Pompous Mr.Elite

She laughed. Clearly amused. Of course, it didn’t matter, but if Ponsol expected she couldn’t use the chopsticks properly, he would be surprised. Nunnally could, and was surprisingly good with them. But of course, she was not to brag about it anymore. She just nodded to accept his challenge. And then she nodded again to confirm that she couldn’t cook.

And then she laughed again; imagining them on the deserted island alone. -- (She was so pretty, when she was laughing). -- Yes, they probably would not survive, but perhaps not because of cooking: --

“They say necessity is a mother of invention. So, perhaps we’d just have to figure it out…” – Nunnally could probably learn how to cook, if she had ever tried. She just never had to…? Always having someone else to cook for her; with her grandmother considering it below her granddaughter to know how to do chores. Nunnally laughed again (why was she laughing in his company so much?): --

“It isn’t even that I don’t want to… It’s more I’ve never really had a need for that. And always have had more interesting options. When you’re being raised in the household, where you’re not even expected to make your bed, or dress up without proper assistance, it’s not difficult not to learn certain skills…” – Nunnally wondered how their upbringing was similar. Or rather different. Based on what Ponsol had told her before, it seemed that his mother wanted to “protect” him (and his brother) from that way of living that was Nunnally’s experience. Would she want a different childhood? Yes, in terms of affection and care, but not really when other things were considered. She enjoyed her life as it was.

Perhaps Nunnally was yearning for more independence, but she was well aware she couldn’t have everything. And she wasn't giving up that much either.

“A dinner out it is then.” – well, at this stage of their relationship, she actually preferred that. She would feel (slightly) uncomfortable in Ponsol’s place at the moment, and she definitely wouldn’t like to have him at her own house. It would be too personal for her. He was her friend, and she didn’t want her father to try to influence control how their relation would develop. Did it even make any sense? She loved her father; Nunnally truly did, but she was not unaware of what kind of person he was. NOT that she would ever acknowledge that openly. Indeed, quite opposite. She would DENY it.

“And given that we should find a place, where chopsticks are available…to continue with our small bet…”

It was necessity or vanity that was the mother of invention if you were ask Ponsol’s opinion. Necessity certainly had a big role to play in things being invented, but increasingly you see things being invented for the sake of vanity. The need to get cloud from social media, or wanting to show off to your peers with the newest fashion statement piece.

He says it as if he doesn’t consume products for the sake of vanity, but he does. The difference was that he was well aware that he was doing so while others were mindless sheep buying into something thinking it would make them into something.

“We could figure it out if we wanted to, but I don’t particularly care for ever learning.”

Why learn when he could simply have others cook for him? That’s why he hired cooks or went out to restaurants. Hell, he could even have his brother come over to cook him something if he was desperate not to cook for himself. (It was the perk of living nearby your brother, he didn’t want his home being burnt down because of a cooking incident)

“It’s a privilege not many have the pleasure of feeling entitled to.”

Not everyone had the means to enjoy such a life, especially one where you were so well off that you never had to do simple tasks like making your own bed. It was something that Ponsol appreciated, even if he didn’t always say so.

At the question of whether he’d want to honor his heritage, Ponsol couldn’t help but laugh. He had quite a bit in his lineage, but he’d only spoken about the one. He did enjoy Japanese food, so it would be a good choice for eating out at.

“In that case, I know a good omakase place. They use the best sourced ingredients they can and the chefs are excellently trained. I have no complaints when I go,”

-that was quite the compliment coming from Ponsol, who was rather picky when it came to food. Omakase relied on you either trusting the Chef’s expertise or you not being picky about food. In this case, Ponsol knew the Chef first hand and knew about his cooking skill level, so he was confident in leaving it to the chef to prepare dishes to his liking.

While the chef did rotate menu sometimes, there was still enough variety that each visit was a fun experience.

“You don’t mind seafood, do you?”

The way Ponsol talked about ‘tradition’ made Nunnally think that his experience with it wasn’t that far away from her own. But of course, she was not to ask. Although by then Nunnally was sure that both - him and her - didn’t actually live the lives they would have chosen, if they had been free to do so. Surely, they were rich, their lives were comfortable, although they were paying a high price for it. Though most wouldn’t believe it, so Nunnally had stopped sharing that she would prefer something else in life. Perhaps not to be someone else, but just live her life as she wanted to.

