A Gamble Called Marriage - Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 

Felix Henri Pierre de Broglie. The crown prince of Monaco and its future ruler. Mael had only one thought about him:

 

A quintessential aristocrat.

 

And Mael’s definition of an aristocrat wasn’t long.

 

People who spent their time silently waving their hands at public events but were absurdly rude otherwise.

 

To elaborate further, the longer the string of titles before their names, the less understanding they had of virtues like consideration. Yet they were still tolerable beings.

 

“Yves, how did you end up interested in men? Is it fun? I hear it’s not easy to get straight to it. But at least you don’t have to worry about getting pregnant even if you go raw, so I guess it’s convenient in that sense. Then again, it might be just as troublesome?”

 

All the way from the lounge bar to the tennis court, Felix chattered on enthusiastically. It was already difficult enough to tolerate that, but enduring Charles’s murderous gaze darting between him and Yves was an entirely separate challenge.

 

Yves, on the other hand, merely responded in a bored tone, eyes downcast.

 

“You seem quite interested.”

 

“Mael too, and now you.”

 

“If you’re curious, why not try it yourself?”

 

They shared the same father, perhaps? The level of rudeness seemed similar, possibly due to genetics. The bodyguard walking ahead flinched, and Charles loudly cleared his throat, making sure they heard him.

 

“Isn’t leaving a legacy the most important thing in my life? I have to live as a pitiful stud, so I can’t exactly cross over to that side.”

 

“It’s not a bad life goal. A pitiful stud.”

 

“What, are you jealous?”

 

“To some extent.”

 

To some extent, my foot.

 

The remark was dangerously close to the line for those in the know. Even so, Felix chuckled frivolously as he gripped his racket.

 

“That’s why, Yves, quit being gay and give it a shot. Being a stud isn’t easy either. You need to figure out where to sow and where not to sow your seed.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Felix, giggling at his own crude joke, probably had no idea who he had just advised to put in some effort. Mael grabbed his racket, distanced himself from them, and was the first to step onto the court.

 

“Oppa! Do well! Win!”

 

Manon, sitting alongside Philippe in the empty stands, shouted. She waved her hand cheerfully as if she’d forgotten their argument and tears from earlier in the day.

 

Mael waved back toward her and looked around. The red clay court was slightly damp. Surrounding the court were canopies with the sponsor’s logo, a watch company, fluttering in the wind, set up in preparation for the upcoming Monte Carlo Masters 1000.

 

When the four players gathered at the net, Felix tilted his chin.

 

“Mael, Yves. You guys pick the sides. Believe it or not, I’m super respectful of minorities.”

 

At that, Mael exchanged glances with Yves.

 

Minorities, my foot. Mael felt a laugh bubbling up as he thought of Yves proclaiming himself gay.

 

From the question about whether he had a boyfriend in front of Charles to his remarks about introducing gay people in the hotel office, everything was blatantly mocking and provocative.

 

“No way he’s gay.”

 

What Yves had spouted before Felix seemed ridiculous and incomprehensible.

 

Ash-gray eyes scanned Mael mockingly. Then Yves picked up a tennis ball and walked toward the deuce court.

 

It was a silent decision to start. A signal that he would serve first.

 

“We haven’t decided what the losing team will do for the winners! Let’s decide after the match!”

 

Felix’s enthusiastic voice echoed across the court.

 

What a joke. All of this was nothing but a meticulously orchestrated show anyway.

 

Pleasing the ill-tempered, whimsical crown prince.

 

Nodding briefly, Mael then walked over to the ad court with a face that screamed boredom. Yves, bouncing the ball lightly on the court, glanced at him.

 

“Make time for me. I need to discuss something with you. After this match works, too.”

 

Aside from the show, Mael had to crawl back to Yves, begging for evidence. It wasn’t desirable, but there was no other choice. Manon, who had adamantly stated she would never marry Philippe, was now sitting beside him, smiling happily.

 

Just as Mael was about to ask for a more specific time, Charles’s voice boomed across the court.

 

“Are you going to keep dawdling?”

 

“Yeah, what’s the hold-up? Are you having a strategy meeting?”

 

The urging forced Mael to stop talking and head to the ad court.

 

The ball, bouncing lightly on the court, flew into the air. Mael tightened his grip on his racket.

 

Set score: 1-1.

 

The first set ended at 4-6, the second at 7-5.

 

Now, with only one decisive set left, the short break between sets was all they had. Yves approached Mael, who was drinking from a bottle of water. He spoke as though defining the use of an object.

 

“You’re in the way.”

 

Mael understood. It was his first match involving the crown prince. In other words, it was his first time entering a game with the intention of losing. He lacked the knack for deliberately losing games, so he made obvious mistakes, missing balls coming directly at him, losing the first set.

