Page 99 of Spearcrest Prince

He just looks more anguished than ever.

“I came here to apologise to you,” he tells me.

“And I’ve forgiven you.”

“Alright,” he says.

He waits. We’re only a few steps from each other, but the space between us stretches, wide enough to engulf planets, stars, galaxies.

“I thought you’d be angry at me,” he says finally.

“Well, I’m not.”

“Then why don’t I feel better?” His voice breaks.

“Because forgiveness isn’t redemption, Sev.”

“I don’t know how I can even begin to redeem myself, but I’ll do everything I can, I…” He sighs and gazes deep into my eyes. His voice comes out in an anguished murmur. “I’d do anything for you, Anaïs.”

My chest tightens, and the feeling of lightness suddenly evaporates.

“Even if it’s something you don’t want to do?” I ask him, throat tight.

“Like what?”

“Like letting me go.”

He steps towards me. “Anaïs. Trésor, I…”

He opens his mouth, and a loud buzzing sound emerges from his blazer pocket, startling us both.

“Fuck!” he exclaims, his voice rough. He pulls the phone from his pocket. “Ah,putain, shit—I have to go, Anaïs, my parents are here for the meeting with—Shit, I’m late, as well. I’m sorry, Anaïs, I’m so sorry. But I’ll—I’ll be back!”

He runs to the door, wrenches it open, stops.

Then, with his habitual impulsiveness, he runs back to me. He grabs my head in both hands and kisses me full on the mouth. He releases me and runs out, leaving nothing but silence and confusion and my madly beating heart in his wake.

Chapter 35

La Confession

Séverin

WhenIreachthelittle atrium outside Mr Ambrose’s office, my parents look incandescent with barely repressed fury.

My father, Conte Sylvain de Montcroix, is wearing an impeccable suit, his silver hair slicked back. At his side, my mother, Princesse Laila Nassiri, is dressed head to toe in Alexander McQueen. They’re both wearing black like they’re going to a funeral.

My funeral.

“Button up your shirt and fix your blazer,” my father says as soon as I stop in front of them.

I do what he says, speaking as I try to catch my breath. “Sorry, I didn’t keep track of the time. There was something I had to do.”

“A man’s reputation is only as good as his manners,” my father says sternly, raking his eyes over me. “When was the last time you got a haircut?”

I push my hair back and throw him a look. “Ça va,ça va.Arrête, Papa.”

My mother takes my hand and squeezes it. “Je suis contente de te voir, mais très déçue aussi.”

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