She nodded, when Ponsol explained how his education looked like. Again assuming there must have been a strong tension between his parents and his grandfather. It seemed that his grandfather had a great influence over his life (an an influence that Ponsol didn't appreciate).

And again that was surprisingly similar to her own family. Her maternal grandmother was a strong woman, who (what Nunnally was not aware of) had destroyed her own daughter (and Nunnally’s mother) in the name of her own excessive ambitions. Yes, she was the one making Nunnally’s life harder, but Nunnally had much more strength than she had expected. In a way she had been also protected by her father’s wish to have an almost total control over firstly the girl, and now a young woman. Though Nunnally wasn’t (or didn’t want to be) aware of that game. She didn't want to play it either (though unwillingly she did anyway).

“Well, of course…” – she laughed; she didn’t mind losing in that competition – “But I am sure that even you will have to acknowledge my skills…” – it wasn’t that she was completely unconfident. Her confidence was a complicated issue that sometimes was a mystery even to Nunnally herself.

“Well, a restaurant it is then….” – she laughed again – “Unless you’d like me to cook, but I warn you that wouldn’t be a reasonable choice.”

“I cannot really cook…” – she laughed again; not at all ashamed of this inability – “They tried to teach us something back then at school, but I guess I just don’t have the right attitude for that… I’ve never learnt…”

“Perhaps if I have anyone to cook for…” – she started – “I am sorry…” – now out of sudden an embarrassment and  some sort of anxiety started to take over her thoughts; Ponsol wouldn’t think she had meant him, would he? – “Well, anyway, it doesn’t seem I will have any incentive to learn anytime soon.”

Ponsol chuckles, clearly amused by her comment. It was good to see that she was at least able to have some confidence to back up the skills that she clearly knew she had, which was a contrast to how she normally carried herself.

“That’s the spirit, make me acknowledge your skills. It’s not easy to make me concede, so it’ll be a huge accomplishment if you can.”

Again, he was mostly joking with her. It was true that it wasn’t easy to get Ponsol to admit that he was wrong (primarily because he normally wasn’t incorrect), so anyone who could make the stubborn man concede was a meritorious occasion.

“You can’t cook either, huh? Guess it’d suck if we ever got stranded on an island together.”

How could you survive if no one could cook? You’d just waste away to skin and bones and that wasn’t the kind of end he wanted for himself. Just imagining how emaciated he could look when finally rescued… an imaginary shiver went down his spine. (Yes, he’s a man of vanity, what about it?)

“I don’t see the need to really learn if you don’t really want to- or can’t.”

He was very casual about his comment, shrugging his shoulders in nonchalance. Even if Ponsol had someone to cook for, he probably wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be allowed. Anyone who had seen him in a kitchen would disallow him any entry, and it was to the point that if Ponsol ever told his brother that he was going to cook something for himself, the elder brother may force his way inside to ensure that Ponsol didn’t cook a biohazard (or start a fire again).

“Probably couldn’t be any worse than me in the kitchen. I’ve been barred from setting foot inside of the kitchen.”

An exaggeration? No, his brother really forced his way into Ponsol’s condo once after hearing that the sick Ponsol was attempting to make food for himself because he couldn’t bare risking anyone seeing his sickly-self. Did Ponsol ever use this to his advantage to trick his brother into cooking for him if he didn’t feel like going outside for food?

Is that even a question you had to ask? The answer was: obviously. Shugarl of course knew what his younger brother was doing, but he willingly allows it to happen, which then prompts Ponsol to continue the behavior. Such is the right of the youngest sibling who gets spoiled.

“Seeing as I’m inviting you out, we can go for something that you like. Either you can pick the place, or I’ll find somewhere that should cater to your tastes.”

