Page 66 of Spearcrest Prince

It doesn’t matter that she isn’t my type, that I didn’t choose her. I still want her. And more than that, I’m starting to fear that I might like her. More than like her. But love is a poison, a poison I’ve tasted before.

And I’m wiser now, smarter. I can recognise the warning signs. The way I think about Anaïs even when she’s not around, the way I want her—all the time. How I feel when I’m around her, simultaneously on edge and relaxed, annoyed and amused, frustrated and satisfied.

Love is poison, and Anaïs is handing me the cup.

I can’t take it. I refuse to take it.

“I’m not fixated on anything,” I say finally. “I was just making conversation. Don’t look too much into it.”

The shadow of a smile appears on her lips. Whether it’s feigned or genuine, whether it’s amused or bittersweet, I can’t tell. I can never tell with Anaïs. Does she think of our kisses, of what could have been? Does she think about me at all when I’m not around? Does she struggle to sleep at night? Does she touch herself, thinking of my mouth?

“Don’t worry,” she replies. “I won’t. You know why?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll waste no time telling me.”

“Because if I wanted to kiss you, Séverin Montcroix, I wouldn’t need to be stupid drunk to gather the courage to ask. And if I wanted to sleep with you, I wouldn’t make you earn it—I’d just do it. And if I liked you, I wouldn’t run away from it and play games. No matter how scary it might feel, I’d face my fears, and I’d like you, no matter what.”

Chapter 24

La Pratique

Anaïs

Despitetheawkwardnesswespend the rest of the journey in, Séverin is a perfect gentleman when we get out of the limo. He offers me his arm and leads me into the restaurant, walking me to our table by the arch of a great window. Outside, an extravagant garden glows with the light of hundreds of lanterns and candles.

The Montcroixes definitely were the ones who selected this restaurant.

It exudes luxury, from the entrance of gleaming glass to the white upholstery. The ceiling drips with teardrops of crystal that refract the golden lights into a thousand shifting fragments. Shimmering piano music ripples through the air, mingling with the murmur of conversation and the discreet tinkling of cutlery.

Once we’ve ordered, Séverin props his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his linked fingers.

“This is very romantic,” he says, looking around us with a grimace. “Do you think our parents are hoping we’ll fall in love?”

My mind flashes back to my parents, the glacial distance between them. I shake my head.

“No. They probably just think they could eventually sell our engagement off as a love match. I’m sure they think it would play well in the tabloids. They would get to take credit for bringing us together. But whether we adored each other or hated each other every day of our lives, I don’t think it would ultimately matter to them.”

His eyes search my face, though I’m not sure what he’s looking for. He looks thoughtfully away, his eyes reflecting the glitter of the garden lights. “I don’t know. I think my parents might care a little. You don’t think your parents want you to be happy?”

I shrug. “I think they expect me to be like them.”

“In what sense?”

“In the sense that their marriage is for business and not pleasure. They both accept it. They might not like each other, but they still make it work because they have to, because it’s the…” I gesture vaguely. “Financially smart thing to do, I suppose.”

“Oh.” His gaze returns to my face. “Your parents don’t get on?”

I let out a low laugh. “That’s one way of putting it. But then, they didn’t get married with that in mind.”

He grimaces. “That’s bleak.”

“Are you telling me your parents actually like each other?” I ask, more to tease him than anything else.

But to my surprise, he doesn’t respond with a dry or angry comment. He answers with complete sincerity. “Yeah. They might be assholes, but they love each other.”

I stare at him. How unexpectedly sweet. Looks like Séverin Montcroix, for all his blustering and insults and womanising, is a romantic at heart.

“I think that’s why they’re doing all this,” he continues, gesturing at us, at the restaurant, the magnificent view of the garden. “I think they would feel better if they believed we were in love.”

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