Page 29 of The Season
Antoine’s eyes widen in surprise at my approach, but he swings his legs off the seat cushions so I can take a seat next to him on the worn three-seater.
“Thanks,” I say, then sigh when I sink into the soft cushions. It is actually much more comfortable than the wooden chair I was sitting in before. “So where are you from?” I ask. I’m usually not too bad at placing French accents, but I haven’t heard him speak enough to attempt to place his, and I don’t want to embarrass myself by getting it wrong.
“Paris,” he says, with the slightest lift of his chin. “But I did mybacin Switzerland.”
“International school?” I guess, raising my eyebrows.
“Yes,” he says, his eyes dropping to my mouth when I take another bite of cheese-coated macaroni. “What gave it away?”
I shrug. “Your English is perfect.” He wrinkles his nose in silent protest, but I continue. “Besides, that’s what most of the boarding schools in Switzerland are, right?”
At least, that’s what I’ve heard from the kids I studied French with—the ones lucky enough to have parents who could pay for them to go on exchange.
“Ouais,” he acknowledges reluctantly, and there’s the hint of a wry smile with that one word. “So… you’ve worked out what I like to read, and what sort of education I’ve had. What other secrets are you going to uncover about me, Lily?”
The way he says my name is full of unspoken accusation. My eyes drop to his book, still half-hidden by his hands, then back up to his piercing green eyes, and I feel my cheeks heat. He’s still smirking, but there’s a vulnerability in his expression that has all my defenses softening.
“I’m sorry…” I start, though I’m not entirely sure what I’m apologizing for.
“Can I sit here?”
I look up to see Seth smiling down at us, motioning to the space on my other side, his bowl tucked against his chest.
I give him a tight smile as I move over, even though it feels incredibly awkward to be sliding closer to Antoine. But it’s not like there’s anywhere else to sit in the living room, besides the floor, and there is technically room for three here.
The couch dips as Seth sinks in beside me. At my other side, Antoine stiffens, his thigh moving away from my own as if the merest brush of my sweatpants burns him.
“I meant to mention, I speak some French too,” Seth says lightly, directing his statement at Antoine before taking a bite of food, oblivious to the silent tension.
“Oh.” Antoine’s response is strained, barely audible.
Seth clears his throat, then adds: “Well, Canadian French. If you count that.”
Antoine gives a derisive snort. “Of course that counts.C’est… c’est génial.” He gives Seth a tight smile, his dark fingers splaying protectively over the title of his paperback.
My stomach flips, and I drop my gaze to the bowl of half-eaten food on my lap. I shouldn’t have teased Antoine about his book, shouldn’t have drawn attention to it. Shouldn’t have assumed that no one else spoke French.
“It’s all good, mec,” Seth murmurs in impeccable French, his accent staccatoed with the gentle lilt of Quebequois.“I don’t think anyone will judge you for that here. And if they do, I’ve got your back, yah?”
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about…”Antoine replies tersely, the Parisian French sharp as glass, his tone brittle.
“Look,”Seth waves his empty spoon in the air for emphasis.“I’m not demanding any confidences. You don’t have to tell me anything. I know what this industry is like, what the mountain can be like.”
Seth’s smile falls, brown eyes going steely as his jaw tenses. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen him look so… serious.“If anyone gives you shit here in this house, you talk to me. You let me know. I don’t care if we’re all basically strangers to each other, you should feel safe here.”Seth turns to me, and his expression softens slightly.“Same goes for you.”
I give him a tentative smile, the movement painful with my split lip. Antoine remains silent at my other side, and I don’t dare look at him.
After a long silence, Seth’s usual friendly smile slips back into place.“I’m ace, by the way. Ace and panromantic.”The proclamation sounds so light, so carefree, but the French words are relatively unfamiliar to me, so it takes me a moment to register what he’s saying.“It’s not a secret or anything,”Seth adds with a shrug.“I just don’t tell most people because it doesn’t really come up in conversation, you know.”
Something in me relaxes at his words, though I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe because I’ve spent the past year—since I broke up with Steve, at least—wondering about my own sexuality. Wondering why I couldn’t feel that spark of attraction that everyone else seems to feel so easily.
At my other side, Antoine lets out a slow breath, his body relaxing beside my own.
“Ace,” I repeat, the word barely a whisper.
The sound of wood scraping against linoleum has my head snapping up, and I blink in surprise to see Matty standing up in the kitchen. I’d forgotten he was there, finishing Liam’s steak at the table, hidden by the growing wall of beer cans lining the island separating the kitchen from the living room.
“I’m going to bed,” Matty announces, his face red. Pale eyes flit between me, Antoine, and Seth. His expression tightens. “Gonna get some rest before training tomorrow…” He gives me a small smile, then adds in a soft, almost wistful voice: “Have fun practicing your French, Lil.”