“I understand.” – Nunnally nodded; letting her bright hair dancing around her shoulders – “It must be nice to be exposed to various traditions at home.” – although the last sentence was said in a bright and confident voice, Nunnally didn’t really believe in what she was saying. Traditions; she disliked them, if she was ever confident enough to voice her true opinion on them. But it wasn't her: instead, she’d rather repeat the opinions that she was taught were expected from her to say. Traditions; it was what denied her a right to make decisions. To become what she wanted. It was a leash (or a cage) that made Nunnally Mathilde Ambly des Ayvalles an object, and not a person of her own. Traditions. Legacy. Family name. The sad remnants of the past and the reality for her.

“Have you perhaps attend the international school yoursel?” – another polite question she was (in her mind) expected to ask. Did they discuss his education? She didn’t recall. She was well-educated; no money was spared on that. Many would claim this was a wasted effort. After all, she was not to ever use it; it would only make her more desirable on the marriage market. A prized possession of her future husband. But of course, these were not the things Nunnally would ever wish to discuss with Ponsol. What for? She imagined he would be well aware of that. Coming from the same social circle; people simply knew.

“Me on the test…?” – oh!; she was embarrassing herself again; again repeating his questions. But that was a fair punishment for her unnecessary bragging. So, she was to accept it – “I don’t think I would be a good match for you.” – she added honestly – “I’ve learnt it when I've spend some time in Japan. With my father. But it’s not that I use them too often.”

“It depends on how you look at things. Some traditions are good while some others aren’t.”

You hear of many toxic values that exist in other nations perpetuated by antiquity of ‘tradition.’ He would admit that he enjoyed learning about the different cultures of his lineage, there were some things that he didn’t favor, such as the forced respect for one’s elders. The expectation of always listening to the elders with respect, even when being chastised and demeaned.

“No, I attended public or private schools in the area for most of my schooling, it was what my parents wanted for us. Sending us off internationally would’ve made it all the easier for our grandfather to get a hold of us.”  

His torment would’ve begun earlier had he been sent off internationally, as it was some kind of agreement his parents had with his grandfather. It was to allow the two brothers to enjoy a somewhat normal life to explore their options before they would have to make their choice on what to make of their future. Well, one of them had the choice.

“I’ll take that as you conceding your defeat to me then.”

A light hearted joke, really. He wasn’t really serious about putting her to the test and making a competition of sorts out of it, but seeing her take his comment seriously, he played along in kind.

“You can join me at a restaurant or otherwise, one of us will be cooking- and it won’t be me.”

Ponsol doesn’t cook, and he’d mentioned that at one point. He didn’t have the skill nor the patience for it. His brother, on the other hand, did. Anyone who was invited over to try Ponsol’s cooking had to understand that their very lives were at stake- it was the common knowledge about his skills (or lack thereof) in cooking. If the cooking didn’t require him using heated elements like an oven or a stovetop, he could be trusted.

She did remember Ponsol had told her that before. That he wasn’t the one to share his creations with just anyone. Though he had also told her (more than) a few times that she was just anyone (too harsh judgement on her side; and she was aware of that).

“I am going to.” – it was not just a polite response; a thank you for his gift. She had so rarely received personal gifts that she had, indeed, treasured them a lot. Perhaps more the event itself than the item presented to her, but these slowly but surely turned to be the embodiment of her precious memories. That of course didn't mean that she didn't like Ponsol’s gift. She did. A lot.

Nunnally nodded: --

“Yes, I did. I…I was at international school and we were exposed to learn about each other cultures…” – she didn’t want to dwell on this issue. She was well aware that she had been sent away to the boarding school as a punishment for disobedience. For shaming her family. For trying to get her way. It was a place for rich kids like herself; offering the best education, but still (especially for her), it was a place she didn’t want to be in. A cage of sort.  As years had passed, she had learnt to appreciate what she had learnt there, but still she could not forget what caused her exile (yes, that was the correct word: EXILE).

“But I wasn’t aware you happen to know it as well. Yet alone wish to entertain the celebration…” – she smiled; asking these questions was a nice distraction from her own dull thoughts, but Nunnally was curious, too.

“Have you perhaps lived in Japan for some time?”

He hums in a cursory response.

