Page 186 of Swallow Your Sorries

You worry about Bart. You have ever since Gant told you that his father keeps a portrait of Madame, deceased, in their home.

“Why did you need to change your sizes?” Gant asks, drawing me out of my thoughts.

I shrug. “I lost a little weight, that’s all.”

His frown deepens, and he grabs my wrist as I try to slide past him and watch Sylo’s audition.

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” I try to snap my wrist back, but he only holds me tighter. “You made sure I couldn’t eat in the hall.”

Sure, the minions had backed off, but I hadn’t chanced a repeat, not when Zedd forced a ton of his cooking on Stassi, who gave me damn near all of it. I’d probably be back to my normal size in a month so long as Zedd doesn’t find out who he’s actually feeding.

I have no idea what the other male untouchables think of me now, but after my experience with Hale and Bae before the lake debacle, I prefer to stay clear of them. Dealing with one jackass was more than enough.

Gant says nothing, but his jaw ticks and as he regresses somewhere deep into his own fucked up little brain, I concentrate on the auditions again.

But with every new student who performs, my anxiety that I hoped would naturally fall with the long wait and inevitable boredom of watching for over an hour only rises.

“Breathe,” Gant says in my ear.

I listen, taking big breaths in and out. So deeply I feel lightheaded and lean into him despite myself.

“That’s a good girl,” he says lowly. “Don’t worry about Aria or Benoit. Don’t think about anyone at all, except me. On that floor, I’m your partner. Your Prince Charming—”

“You really think there’s anything charming about you?”Damn,I was trying to stop being so snippy with him all the time, seeing as he’s actually been so helpful lately, but old habits die hard.

“And you’re my—” he continues ignoring me.

“Poor maid girl full of ashes, don’t remind me.”

His eyes go wide for a fraction of a second as if that thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. How could it not? My whole arc of coming to Beaulieu was a Cinderella story. Gant was my fairy godmother. No, not a fairy, more like a Grim Reaper.

“No,” he says, his fingers stroking over my heart, coaxing it to slow down. “My princess.”

Those little words shatter the ice building up around my heart and calm my stomach when he moves his hand down to mine and threads our fingers together.

Be still my stupid beating heart.

“Is that what you wanted to ask me in the spring?” I ask after a long pause, when my throat is so dry I feel like it’ll ignite from speaking without spit.

“Elle? Gant?” Madame calls and I suddenly realise the music has ended. “I said you’re up next.”

I allow Gant to lead me onto the floor.

“Remember. It’s just us. It’s always just us.”

Just us.

“I’m your prince. You’re in love with me. Love at first sight.”

“Are you trying to get me in the zone or hypnotise me?” I whisper back as the music starts and we begin the waltz.

“Is it working?”

Yes. As I stare deeply into his black eyes, I can feel them sucking me in. Every time I turn, pirouette, or jete away from him, I’m eager to return, to keep that eye contact.

He’s my bully.

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