Page 21 of Spearcrest Prince

The teachers are talking, and I don’t hear them. Anaïs clearly hasn’t realised I’m in the room, and I want so badly for her to notice that I have to resist the urge to throw my whole backpack at her just to get her attention. Part of me wants to sneak up on her, glance at the pages of her sketchbook, see what she’s drawing with such intent focus.

Another part of me remembers the sensation of her body under my hands and the flowery, sea-salt smell of her hair against my mouth and wants to feel those things again.

Those are the parts of me I ignore, the parts that were placed too far from my brain to deserve any say in my actions.

Weston reads out our pairs, which have been chosen for us by the teachers. That wasn’t cute back when they did it in the lower school, but now that we’re all old enough to drink, vote and fuck, it’s just insulting.

I hold my breath until my name gets read out.

“Mr Montcroix and Miss Wilkins.”

I let out a breath of relief but don’t move until Weston reads out Anaïs’s name.

“Miss Nishihara and Mr Pembroke.”

Parker fucking Pembroke. Parker is the son of some insignificant British baronet. He has more confidence than he should, but he’s never been on my radar before. I didn’t even realise he was in my photography class.

I turn to see him stroll across the room in the direction of Anaïs’s desk. She still hasn’t looked up, which gives him the perfect opportunity to sweep her with an appraising look. Anaïs isn’t much to look at, but Parker is looking anyway. Exactly why he’s looking, I would love to know.

Parker pulls up a stool right next to Anaïs and sits down. He leans over her arm to look at her sketchbook, and she looks up.

She looks…

Well, she looks exactly the same way she did in the club, minus the glitter and the outfit. The austere Spearcrest uniform sits a little awkwardly on her gangly frame, and the combination of her white shirt collar, black tie and plain shoulder-length hair makes her look younger than she is. She smiles up at Parker and gives him her hand.

He laughs and takes it. They shake hands. My eyes narrow, and my fingers curl into fists. Why is it taking so long for them to shake hands, and why are Parker’s fingers lingering on hers? They’re partners for a stupid school assignment, they’re not getting married.

I don’t even realise I’m still standing near the door until Weston comes to stand right in front of me, blocking my field of vision.

“Everything alright, Mr Montcroix? Miss Wilkins is over there.”

Biting back a tart retort, I make my way over to Miss Wilkins. She wears flower clips in her long blonde hair, her ribbon curls bouncing daintily with every movement. Her lips are glossy and pink, a dusting of silver framing her big doe eyes.

“Hi, I’m Sev.”

I offer her my best smile when I introduce myself to her, but still make sure to position my body in a way that allows me the perfect vantage of Anaïs and that smarmy idiot, Parker.

Miss Wilkins doesn’t seem to notice.

“Hi,” she says breathlessly. “I’m Melody.”

“It’s a beautiful name,” I tell her, my eyes flicking up to Parker, who’s showing Anaïs something on the screen of his camera. It’s still hanging from his neck by its strap, forcing them to stand close together. Why not just take the strap off?

“Thank you. I’m actually named after my grandmother, but she’s still alive—she used to be a dancer for the Royal Ballet—so everyone calls me Mellie.”

“Mm.” I glance from Parker and Anaïs back to Melody—Mellie’s—face, her sparkling eyes. I smile tightly. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mellie.”

She beams and plays with the purple tassel dangling from her sketchbook. The cover of it is plastered with flower stickers and painted vines. If I let her, Mellie could be the perfect distraction. She is exactly my type and clearly interested.

“You see that girl over there?” I point to Anaïs with a gesture I hope projects airy nonchalance. “Do you know her?”

Mellie glances over her shoulder. “Not really. She just started at Spearcrest—she’s a transfer student.”

“Right.”

Mellie hesitates. “Her name is Anaïs.”

“Yeah, I know.” My eyes narrow as Anaïs settles on her stool with her sketchbook on her lap, saying something to Parker that makes them both laugh. “Is she generally a… friendly person?”

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