Page 28 of Spearcrest Prince

“It’s not a request, Anaïs.”

She sighs. “Then why ask?”

“I was trying to be polite.”

“Polite enough to ask, but not to respect my answer.” She shakes her head. “Typical old money behaviour.”

“Ah, of course, I forgot I’m speaking to the revolutionary Anaïs, the billionaire pauper.”

“I’m not a billionaire,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “My parents are.”

I laugh in triumph. “Hah! Only rich kids say that!”

She sighs and links her fingers together in front of her in a prim gesture. “Okay. I’ll go with you in your car. What else?”

No comeback. I beam. “Nothing, really. That was all.”

“So can I go back to my lunch now?”

“Yes.” I wave a hand at her. “I allow it.”

She turns around and walks away without another word. I call after her. “And don’t wear something stupid!”

She stops for a second. Then she turns, raising both middle fingers at me, and leaves.

“I, for one,” Zachary says, nodding solemnly, “rather like the future Madame Montcroix.”

Chapter 11

Le Trésor

Anaïs

Séverinwaitsformein the student parking area of Spearcrest, leaning against his car with an air of elegant boredom. It’s too early for the sun to have started rising, but the car park is lit by two old lamp posts. In that dim lamplight, Séverin is wearing ripped black jeans, an elegant black jumper and his usual array of gold jewellery.

I falter in my steps. Although he did give me clear instructions to “not wear something stupid”, his opinion wasn’t at the forefront of my mind when I dressed this morning. Instead, I was inspired by the fact we would be driving for over eight hours.

With that knowledge in mind, I opted to wear my comfiest clothes: loose cotton trousers, my oldest trainers, and one of Noël’s old gym T-shirts that’s gone soft with time and use. On top of that, I’ve got a big blue sweatshirt with big sleeves for tucking my hands in and a white baseball cap.

When he sees me, Séverin raises a dubious eyebrow.

“Are those pyjamas, and do you still need to get changed?”

I sigh. “I’m sorry, I left my ballgown and diamond shoes in my room. Didn’t realise I was going to be travelling with French James Bond.”

“James Bond drives an Aston Martin. This is a Porsche.”

Drawing closer, I peer at the sleek black car with its tinted windows and shining rims. “It looks like the kind of car rich dads buy when they are having a mid-life crisis and decide to leave their wives for young social media models.”

“And yetyou’rehere, Anaïs.” He smirks. “Remind me to ask for a refund.”

Séverin takes my bags from me and places them into the small boot at the front of his car. It’s impeccably clean, a stark contrast to the state Noël’s car used to be in. Although to be fair to Noël, he used to drive all over—I can’t imagine that Séverin, the boarding school princeling, must have many opportunities to use his ridiculous car.

After he puts my stuff away, Séverin walks to the passenger side and opens the door. I tilt my head.

“What a gentleman.”

He rolls his eyes. “Just say thank you.”

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