, essentially."

"Darling," Laurentine frowned gently, leaning forwards carefully—so as to not disturb the sleeping kitten in her lap—to put her hand on Colette's.

"It will all be alright," She uttered, "You'll see. I will help you in whatever plan you have next, you know that."

"I know," Colette put her other hand on top of Laur's. "But it's just that you did not need to rely on anybody else. You captured all the fame that you have, for yourself. Your name is recognizable even without the name of the opera house, Laur. You will laugh if you hear about just the amount of aspiring composers in that one conservatory class I attended in Marseille, that are writing pieces with the intention of getting you to perform them on stage someday."

Laurentine giggled, "Truly?"

"Truly," Colette scoffed cheekily, "Boys as young as fourteen! And the professors in that conservatory school just let their young aspiring composers run with whatever motivation that they have. It's no wonder I didn't go back to taking those classes. They did not take kindly to a spontaneous female student too, but that is another story."

"My point is," Colette spoke before Laur could say anything else. "You are safe. You have solid ground underneath your feet. None of those business tycoons can do anything to deter you. You have your fame and name to always carry you, whereas I am thrown against the wall with real estate decisions and the land my boutique was on being bought from underneath my feet."

"You didn't even leave Paris, Laur. After everything that happened to us in that orphanage. We were being suffocated viciously. It felt as though the walls were pressing us in. I dreamt of escaping Paris but you dreamt only of escaping the building. You took your chance in a city that never helped us or even looked in our direction for even a moment, while I harbored grudges and hatred against Paris itself and escaped it the first chance I got."

"You see?" Colette asked then, "Your patience paid off so well, and I'm back where I started, with no solid ground under my feet."

"Colette, please," Laurentine pressed, her heart hurting.

"I am here, I will help you. Stay in Paris for a while, see if you can bear to make a living here, because I promise you Paris isn't all that bad," Laur caressed Colette's hand with her thumb. "I can help you here. You can start a boutique here. I have managed to acquire connections that will be beneficial for you if you just let me."

"I thought—," Colette started, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"You thought what?"

"I supposed I could take you to Marseille," Colette tightened her hold on Laur's hand. "Maybe over there you could help me—"

"Colette," Laur shook her head, "I cannot help you in Marseille. I have only been there once with you. Regardless of my fame, I cannot use it like that over there. I know nobody there. I can help you in Paris if you only let me."

Colette didn't say anything, settling her gaze into the crackling fire. After a pause, she gently cleared her throat.

"What if I start in Paris and the same fate as Marseille awaits me?"

Laurentine shook her head, fixing her blue eyes into her best friend's. The fire of twelve whole years of friendship burned fiercely in her heart. From twelve year old girls abused and broken in an orphanage, they were here together at twenty four years old in Laur's Parisian mansion. Time was an illusion, and it certainly viciously favored those that it wanted to.

"I promise you," Laur spoke softly, "I will always be here for you, no matter what happens."