Page 105 of Spearcrest Prince

“You did? What is it?”

“Tai mo hitori wa umakarazu. It means that even sea bream tastes less delicious when you eat it alone.”

I laugh out loud this time, warm and truthful. “What does that have to do with anything? Sea bream? I can’t even remember the last time I had sea bream. They don’t serve Japanese food here at Spearcrest.”

“You know it’s not about the sea bream. It’s about who you eat the sea bream with. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I’ll be eating the sea bream with you.”

“But it might taste more delicious if you eat sea bream with theRoi Soleil,” Noël says in a tone of wisdom and affability.

“Don’t try to sound like you’ve just come up with something profound,” I say, shaking my head. “You’ve made me more confused than I was when you first called.”

“Liar,” he says. “I’m going to bed now,petite menteuse.On se parle bientôt?”

“Oui.”

“Alright, then.A très bientôt, mon étoile.”

“Two months.”

“Two months.” There’s a smile in his voice. “Two months and who knows… you and I might be eating sea bream with theRoi Soleilin Japan.”

“You can dream.”

“I never stop dreaming. You shouldn’t either. Bye-bye,petite étoile.Je t’aime.”

“Moi aussi.”

We hang up, and I drop my phone into the nest of bunched-up blankets. I grab my sketchbook from the floor, where it’s lying in a pile with my pencil boxes and tangled-up earphones.

I spend the rest of the morning doodling fish and boys with sun-shaped crowns.

Chapter 37

La Sanction

Séverin

ThefirstthingIdo when I return to Spearcrest is hand out the letters of apology my father made me write at his desk.

“When you act disgracefully, your actions don’t just disgrace you,” he explained with a stern frown, standing at his office window with his hands folded behind his back. “They disgrace the Montcroix name. A legacy that precedes your existence by hundreds of years, a legacy that shall continue hundreds of years after you die.”

It was quite dramatic, but if there’s one thing my parents have always shown great capacity for, it’s drama.

So I sat at my father’s desk and penned letter after letter, by hand, with drafts and re-drafts, until they showed the perfect mixture of dignity and contrition. Finally, I wrote them on paper bearing the Montcroix family crest: a shield with a black helmet on a field of white fleur-de-lis.

He made me write one for Mr Ambrose, one for Mr Weston, one for Miss Imez and the Arts Department, and one for Anaïs. I return to Spearcrest with all of them in envelopes in my bag. But only Mr Ambrose, Mr Weston and Miss Imez receive their letters.

On my last night at home, my mother and father summoned me to the small lounge where they spend their rare free time.

Mother was in a robe of green silk, and Father in slacks and a white shirt, the top two buttons undone. At first, I thought I was going to receive a final lecture about my conduct and the importance of holding myself to the highest standards. But that wasn’t the case.

My father opened the discussion with his customary directness, handing me a glass of whisky and sitting down with one for himself.

“We’ve given some thought to your request to break the engagement with Anaïs Nishihara.”

I couldn’t even help widening my eyes. It was the last thing I’d expected him to say.

---