Page 10 of With You

Although he doesn’t talk much, I quite admire that about him. He seems to speak only when it’s completely necessary, and I hope Grayson can pick up some tips from him. I mentioned to the group yesterday that I was having an early practice, and Layth offered to make me a cup of tea for when I’d finished. I take a sip of the warm liquid, then nod at him in silent thanks.

“What are you reading?” I lean over to tip up the book in his hands to see the cover. I raise an eyebrow at the somewhat scandalous image of a shirtless man clinging to a woman. “A romance book? My, my, are we doing research?”

“Zena likes this book.”

He keeps his sentences short, and ninety-nine percent of the time, her name is part of it. I don’t pretend to understand their relationship, and neither of them offers any insight into it either, apart from being permanently attached to each other’s sides.

It’s almost like he possesses some kind of magical summoning power, because as soon as he finishes his sentence, she enters the room. His blank expression lifts, the tiniest quirk of his mouth as she approaches us. I take it as my cue to leave, drinking down the rest of my tea before I bid him goodbye and head back to my room.

“Good morning, Zena,” I say as we cross paths. She looks at my naked torso before averting her eyes, a slight blush rising on her cheeks. Glad to know not every girl finds me repulsive like Amelie seems to.

“Are you allowed to walk around like that?” she says, reaching out a finger to point at me before retracting it quickly.

I shrug, and she lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head before she goes toward Layth. I glance back at the pair as she perches on the armrest of the chair he’s in, draping her arm across his shoulder as he drops the book onto the table. I’ve bet Damien they’ll finally give in and confess to each other before the year is out.

When I get to my room, I shower and drop back onto my bed, scrolling through websites on my phone until I find what I’m looking for. A list of French words stares back at me, and I work through them, brushing up on slang terms and general phrases I should probably know if I’m going to spend the next three years of my life in Paris.

I search the list, trying to find the phrase that’s been stuck in my head for the past hour. When I do, the corners of my lips turn up as I replay the word in her voice over and over.

Vas t’en: go away

Chapter 5

Amelie

The grand hall is, as its name suggests, rather large and extravagant, but it fits that name even more so today. A plethora of round tables draped in ivory cloths cover the floor, each decorated with floral centrepieces and matching tableware, the seats covered in that same material to create a seamless look. It flows through the entire space, continuing to the meticulously placed florals that creep up the walls to reach the high ceilings, swathed in translucent white fabric dotted with flowers. There’s a soft glow to the room, no big glaring lights, but instead a collection of chandeliers dangle from the ceiling.

“How gaudy,” Evie murmurs next to me as we make our way to our table.

Her arm is hooked through Damien’s on her other side, and they’re the picture of a perfect couple. His pocket square perfectly matches the shade of her dress, and the other boys have done the same to coordinate our group. Zena and Layth trail behind us, arms linked together as they whisper to each other. River and Grayson complete our group at the back, and when I glance back, Grayson’s mouth hangs slightly open as he takes in the view. River promptly knocks the back of his hand under Grayson’s chin to make him close his mouth.

The seven of us requested a table together, straying from the eight placements these events usually have, but the event staff easily accommodated us. We take our seats, and somehow I end up between River and Damien. I almost ask Damien if we can switch seats, but that would take him away from Evie. Every public appearance is important to their relationship, and even though this is just a university event, it still counts. Articles will be written about this evening, and every potential relationship—business or romantic—will be speculated on. Our table will definitely feature in a lot of them. Where else would you see a princess having dinner with the grandson of Hollywood royalty, and the son of the newest tech company that’s taking the world by storm?

I lean over the table slightly so I can speak to Zena, seated between Layth and Grayson.

“Did you send them your menu?”

Zena has a few food allergies, and while the university has a range of chefs on hand to cater to everyone’s dietary needs, it can sometimes slip up during events like this.

“I did,” Layth responds for her. “Our food will come out before the rest of yours.”

I’m not entirely sure whether Layth has the same allergies as Zena, or if it’s a requirement of his role as her pseudo-bodyguard, but he always eats the same food as her.

“Good.” I give him a quick smile, then turn my attention to the waiter, who drops a basket of bread and butter onto our table. I thank him and wait for my friends to grab theirs before I reach for a roll, but my hand gets knocked away just as I grab it.

“Haven’t you heard of ladies first?”

“Evie and Zena already took theirs,” River replies deadpan as he places the roll on his plate.

I don’t dignify him with a response; I take the last piece from the basket and slice it open, lathering it with butter before I eat. My friends chatter around me, but it fades into the background as I go over the variation I’ll perform for the audition. I replay it in my head, going through every step as if I’m in the studio instead of at dinner. I’m temporarily dragged out of my thoughts by the General Director’s voice booming through the hall, but as he starts to speak, I tune it out.

My mind wanders from thinking about the variation to the incident with River the other day. I almost forgot myself for a second as I looked at the lines of taut muscle lining his exposed torso, a dancer’s body through and through. I wonder what the rest of him looks like, his calves, his thighs. I won’t lie and say I haven’t admired his physicality before. I’ve always regarded the hushed strength that ballerinas carry, both male and female. But I would never give River the glory of letting him know that he has the best body I’ve ever seen. It’s lean, but lined with muscles in all the right places, his abs carefully chiselled into his stomach, curved biceps that only appear when he flexes them, and the shift in his legs from when he prepares for a leap to when he lands it.

Even his face isn’t too bad, I guess. I glance sideways at him, the lowlights of the room catching the angles of his face and making them look even more defined. It’s as if he’s been delicately carved from marble: his jaw sharp, the slope of his nose impossibly perfect. I imagine if he stayed quiet his entire life, everyone would have a much more pleasant experience being around him.

This is all far too complimentary for a wayward thought, and I hate myself for it. If he suddenly developed mind-reading powers, I’d have to transfer schools and move to a different continent. I do the only rational thing I can think of to rectify my terribly nice thoughts and fling my heeled foot into the space to the right of me, currently occupied by River’s leg.

“Ow, what was that for?” he hisses under his breath.