“International schools often are filled to the brim with students from all cultures, so it makes sense you’d be exposed to many things, making you more worldly.”

That was a good thing, in his opinion, as the opposite was to be ignorant. In the business world, being well learned was integral to forging stronger ties to those around you. After all, who wanted to interact with an ignoramus who didn’t want to learn anything about you and your culture? It didn’t take long for such individuals to be cast aside the moment they make one horrendous move.

Being learned was a sign of respect to your partners, to know that you put forth the effort to caring to understand them. That’s why knowing when to shut up and listen was also an important skill- something Ponsol did know, despite how it seemed a lot of the time.

“No, but my mother celebrated it, so she taught that to me and my brother. We were taught some traditions here and there from her heritage.”

You could say that the Geripeta brothers were a big mix of many genealogies, so it made it a bit harder to tell what ethnicity they were strictly by looking at their looks. There was a lot of Euro-centric traits from the father’s side of the family, and a mixture of Asian-centric traits from the mother’s side of the family.

The remark about her ability with chopsticks came out of nowhere, but it was related to the topic at hand if you thought about it, and that’s what made it funny.

“We should put you to the test one day. To see how good you are at it compared to myself, perhaps.”

Ponsol had something prepared for today, even though it wasn’t the norm outside of most Asian countries. Still, it was something that his mother had instilled into him and his brother, and as they say- old habits die hard.

In return for the gift that he received on Valentine’s day, he prepared something himself for Nunnally. Though his feelings for her only extended to friendship, he did still appreciate her and enjoy her company.

Whether they could ever become more than that, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t one to worry about it so much. He’d always assumed he’d be set up on a blind date orchestrated by his grandfather to build up stronger political or business ties, so romance wasn’t usually high on his list of things to ponder over.

If it happens, it happens, it was as simple as that in his mind. “Nunnally, here, in return for last month.” He hands her a handkerchief that had embroidered flowers and her initials. The flowers specifically were pink gerberas and yellow roses that symbolized appreciation and friendship.

“Now, you own a piece of my work.” Ponsol dabbled in all sorts of artistic media, and embroidery just happened to be one of them.

Nunnally didn’t expect that. Or maybe she partially did? Ponsol mentioned to her that he would return her kindness. And she had heard about the White Day. But did she expect that would be the time, when Ponsol were to give her a present? She couldn’t be sure, when she was looking at the elegant handkerchief beautifully embroidered with flowers. Roses and gerberas. It was a small piece of art. And there were even her initials!

Ponsol did it himself? It was his work!?

“I…I wouldn’t expect embroidery is something you are into as well…” – Nunnally did let her surprised words leave her mouth; should she say she was good at it as well? She was, indeed, but Nunnally didn’t feel like sharing this fact about herself. Now, sometimes she found embroidery relaxing, but learning it was not her happiest memory. She needed to excel in in. It was something "a lady" should be knowledgeable about. Her grandmother was adamant about it. Her father didn’t see it proper to interfere. So, Nunnally was forced to learn, when she was young. And she was punished if the effects did not meet the expectations. They did at some point. She was a quick learner, but before that happened, she still needed to learn that she needed to deliver. Which perhaps was a more difficult part.

So, Nunnally would keep it for herself. Her painful memories are hers to remember (or to forget).

“Thank you, Ponsol! It’s beautiful! And it’s even more precious because you made it for me yourself…” – she wondered how many hours he had spent on this small item. He seemed skillful; perhaps even better than her...

“I will treasure it. It’s one of the best presents I got in years!” – she added seriously. Nunnally hoped Ponsol wouldn't consider her statement as a flattery or an exaggeration. It was the truth. Yes, she was receiving many gifts; but most were not personal at all. His present felt personal. But she couldn’t explain that to him. Maybe if she was forced. Maybe if he asked what she had meant.

Perhaps she should do something similar for him? Though that would be too simple…

“So, it’s a White Day…” – Nunnally commented smiling.

A proud smirk on his face appears at her comments, always very pleased to receive any praise for his work. He was someone who was confident in his artistic eye and knew that he had a good set of hands as well when it came to creation. He could draw, he enjoyed painting, and he enjoyed embroidery. At one point, years ago, he dabbled into crochet. Creation was his outlet, and it was what helped him remain sane over the years.

