Last Year of Seventeen

Chapter 7 - Dames de L'eau

Over the weekend, Dove wouldn't stop referencing Paris. She only spoke with me in French through the entire run of our equestrian training. She even brought quiche and Crémant for our "goûter". She laid out museums and boutiques she plans to visit and has already pre-picked her wardrobe. She was urging me to match some of hers, "It'll look good on photos" she said.

"Are you already assuming I'm going to lose the bet?" I sipped the sparkling wine she bought. It was too sweet for my liking.

Her lips curved into a charming smirk, "Mon beau, tu as déjà perdu. Just accept the fact that there are girls, however rare, who are immune to your charms. Jeter l'éponge."

In any other circumstance, I'd agree with Dove. I might have already raised a white flag a few weeks back if it weren't for this scheme I had with August. Is it a loss if I rigged our bet to change court and ally with the enemy? Maybe. But that's something they never have to know. I should feel guilty lying to my friends, but it's exhilarating having August on my team.

Always called a stuck-up, August is closer to the professors than her peers. Apart from Gwen and occasionally Royce, she never really interacts with anyone else on a personal level, adding to her mystery that fuels my curiosity. It's always been there. That curiosity. Ever since I first saw her in our Freshman Year. The girl who beat Dove out of the top spot and became the Class Representative. I just didn't act on it. Maybe even then, August already intimidated me more than I cared to admit.

If I'm being honest, I would've wanted to actually be able to woo August on my own. I've never not gotten a girl I pursued before, until her. But I know when to admit defeat when I'm faced with one. August is too stubborn. Even if, let's say, I was actually able to make her like– nay, love me, I don't think she'll admit it. Not even to herself.

"Let's see about that. I haven't given up."

"Why do you try so hard? She's not much of a sight. Even for sore eyes. Or is Paris with me such a terrible thought?"

I've known Dove for so long that I know her change of mood by her tone. She thinks she can hide it with witty remarks and harsh rebuttals. But I can see her heart on her sleeves.

"We've talked about this golub– Dove. I just don't want to set us up in another misunderstanding."

"I won't fall in love with you if that's what you're worried about. I'm over that."

I inch my face closer to hers, slowly. Until the tip of our noses are almost touching but not quite. I could smell her, a mixture of dew and grass and my favorite perfume of hers– was it Chanel or Hermes– honeyed orange blossom. Her breath quickens, I moved closer to her lips. My eyes are still on her and I see hers darkening, I feel the heat rising from her skin. I lingered for a few more seconds before pulling back.

Her face flushed scarlet. In embarrassment or disappointment or rage. Maybe even all three.

"Yeah," I started, "I'm not quite sure about that."

"Fine." Dove recovers quickly and raises her glass motioning for a toast, "Ne jetez pas l'éponge alors. Devenir fou."

I clinked my glass with hers, "À la folie."

It was my idea to have August finally saying 'yes' on a date with me in front of the Dames de L'eau, the water fountain that centers the Academy ground. It's a sculpture of these three ladies bathing in what appears to be a lake– Nimue, Viviane and Niviène, each representing wisdom, intuition and power. It was a gift by the sculptor Blanche de Saint Adelaide, an alumni and one of the first female students of the academy who became a well-known sculptor afterwards. It was sent from France and it's one of her final pieces before she passed.