Page 59 of Spearcrest Prince

I can’t help but smile at him—a real smile. “Sounds like a very fancy affair. I’d take you up on your offer, but I have to stay. I’ve made plans.”

He steps closer still. I can smell him, cigarettes and that warm, woody perfume of his. “Who with?”

“Nobody who’s going to chase me through trees and steal kisses from me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“As if I would ever worry about that,” he says, but it sounds like a lie, and his eyes drop to my mouth like he can’t even help it. “You don’t need someone else to do that anyway, not when I’m doing such a fine job of it already.”

“True.” I chuckle and wave my hand. “No, I’m going to be working on a portrait of Kayana Kilburn.”

“Oh.” He frowns but doesn’t step away. “You’re hanging out with Kay?”

“Is that too weird?”

“Why would it be weird?”

I raise my eyebrows. “You know why.”

We stare at each other in silence. He sighs.

“My relationship with Kay is long dead,” he says. “I’ve moved on, as has she. Anyway”—he catches my chin on his fingers—“I spend too much time worrying about your irritating little ass to worry about the past. You better stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

“Nothing to worry about,” I tell him, but I don’t pull away. “I’ll be resting, doing homework and painting. Not exactly high-octane stuff.”

“Fine.” His fingers trickle down my chin, caressing my neck with a featherlight touch. He rests his hand on my throat. “You’d better paint my portrait when I get back, though.”

“I’ve already painted you.”

“But that’s notmypainting.” He pouts. “And I didn’t get to sit for it.”

“You just want a reason to force me to stare at you for ages.”

He grins. “You already do that, it’s totally embarrassing. Anyway, I want a portrait to hang in Château Montcroix.”

“Fine.” I smile up at him. “I’m not working for free, though.”

“I’ll think of a way to reward you,” he says with a suggestive smirk. “I can think of many ways to reward you.”

His phone rings, startling us both. We jump apart like we’ve been caught in a scandalous embrace. He grabs his phone from his pocket and glances at the screen. “Fuck. I have to go.”

His cheeks are flushed—as flushed as mine feel.

“Well, see you soon,” I say, making my retreat up the library stairs.

“Wait.” He chases me and catches me by my hand, stopping me at the top of the stairs. Leaning down, he presses a light kiss to my cheek. “Joyeux Noël, trésor.”

I turn my head and return the cheek kiss. “Joyeux Noël.”

Chapter 22

Le Crapaud

Anaïs

Betweenhomework,courseworkandpainting Kay’s portrait, the holiday flies by in a flash. I spend Christmas day with Kay, who dances around the sixth form girls’ common room with her completed portrait like she’s in love with it.

Later, Noël calls me for a bit, and I’m eventually forced to hang up on him when he tries to sing Christmas carols at me. In the background, Kay cackles at his singing. We spend the rest of the evening cuddled up on the couch, watching movies.

The holidays end as swiftly as they begin. Classes resume, and with them, a fresh wave of assignments, deadlines and exams.

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