“I’ve dabbled into my fair share of different medium. Embroidery happens to be one that I enjoy.”

The irony was that people say cooking or baking is an art form and yet… it was the one ‘art’ that he couldn’t do well. He felt too stifled having to follow the same recipe repetitively in order to achieve the same result. Yes, you could exercise freedom by adjusting the recipe, but the end result didn’t always yield success like it could with most of his art projects.

Failure was simply not an option.

“Yes, do treasure it, as it’s quite rare for someone to receive any of my creations.”

He had mentioned it to her before, that he rarely ever gifted anyone his work, because whatever he created was personal to himself. He was very picky about art that is actually gifted to another, so perhaps only a handful of people could boast about receiving anything from him.

“Oh? Have you heard about White day? This is in fact a gift for White day.”

Nunnally has truly appreciated his compliments. She has, however, still considered his words as more polite than if he were to give his honest opinion about a piece of art (or anything else for that matter). But that is rather understandable in their situation. Being too honest is not something that is expected. And yet Nunnally can hear some hints of honesty in whatever Ponsol is saying; and that alone is enough for her. Nunnally does not expect more.

“I have always regretted I wasn’t…” – Nunnally starts but halts the words on her tongue – “…I have always regretted I have not attended the art school. It would surely improve my technique.” – she smiles – “It has been always a hobby of mine, and my father engaged private tutors to entertain my whims.” – yes, Nunnally is grateful that she was allowed that, but not being allowed to pursue her studies in art is still something that makes her sad. One cannot have everything after all. She is still lucky.

Nunnally notices Ponsol’s smile fades for a moment. It is probably something she has said, but then she is not sure what it might be. That she likes him? But why saying that she likes him should not be positively received? But then again, she has had that thought that perhaps she should not have said that, right? And there she is. Destroying yet another thing.

Her father is right. She is, indeed, a hopeless thing. Her cheeks dust pink. She feels she needs to say something, but before she is even able to form an acceptable reply, Ponsol speaks again.

He likes her too? As a friend? But then if she wishes more (but what more exactly?), it’s up to her to try harder. Nunnally is (slightly) confused by his statement. Does he mean romantic? Does she want romantic?

Surely, her father wouldn't have anything against Ponsol; finding him worth the hand of the heiress of the Ayvalles empire. And she likes him. Somewhat a new thought for Nunnally.

“I know.” – she suddenly says – “I…I have not meant anything more…”

“…for now…”

“I mean we…we don’t really know each other that well.”

But they learn about each other? With every interaction they are having.

       ❝Hm, well, you don’t need to attend art school to be a talented artist.❞

So many couldn’t afford the luxury of attending art school, but with time and dedication, made names of themselves as artists. Of course, depending on what you wished to study, you could benefit from attending art school, but it wasn’t a necessity by any means. Of course, she would understand that to a point, he’d assume.

       ❝To your point, it is helpful to learn technique and find your inspiration.❞

At the very least, she did have private tutors who taught her, which was at least something. He wasn’t allowed such a thing, so he had to dabble into the arts on his own time in secret.

Ponsol had a small habit of being a bit sensitive when it came to relationships and being told that someone liked him, as it could always mean a multitude of things- and romantic relationship matters were a hassle to deal with, no thanks to his grandfather. It did sound like she meant her words more platonically than anything, but she didn’t seem against the idea entirely either. Her ‘for now’ sounded almost ominous to his ears, because he would have to navigate the political scene carefully around his grandfather or he’d never hear the end of the pressuring.

That old man would stop at nothing if he saw a chance to forge ties with the Ayvalles Heiress.

       ❝Good to know that you are able to look at things objectively.❞

For now, he could relax. He will deal with his grandfather and any other annoying gnats when the time comes. At her invitation for a small walk, he nods his head and makes a hand gesture for her to lead the way to where she wanted to venture.  

Ponsol receives the box of chocolate, and a quick cursory look was all he needed to know the brand of chocolate he’d been gifted. It was one of quality, so he hadn’t been gifted something of low value. She understood his tastes: expensive.

