Page 63 of Spearcrest Prince

Le Poison

Séverin

Ialmostlaughoutloud when Anaïs emerges from the girls’ building.

She’s wearing a purple dress and yellow socks and those stupid goddamn shoes she always wears. Enormous silver stars cover her arms and throat, and there are suns drawn on her eyelids.

She looks like a rainbow explosion, and I want to drink in the sight of her.

I give her my arm.

“Looking splendid tonight, wifey.”

“Don’t call me that.” She turns and sweeps her eyes pointedly up and down my body. “You could have made an effort.”

“I’m sorry I don’t look like a literal clown.”

She gives an airy shrug but still takes my arm. “Clowns make people happy.”

“Clowns make people scared. Depressed and scared.”

She leans into me to murmur in my ear. “Is that why you’re dressed like you’re going to your own funeral?”

“It’s going to beyourfuneral if you keep trying to insult my fashion sense.”

“What fashion sense?” she says.

I open the limousine door and help her in.

“This is going to be a long fucking night,” I say to no one in particular.

But even as I say it, I’m struggling to keep the grin off my face.

Insidethelimousine,thepolished upholstery and low light make for a cosy, intimate atmosphere. Possibly too cosy and intimate, especially when the tension that’s been building between Anaïs and me since that first meeting at the club.

If we’d been smart, we would have fucked right then, just to get it out of the way.

If I’d been smart, I would have fucked her that night at the club, against the door in the coat room. And I would have fucked her on the forest floor instead of biting her, and I would have fucked her in my room when she was still wet and shivering from her orgasm.

If I had, then maybe I wouldn’t feel the way I do now. Constantly on edge, constantly frustrated, the thought of her reigning like a tyrant over my mind. Even during the holidays, when I was away from her, I found myself thinking about her all the time, talking about her non-stop.

Even my parents have noticed the mess she’s made of me. I’m pretty certain that’s the reason they talked the Nishiharas into setting this little evening up.

I pour us both glasses of champagne but make a silent promise to myself to avoid drinking too much tonight. Even though I made some grand promises to order the most expensive bottles at the restaurant, I also have to learn from my mistakes at some point.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that being drunk around Anaïs can only end in disaster.

Sweet, wet, hot disaster.

“What have I done now?” Anaïs says suddenly.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been glaring at me ever since we got in the limo. Are you that angry with my outfit? It’s the ochre socks, isn’t it?”

She sticks one leg up, pointing her foot at the ceiling. I laugh and push her leg down.

“No, trésor. I don’t care about your yellow socks.”

---