𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧, young royals

7: Drive Fast

7: Drive Fast

"Why did you do that?"

Simon's voice was low and wary, and he spoke from the corner of his mouth, straight shoulders facing the other end of the table.

I innocently arranged my cuterly around my plate, smiling and pretending to be involved with whatever chit-chatting topic was stirring up around our table.

"Do what?" I responded flatly.

"Stand up to August back there."

"I wanted to help," I murmured simply, without sparing a glance in his vicinity. "I suppose a simple 'thank you' would be in order."

Simon tensed up, teeth clenching.  "What are you trying to prove?"

I shifted in my seat, and Simon spared a glance at me from the corner of his eyes. I met his gaze.

"Is it so hard to believe," I spoke carefully and slowly, inching in closer to him, "that I might've done something nice simply because I wanted to?"

Simon's eyes swerved away from mine.  For a small while, he held his silence, and the sound of laughter, clinking cutlery, and chattering at the table filled in the absence of words between us.  I held myself upright in my seat, flexing my knuckles around my glass of virgin champagne and bringing it to my lips, feigning to chuckle at something someone at our table had opinionated.

"Fine," he breathed to me finally, staring ahead in defeat. "Thank you... for telling August off."

I set my glass down on the table with a light thud. I was a coward not to before, I wanted to reply. But I said nothing.

"So, Wilhelm," piped up Felice's mother suddenly, bringing my attention back to the conversation, "do you still ride?"

"Yes and no," I answered plainly. "I don't have much time for it now that I'm into rowing."

Felice's mother nodded at me, lips slightly upturned as she exchanged a subtle glance with her daughter. I saw Linda perk up in her chair then, eyes beaming.

"Sara rides," she announced.

Sara's spine suddenly straightened as eyes around the table darted toward her, a sheepish smile coiling her rosy lips.

"Really? How lovely," spoke Felice's mother with a pleasant surprise. She turned to Sara. "What horse do you ride, Sara?"

Sara licked her lips and said, "I don't have my own. I ride Rousseau."

As soon as the words rolled off her tongue, Felice's eyes widened, mouth pinching sourly, and there was a switch in atmosphere.

Her mother's expression was puzzled, scoffing in discomfiture.  "But... Felice rides Rousseau," she noted, nose crinkling.

"She helps me take care of him, is what she's trying to say," put in Felice hastily, casting an alarmed look at Sara, but if she'd taken notice, she pretended not to.

Sara's eyebrows pinched. "I ride him every morning and almost every evening," she stated, shaking her head, "I clean his box stall, I feed him... I ride Rousseau."

I watched all composure vanish from Felice's face in a matter of seconds, her eyes falling into her lap, lips parting breathlessly.

Her mother shot her a bewildered look, eyebrows tightly knitting together.  "Felice, is this true?" she demanded firmly.

Felice froze in her chair, teeth sinking relentlessly into her lower lip, and averted her mother's piercing gaze.  At last, she broke and hopped on her feet, her hand flying to cover her mouth, and darted out of the room.