Quite pleased with her understanding his vanity, a smirk teases at the corner of his lips until his golden eyes notice the card nestled underneath the ribbon. He gingerly slips it out from the ribbon to recognize it was a piece of a familiar park done in watercolor.

Of course, if Ponsol were to be gifted anything, he did prefer quality, elegance, and also a higher price-point, but he really appreciated personally crafted gifts. Now, his sense of aesthetics still played an integral role in whether he’d actually appreciate the gift in earnest, and luckily for  Nunnally- she had a good eye.

“Hm, it’s good. You have a good eye for using colors.” Her gift appealed to both categories of gifts he liked, so you could say that she’d hit the jackpot of earning his favor. “Thank you, Nunnally, I appreciate the gift. I’ll have to return the favor next time.”

She’s (slightly) surprised with his words of praise. But it’s not only that. Nunnally’s also astonished that he could so easily guess that it was her drawing. Yes, she has taken inspiration in that park they met for the first time, a year ago, but truth to be told, it could be any park at all. Though it is obvious the picture is hand-made, it also isn’t that such things cannot be simply purchased.

So, Nunnally looks at him (yes, she looks exceptionally pretty today; and yes, she wants him to notice and acknowledge it); her blue eyes wide open, pondering why she is such an open book for him. Although she is surprised by how this meeting is developing, the young woman can tell Ponsol likes the present. And his words do confirm her observations.  

But has she been concerned before? It’s hard to say now. But it's also something Nunnally does not offer another thought: --

“You truly think so?” – her voice a mixture of happiness and self-doubts, if Ponsol is not just polite. But there was no need for him to comment on the card at all, so Nunnally decides to believe him. Her face brightens up with a smile that makes it up to her eyes – “I am glad you like it. I’ve only recently started to experiment with colours…I usually sketch with a pencil…”

“I am not sure, if I am completely happy with the results, but I’ve found this picture exceptionally good.”

“Oh!” – she blushes slightly upon his next words – “I…I don’t expect anything in return…” – she’s honest; Nunnally just wanted to do it – “I…I did it with no hidden motifs.”

“I…I like you…” – was that too much to say?

Ponsol did provide a lot of lip-service to people, so he could understand if there were any doubts about the sincerity of his compliments. It was rare for him to truly mean his compliments, but he did like the present she gave him, particularly the drawing. It was a one of a kind piece, and there was artistry in the execution that he appreciated.

       ❝Yes, I truly think so.❞

He takes a moment to admire the piece again, paying closer attention to her usage of colors, because she mentioned how she was experimenting with colors. You could see the faint pencil sketch strokes underneath the color if you looked closely.

       ❝Keep working on it and you’ll find a method you’re happy with.❞

The beauty of art was in the fact that you could experiment with different styles and medium until you found something you liked. A skill you could hone with patience and diligence. A skill that didn’t betray you- usually (art block was a bane to any artist).

His smile fades for a moment as he takes in her words and considers how to answer. They’ve known each other for perhaps a year now, and Ponsol wasn’t the sort to get very close to others so quickly- if not only because of his status and being wary of who to let close to him. He was pretty jaded, despite the friendly demeanor he normally portrayed when out in public. He really kept people at arm’s length from an emotional standpoint, and it was something he and his brother shared in common.

       ❝I like you too, as a friend.❞

He says this carefully.

       ❝Whether our continued friendship buds into anything more, is up to your efforts.❞

Nunnally smiled. She wasn't sure if it was a good mentality to focus on the positives (her whole life was actually quite opposite; her father would a l w a y s focus on her flaws), but it was the only way she knew to deal with her life. And with its unchangeable elements. Surely, Nunnally was an over-thinker. Surely, Nunnally thought much worse about herself than it was needed (or rather what the facts were), but at the end of the day, seeing positives in small things was what allowed her to carry on.

She was strong. She could endure it.

