Page 121 of Spearcrest Prince

L’Exhibition

Séverin

WatchingtheexpressiononAnaïs’s face when she turns around to see her brother is like an explosion of warmth in my chest. Her eyes go wide, then they fill with tears—tears of joy.

She throws her arms around his neck, and they embrace. When they stand next to each other, they don’t even look like siblings—they look like twins.

Noël stands out, just like his sister. For one, he’s the only man in the gallery not to be in a tuxedo. Instead, he’s in loose trousers and a soft jumper in a bright-green colour. Like his sister, he seems to favour bright colours. Like his sister, he seems authentically, unapologetically himself.

I want to go to them, to soak in the sunshine of Anaïs’s joy, but my parents are standing by my display, gesturing me over. Reluctantly, I turn away from Anaïs and go the opposite way to my parents.

My father shakes my hand, dignified as usual, but my mother’s eyes are wet and shiny.

“Mais comme il était beau, ton discours!” she says in a teary voice. “Et tes yeux—les lignes bleues—j’adore!”

They turn to look at my display. Their expressions of surprised admiration would be insulting if they weren’t so genuinely sweet. I suppose I can’t resent their surprise, anyway. They’ve never seen much of my photography before.

I’m sure this isn’t the first time I’ve surprised them this evening—or this year.

“What you were saying is actually true,” my father says thoughtfully, casting me a glance. “Youarea liar.”

That, I didn’t expect. Not when my display is essentially an ode to the girl I love.

“How so?” I ask, glaring at him.

“You gave us the impression the Nishihara girl wasn’t to your taste.” Heat flushes into my cheeks, but I can’t even deny it. “Mais elle est très belle. Beaucoup trop belle pour toi.”

I laugh. “Eh ben merci!”

He shrugs. My mother flaps her hand at him. “Stop!” She grabs my arm and stares excitedly around. “Can we finally meet her? The Aletheia girl?”

“Let me go find her.” I leave my parents standing by my display and almost bump into two people, a man and a woman. Both are in their late fifties and holding on to flutes of champagne. The woman wears bright purple and gold, and the man has long white hair that makes him look like an elegant wizard.

I apologise for almost bumping into them, but the man stops me with a hand on my shoulder.

“No need to be sorry!” He speaks with a heavy New York accent. “We wished to congratulate you on your speech, Mr Montcroix. We were both very moved by your introspection and sincerity.”

“Ah—thank you. It was…” I hesitate, then tell the truth. “It was a frightening prospect, but once I started, the truth was much easier to admit than I’d imagined.”

The woman laughs. “Yes—lies can be very comforting, but the truth has an addictive quality to it.”

“Yes, I think you might be right. If you’ll excuse me, I must now find my artist of truth—please, enjoy the exhibition.”

They give me warm smiles, and I hurry away, eager to find Anaïs before my parents do.

To my surprise, she’s not standing by her display—though a small group of people are observing it with admiration on their faces.

Instead, I find her in a corner of the gallery, near the drinks table, laughing with her brother.

Once I draw closer, it’s crazy how accurately Anaïs’s drawings captured Noël’s likeness. The pretty eyes—which of course, have the same shape as Anaïs’s own eyes—the enigmatic smile that seems to both reveal and conceal emotions, the graceful features of someone who seems not quite from this world.

He’s the first to look up when I approach, and the enigmatic smile broadens on his face.

“Ah—le Roi Soleil!”

Anaïs laughs and pushes his shoulder. “Stop.”

“It’s rare to meet someone who looks even better in real life than in pictures,” Noël says, raising an amused eyebrow at me.

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