Time did not heal every wound. Two and a half weeks after the figure skating competition that had brought both great success and loss, Esme had still not spoken a word to him after his betrayal. They still worked efficiently in class, though it was solely due to them both being star students, rather than any actual teamwork. The part-veela pretended like he wasn’t seated right next to her, a fact that had started to grate on him deeply. At first, Camille had found the behavior childish, merely deserving of a mental eye-roll. If you asked his thoughts about it, Camille would feign compassion. Of course he understood why competing with her arch nemesis would warrant a cold shoulder. Secretly, he had hoped she would have moved on a long time ago. He believed that if he just let her stew, she'd eventually bite the bullet, realize she missed his company and forgive him. Alas, perhaps he’d misjudged her stubborn nature.
Nevertheless, no matter his pride, the cold treatment had gotten inconvenient in ways beyond difficulty discussing group assignments. Camille missed her. He missed their conversations, the way his commentary would make her smile even in the most unlikely scenarios. Likewise, he missed the breath of fresh air she brought to a gathering, when she wasn’t suffocating it with her grudges. After two and a half weeks with no signs of improvement, Camille had had enough. With no ways to penetrate her cold shield—granted, Camille had not exactly tried—his most dependable method to earn Esme back was to write her a heartfelt letter… and diamonds. He couldn't believe how long it took for him to remember that diamonds were a girl's best friend. With the knowledge fresh in his memory, Camille had ordered an exquisite diamond bracelet as a forgive-me gift, in case his words weren't convincing enough. She wouldn't let it slide without a proper apology face to face, he suspected, so he'd prepared a rendez-vous for just the two of them with angel cake and tea. A date, if you may. It was probably the most considerate thing Camille had done for anyone, considering that he didn’t even enjoy cake and tea.
The letter had been delivered that morning and he hadn’t seen her in passing since. He hoped it had read sincere enough to spare a second glance.
Ma chérie, Esme,1 his letter had begun.
I’ve been stubborn enough to think that time alone might fix this rift between us, but the truth is… I miss you. I miss the way you laugh when I tease you, the way your eyes brighten even at my most ridiculous commentary, and, if I’m honest, the way I feel off-balance when you ignore me. I know I betrayed your trust, and I can’t magically erase that, nor would I want to pretend I can. But I want you to know I regret hurting you more than anything else.
If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, even a fraction, I will spend every moment proving that my care for you is more enduring than any mistake I have made. I’ll wait by the lake, where the sun decides to show mercy today, hoping you might forgive my audacity enough to join me.
Eternally yours,
Camille
He'd signed it with a heart.
Admittedly, that part about regret had been difficult to write. Seeing him and Cecilia had taken second place, he did not feel entirely remorseful. The French boy still believed he was justified in his actions, though he regretted the fallout because of them. For his own self-preservance, he opted to leave that part out of the letter.
With such a short notice, not knowing whether Esme had read his letter at all, Camille felt rather stupid, standing in all his lonely glory by the lake. The March weather was rarely forgiving, but the day in honor had granted them a strip of sun. He planned to take advantage of it while it lasted. The temperature was mild enough that he could comfortably shed his coat without shivering within minutes. Hopefully, his guest made it in time before the sun disappeared. Of course, the question of whether she’d show up at all still remained. The things he did for girls, he thought with an exasperated sigh, glancing over the cream-colored blanket and cushions carefully arranged to look inviting for a tea party. In the middle stood a pot of her favorite tea. Among the cake and beverage of choice, a red velvet box—the sort that contained jewelry— nested neatly between them.
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