And her father’s criticism would only make her stronger. Better. Deep inside Nunnally knew she would never meet the expectations of her father because she was not a son. Or at least these expectations she would like to meet. She knew what role she had been prescribed when it had become clear that she would remain a single child. A heiress to a name and to a fortune. But that was one of these things, the young woman refused to consider (on daily basis). It was better this way. She was not the first and certainly would not be the last woman walking this path.

“…”

She blinked a bit surprised. Obviously, she had said something foolish again. And the explanation what it was followed; dusting her cheeks in pink. She could tell him that she had t r i e d. She could tell Ponsol that once upon a time there had been a confident girl. But what for? It wouldn’t change anything. She wasn’t confident in a way he expected her to be. But probably he would have stopped being one, if he was her.

( “You’re over-confident, Nunnally." ); sometimes accompanied with a snap. In these very words or another. Her father. Her mother. Her maternal grandmother. And many more people probably purposefully selected to form her into a lady she had never had a desire to become. Giving the world what it wanted was easier. That was what Nunnally had learnt.

“I’ll try…” – though she probably should say ‘I’ll do it’, if she was to implement his lesson. And Nunnally also managed to stop herself form instantly apologizing Ponsol that most likely she’d fail.

She smiled upon his next words. At least he didn’t decide to cancel their meeting because she was not one of these strong and confident women. She had met them. She had sometimes envied them. But she had also seen them failing under the order of this world.

“It most likely will.” – she smiled to Ponsol again; she was honest in her words, even if it still hurt (even if only a bit) that he thought so poor of her.

“I will text you the details then.”

Of course, there was a necessary balance to everything. One can’t be too negative much the same that they couldn’t only focus on the positives in life. Moderation is key, like it was in life. Still, there usually was more good to focusing on the positives than to focus on the negatives. Keeping a positive outlook was better for one’s mentality and health.

It wasn’t like Ponsol couldn’t understand what probably resulted in her lack of self-confidence. He was a victim of that himself with the disparaging comments, but he did practice what you call ‘fake it till you make it’. The weaker he appeared, the more of a tongue lashing he’d receive. The more inadequate he’d look for being so ‘weak hearted’ that ‘constructive criticism’ would hurt his ‘little feelings.’

Still, he hoped that after becoming friends, she’d learn to be more confident- at least, when he’s around. He didn’t want for her to feel like she was small around him (disregarding his height, of course. There was no shopping her in feeling small around him).

       ❝Good, happy to hear it.❞

Ponsol just had that way of talking to people, being a bit rude. However, he really did mean what he said this time. In retrospect, a lot of bouquets didn’t last long because the flowers were cut. They didn’t have their roots anymore to help them with their growth. They’d inevitably die, and that was a fact. Of course, there were ways to have the bouquet last for longer, like changing the water daily to prevent bacteria growth, adding plant food, keeping the flowers cool, removing dead stems and leaves regularly, and more.

       ❝I’ll be keeping you to that. I expect a text, or I’ll assume you got too tired of me.❞

Anonymous life.

Nunnally wondered what it could mean. Or rather what it meant in practice. How would her life have looked like if it were anonymous. Well, or perhaps she rather meant normal? Average. It wasn’t that Nunnally had spent her childhood or teenage years being exposed to the public. Sure, she did appear on the family photos from time to time; there was some political marketing she was involved in. "Family" was an important selling point for her father. But apart from that, her privacy was guarded rather strictly.

On the other side, she had never had a chance to be “just” Nunnally. She was always a daughter of Mr. Ambly des Ayvalles. The heiress to his empire. Whoever was going to marry her could expect to benefit from wealth and (political) connections coming with her. She was just a necessary addition to all that. It had always been made clear (or perhaps everyone had just assumed it knowing her father and her maternal grandmother) that she’d never have much to say. Let alone actually inherit the money.

And throughout her life, Nunnally had mainly met children like her. Rich and spoiled (at least in some ways). And to much extent – just like herself – deprived of love, affection and care, although seemingly having everything one could dream about.

“I imagine it must have been difficult to move from normal childhood when no-one knew who you really are for…” – Nunnally was not sure how to phrase it – “…to a more public position. Although I don’t think a shift in my case was such a significant one, it still feels like I have been entrusted more responsibilities and attention after I graduated from university.” – though it was neither the responsibilities nor the attention she had ever wanted. 