 

“Not that it helped much.”

 

In the second set, Yves essentially ignored Mael’s existence and played what was supposed to be a doubles match entirely on his own, winning the set.

 

“Yves, are you planning to win this?”

 

“I don’t enter games to lose.”

 

His downward gaze and the obvious answer came as if it were only natural. Even after practically dominating the court in the second set, his breathing remained steady and unbroken. Mael placed his water bottle aside. After glancing at Felix, who was snapping at Charles, he lowered his voice.

 

“If you beat the crown prince, it’ll be a hassle.”

 

“What, are they going to kick me out of Nice? Last I checked, it’s a republic.”

 

“What if I live in Nice… No, more importantly, the crown prince holds grudges. If we win, word will spread, and I’ll definitely hear about it at work. You know the population of Monaco doesn’t even reach 40,000, right?”

 

A small town with countless nuisances. For someone like Mael, who had to work for a living, the situation was even worse.

 

Yves, evidently bored by Mael’s concerns, gazed at him indifferently. After a moment, he nudged the water bottle Mael had placed beside him with his foot.

 

Thump.

 

The bottle tipped over, spilling its remaining contents. Taken aback, Mael looked up at him.

 

“If you lose, I won’t feel like talking to you.”

 

The response was practically a threat.

 

“What do you even gain by winning this?”

 

“Who knows.”

 

“…”

 

“Should I ask for that tedious stud position you’re dying to get rid of?”

 

The red court, the green advertising banners, and the blue sea spreading out beyond them. Rich colors layered like parallel lines.

 

A man with pale white skin and black hair stood like a dividing line through it all and spoke.

 

“Are you out of your mind?”

 

“Just pick one.”

 

At Mael’s shock, the ashen-gray eyes bore down on him like a warning.

 

“Be useful, or grab your racket and stay quietly in a corner.”

 

With that, Yves headed toward the court. The set break was over. Mael, grasping the racket lying next to a puddle, thought to himself.

 

So, I need to win.

 

There was something he needed to retrieve through Yves afterward.

 

Having an unavoidable excuse made him feel oddly at ease. If he had to win, all he had to do was play normally.

 

The score was 5-1.

 

Mael scored the final point of the last game to win the set, which was at *forty-love.

 

Yves’s return shot bounced just in front of Charles, who barely managed to return it with a high lob. As the ball approached him, Mael turned his body slightly and jumped.

 

Thwack.

 

The sharp sound of the strike echoed as the ball shot over the net. It landed as if pinned to the ground, and the crown prince failed to save it.

 

“Ah! Charles! You served it up perfectly for a smash, didn’t you?”

 

Felix shouted, slamming his racket against the court. The not-so-close set was over, leaving behind only a broken racket abandoned on the court.

 

4-6, 7-5, 6-1.

 

With a score of 2-1, Mael and Yves’s team had won.

 

“Good choice.”

 

A low voice from his teammate brushed against Mael’s ears like a casual remark. Even though they’d won, it wasn’t refreshing at all. Mael passed by the smirking Yves and started packing up his racket when Manon, who had come down from the stands, handed him a towel and whispered.

 

“Oppa, are you going to be okay?”

 

Mael could only smile. Felix was huffing behind them like a spoiled child.

 

“Let’s play again, one more time. Huh?”

 

“Felix, you… We’ve got official business later. The watch for the Only Watch auction, remember? You’re supposed to check it with Father.”

 

“Oh, seriously, why bother people with something you can just wire money for!”

 

Thankfully, Felix had no more rackets in his hands. It was Philippe and Manon who escorted him off the court, his face as red as his hair.

 

The court, now cleared of security guards and everyone else, was left with three people. Neither of the other two men felt particularly welcoming. Mael wanted to leave immediately, but he couldn’t. He still had business with one of them.

 

He needed that terrible photo again, but when and how should he bring it up?

 

“Not… right now, I guess.”

 

Yes, not now, not while Charles’s blue eyes darted about restlessly. Just as Mael decided that he needed to leave the court for the day—

 

“That thing from before.”

 

“…”

 

“Are you going to do it?”

 

Yves asked slowly. Though much was left unsaid, Mael understood. He answered briefly.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Alright.”

 

That was all Yves said before leisurely walking past Mael. A scent of roses brushed his nose. The conversation, ending in an instant, left Mael blinking in surprise. What followed was Charles’s pale, shocked face.

 

“What the hell are you two?”

 

An angry question, as if he had the right to ask. Mael laughed at the absurdity.

 

—

 

*3-0: Reaching four points constitutes victory.