A pretty pink blush spread across her cheeks at the question. She too had bathed, and she wore her own dressing robe, ruffles rising to her chin. “No.” Moving the curtain aside tentatively, she stepped forward without looking at either of us, concentrating on the ostentatious gold-and-glass serving tray in her hands. A chipped china set perched atop it. “I just . . . heard you talking. Here”—she thrust the tray toward us abruptly—“I passed a maid in the hall. She ground ginger for your stomach pains, and I—I offered to bring it to you.”

Coco cut her gaze to me, clearly waiting to follow my lead. I scowled at her. It made sense, of course, as Célie wasn’t Beau’s clinging ex-paramour, but still . . . how did one react in this situation? Célie had nowhere to go. She had no friends to speak of, and the horrors she’d endured . . . I sighed. The last time I’d spoken to her, she’d loathed my very name, accusing me of stealing Reid away from her with magic. That same night, she’d fled into my arms.

No. Realization twisted my already knotted stomach. Into Reid’s.

She’d fled into Reid’s arms, not mine. She probably still thought me a whore. She’d said as much once, right before kissing my husband at the Saint Nicolas Day ball. The knot in my stomach tangled further, and the silence lengthened as I stared at her, as she stared at anything but me.

Right. I sat forward in the tub, loathing the awkwardness between us. There was nothing for it. I’d have to ask her.

Coco sighed hard through her nose before I could speak. Flicking an impatient look in my direction, she started to say, “Thank you,” at precisely the same moment I said, “Are you still in love with Reid?”

Startled, Célie finally looked up, and the blush on her cheeks fanned to an open flame upon seeing me naked. She stumbled back a step, and the tray slipped from one hand. Though she did her best to right herself, one hand still flailed wildly, finding purchase against Reid’s—

Oh shit.

My eyes flew wide. With a small cry, she snatched her hand away from him, and the tray went flying, china shattering against the wall, the carpets, while tea sprayed in every direction. It dripped from her beautiful dressing robe as she dropped to her knees, trying and failing to fix it. “I—I’m so s-sorry. How terribly clumsy—”

Guilt reared her ugly head like a bitch, and I swung my legs over the tub, searching for something with which to cover myself. Coco threw another robe my way. I hurried to tie it as Célie continued spluttering on the sodden carpet, collecting the shards of china in vain. “I didn’t mean—oh, the maids will be so upset. And your poor stomachs—”