She shook her head gently upon Ponsol's next remark. A kind one, and she appreciated it: --

“Thank you, but I promise I will not overuse your kindness. I don’t feel I need to vent too often.” – Nunnally offered Ponsol an honest smile; but she had already told him that she didn’t see herself as truly unhappy or unlucky individual. There was no need to repeat that. And after all complaining could make things worse – “I prefer to focus on positive things rather than negative ones.” – though perhaps she only h o p e d that was her life attitude?

“I…I hope you’ll like it.” – she was actually pretty proud of what she had managed to put together with that art exhibition. She had manage to convince some people to contribute for free for the event, and she also assumed the publicity was good enough for this kind of exhibition. Though it was mostly Nunnally’s work and efforts, both she and those around her tended to downplay her role in it. In addition pointing out that it was more of a hobby for her than a r e a l work (not that she would be allowed to have a real work anyway).

“My confidence…?” – she was not sure what he meant. What was wrong with her confidence? – “I…I don’t quite understand.” – assigning the achievements of others to herself was not her style of living. But what Nunnally had never noticed it was that her own achievements were never (or hardly ever) appreciated.

Once upon a time, she had been (more) confident in a way that Ponsol was perhaps looking for or encouraging her to be. Once upon a time, Nunnally had believed that if she had worked hard enough, she’d make her father proud (despite not being a son he had always wanted). And she had worked hard, and she had been successful, but her successes had never been properly acknowledged; not to mention appreciated. And when she had come back home, ready to get involved in whatever was a family business, she had met with a harsh reality that whatever path she had strived for was closed for her. That everything that she was to do was to look nicely and smile. Wave and say words that others had written for her.

She didn’t want that, but didn’t feel she could change it. She had tried, and she had failed.

It wasn’t easy transitioning from being a casual every day person to someone the tabloids actually had some vested interest in, but he made it out alive, obviously.

       ❝Some of us fair better at it than others.❞

Of course, he meant his brother. The man was so averse to the media and drawing attention to himself, that the tabloids would always suffer the moment they had him in their focus. There was never any polite kindness for patience with him, but just straight up antagonism and aggression. Mind you, he’d always given them fair warning beforehand. It was their fault for not heeding his warnings.

He shrugs his shoulders casually as if to say that it didn’t matter to him whether she vented to him or not. Of course, it was good that she didn’t vent often on the account of his impatience, but venting was a good way to learn more about someone. A frustrated person is more likely to divulge more information than they would like when calm. Information is power, and he wasn’t one to pass up a good opportunity.

       ❝That’s a good mentality to have, focusing on the positives.❞

Ponsol enjoyed art in general, so he was sure he’d find some interest in the exhibition. Even if the art wasn’t his style, he may find some new people to network with, and that would be considered a net-win by his standards.

How her mind somehow came to such a conclusion was beyond him, and it further cemented the idea that they were going to have to work on her confidence. Ponsol appeared like confidence incarnate on most days, but there were times when he was anything but confident. Still, he’d have the façade of someone who couldn’t believe they could do any wrong. It was the tried and true: ‘fake it till you make it’, mentality.  

       ❝Trust me, if I thought so, I’d simply tell you so.❞

Ponsol was polite (sometimes), and he held back on speaking his actual thoughts (sometimes), but he also had a tendency to be brutally honest the moment he stared to tire of being patient. He could be… a bit of an ass (always).

       ❝You don’t hold yourself as a confident person, much less in anything that you do. If you’re proud of something, act the part. Less people will find fault with you that way.❞

Was he speaking from personal experience? You could say so. The more insecure and unconfident you appeared in the eyes of others, the more likely they will find a reason to justify that behavior. Something akin to a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Despite how he came across, Ponsol didn’t like to see others putting themselves down needlessly. He wouldn’t hesitate to second the notion if they had self-awareness, but he’d speak up if someone was needlessly putting themselves down. Maybe a bit aggressively, even. That was just how he was. In the end, people sometimes became more confident after becoming acquainted with him. Speaking of which- he glances down at his watch…