I nodded right along with her.

Coco barely moved her lips as she mumbled, “I’m not lying about anything.”

Beau snorted at that.

Though sympathetic to Coco’s plight—truly—I reached over to squeeze her shoulder. “Whatever it takes, right?”

She scowled at me.

I smothered a grin. I wasn’t enjoying this. I wasn’t.

Pushing my hand aside with a muttered curse, she stepped forward. Stopped. Closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. When she opened them again, stony resolve had hardened in their depths. She nodded once to Beau, who looked strangely reluctant. He didn’t shrink from her gaze, however. Didn’t ease the tension with a joke. He simply stared at her, unmoving. “Just do it,” she said. “Hurry up.”

He grimaced at the words but took a small step forward, lowering his voice. “If I remember correctly, Cosette, you don’t like it hurried.” Another step. Coco’s fingers still trembled. She fisted them in her skirt. “Not with me.”

“I don’t like anything with you.”

One side of his mouth quirked as he looked down at her, but my own humor faded at his expression. I didn’t want to see the emotions in his eyes. I didn’t want to see the tenderness. The ache. Even so, his reluctance shone just as clear. He didn’t want to kiss her. Not here. Not now. Not like this. “Liar,” he whispered.

Then he lowered his lips to hers.

A heartbeat passed as they stood there, bodies rigid and separate. Lips barely touching. Two heartbeats. Three. With a sigh of resignation, Beau moved to pull away, but Coco—

I rolled my eyes.

She wouldn’t let him. Her hands crept up his neck, into his hair, holding him there. No. Bringing him closer. Deepening the kiss. When her lips parted on a sigh, he didn’t hesitate, his arm snaking out around the small of her back and hauling her flush against him. But it wasn’t close enough. Not for Coco. She pressed harder, clutched him tighter, until he chuckled and walked her backward. When her back hit the nearest shelf, he lifted her atop it, spread her knees to push between them. Slow and measured. Unhurried. Until she bit his lip. Something seemed to snap in him then.

Beside me, Célie watched their hands grow frantic—their breaths louder—with round, startled eyes. Her cheeks flamed scarlet. “Oh my,” she said.

I averted my gaze. “This has been a long time coming.”

“Or not coming,” Madame Sauvage said, arching a wry brow.

I cringed at the innuendo. “How old are you?”

“Young enough, boy. I’m young enough.”

Right. With that imagery in my head, I cleared my throat. Beau had just slid a hand up Coco’s calf, hooking it around her knee to pull her closer. His fingers caressed her skin there. I repeated the sound, louder this time, and grinned despite myself. “Hello! Yes, pardon!” My grin deepened when he pulled back abruptly, as if surfacing from deep water. Blinking slow. Breathing heavy. “As it seems to have escaped your notice, there are other people here.”

He still didn’t acknowledge us, however. He stared at Coco instead. She stared at him. Neither spoke for several seconds. At last, with infinite gentleness, he brushed his lips against her forehead and stepped away, tugging her skirt back into place. “We’ll finish this later.”

Her awareness seemed to return then. Her sense. She leapt from the shelf hastily, knocking aside a bin of glass eyes. They scattered across the floor of the cart. When she tripped on one, pinwheeling into Nicholina, Beau caught her arm. She tried to tug it away. “Don’t touch me. I’m fine.” She slipped on another eye, kicking it viciously in response. “I said I’m fine.”

His face fell at her outburst, and he scowled, releasing her. “Say it one more time.” When she stumbled away, nearly upsetting another basket, he shook his head. “Maybe I’ll believe you.”

She watched him stalk from the cart with overbright eyes, her arms wrapped tight around her middle. Her shoulders hunched. As if their kiss had inflicted a physical wound. I looked away quickly when her gaze caught mine. “Don’t say a word,” she snapped, storming past me into the street. She didn’t follow Beau.

“Ah, l’amour.” Madame Sauvage stared after them with a wistful expression. “I told you the truth would out.” When she clapped her hands together once more, turning the full force of her gaze onto me, I recoiled. “Now. It is your turn, young man. Hold out your hand, please.”

“I would . . . rather not,” I said dubiously.

“Nonsense. You want your pearl, don’t you?”

I glanced after Beau and Coco. “That depends.”

But it didn’t, not really, and we both knew it. Swallowing hard, I extended a hand toward her. To my surprise, she withdrew a small pouch from her sleeve and upended its contents in my palm. Célie inched closer, tilting her head. “Seeds?” she asked in confusion.

And so they were.

Madame Sauvage closed my fingers around them with a pleasant smile. “Just so. Your task is simple, dear boy: plant them.”

I frowned down at the mundane things. “Plant them?”

Madame Sauvage turned to bustle around her cart, returning items to their proper places. “What else does one do with seeds?”

“I—” Shaking my head, I stuffed them back in their pouch. “What are they?” Stupid question. I tried again. “Where—where do you want me to plant them? When?”

“Those decisions are up to you.”

When I cast Célie an incredulous glance, she shrugged, gesturing first to the pearls, then to the street. I swept the black gems into the pouch with the seeds. Madame Sauvage didn’t stop me, instead plucking a live mouse from her sleeve and dropping it into the snake’s reservoir. She cooed at the snake as it uncoiled. Like a mother with her babe. Célie gestured to the street again. Wilder this time. Emphatic.

But it didn’t feel right to just leave. And Nicholina—she still stood silent and rooted. Clearly Madame Sauvage wasn’t a simple peddler. “Why are you here, Madame Sauvage? How did you—how did you find us?”

The woman looked up as if surprised to find us still standing there. “Why are you here, young man? You’ve collected your pearls. Now be on your way.”

She waved her hand once more, and Nicholina gasped. Stumbled. Next second, she lunged at Madame Sauvage with a snarl, but I pulled my wrist sharply, forcing her to a halt. The hood slipped from her face, and she glared between the two of us in silent fury.

“It doesn’t feel very nice, does it? To lose bodily autonomy?” Madame Sauvage shooed us from the cart without further ceremony. “A lesson well remembered, Nicola. Now, go. You all have rather more pressing matters of which to attend, don’t you?”

Célie clutched my arm when I didn’t move, pulling me down the steps.

Yes. Yes, we should go, but—

My gaze caught on a glass display of pastries near the snake. They definitely hadn’t been there before. Torn between trepidation and interest, between fear and inexplicable ease, I nodded to them. “How . . . how much for the sticky bun?”

“Ah.” Madame Sauvage brightened abruptly, plucking the pastry from its case and wrapping it in brown paper. She followed us down the steps before extending it to me. “For you? Free of charge.”