London, at Calridge’s


“ - Oui en effet (Yes indeed). Je suis originaire de Bordeaux (I am from Bordeaux). Et vous? (And you?)” Amber simply answered.


Harry was dumbfounded. Well he didn’t understand most of what she had just said. He knew, of course he knew. He had made a throughout investigation on her past. She was born in Bordeaux, France but went to the Royal Ballet Boarding School when she was 9. She enrolled ENB straight at 17 and thrived ever since. She didn’t have a good relationship with her parents, and hardly ever met them. But he didn’t expect her to show her advantage that quickly. After all she wasn’t like him. She wasn’t in for power play nor to win. It wasn’t a competition to her. However she would be one to Christelle.


He loathed Christelle. But she was a great asset and even more fun to destroy. Extract what he needed from her, and then go for the kill. He carefully examined Christelle’s reaction. She was just as taken aback as Harry, but regained her senses very quickly. He could notice her smile grow bigger. Something he noticed his mother did whenever she hated somebody. “Be close to you friends but even closer to your enemies” was common knowledge in his education. Her eyes were piercing. She tilted her head to show her fake interest. Every move calculated to the very end. She probably thought: “How dare does such a nobody be better than me at languages.”


“- De Paris, enfin St Germain en Laye plus exactement. (From Paris, well St Germain en Laye, more precisely)”, Christelle answered with her peony kindness. She easily guessed that Amber would know about one of the poshest neighbourhood in France.


Harry wanted to see these two woman confront themselves, but now wasn’t the time. And Amber was sharp enough. But she had to be a killer, his ambassador. She would have to learn quickly in his world. Christelle had her fangs out. By noon tomorrow she will have gathered her forces. All her friends, living in beautiful mansion outside London. But Harry didn’t want her to be some mischievous housewife longing for something to happen. Not that he ever imagined being married to her. Amber would be bored and stubborn about ballet. It was her only reason to live after all. Why the hell is he thinking about that.


“- What brought you here to London?”, Christelle continued in English. Harry smiled, grateful he could now understand the conversation.


“- I’ve started Ballet School when I was 9 and stayed here since then.”, Amber answered with a nostalgic glance.


“- That’s marvellous. In which company to do danse now?”


“- I was enrolled in ENB a few years ago, it is a great company.”


“- Yes I believe so as well. You are very young, are you still in the corps de ballet?”, that was Christelle’s first take down.


Trying to diminish Amber’s spreading aura. Harry was eagerly awaiting Amber’s answer. He was not going to save her. You notice very early if they swim or drown. If goes into a defence Amber will be slaughtered by Christelle.


“- I used to when I was younger, a very forging experience. However I just became a lead dancer.”, Amber not realising the threat.


Simple answer. Slick and without any resentment. Amber was better at this then he thought. Harry put his hand on Amber’s waist and raised his glass of champagne.


“- To hard work and achievement.”, he said a slight victory on his lips, as Christelle swallowed and faked a smile at the set-back.


“- Yes indeed.”, and Christelle raised her glass as well.


She was watching Amber. What a stupid girl, she seemed cold and proud. Obnoxious brat, how dare she answers in such an arrogant way. She didn’t live here as long as she did. She didn’t work as hard as she did to get this high. She wasn’t as good as her and she never will be. Amber was it? There was something to her. Why was everybody attracted to her? Her entire posture screamed pride, arrogance and grace. People didn’t know her, but she fitted right in. As if she was their long lost queen.


Harry could not have trained her for that long. Nothing was kept secret from her. Not something like that. She was Christelle de Lacroix, ruler of London’s social elite. “Queen Bee” as those Americans would call her. She had her friends gossiping about every single move a possible bachelor made. Every woman wanted to wed him. Money, wealth, status, security. All a woman dreamt of.


She saw the way held her. Close to him, as if she was about to fly away. She was a beautiful creature, she couldn’t deny it. As a fairy, with her wings folded on her back. Every man was glaring at her. Even Louis. She already had enough to deal with the lonely dancer he fell in love with. She had to pull a load of strings to make him keep the engagement.


And yet she seemed uncomfortable when her fiancé’s best friend touched her.

Notes

hey guys, sorry for being so late (again) when have I ever been on time anyway :p

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