Bastian kicked off his shoes. Sacha kicked off his shoes (and his socks, for good measure).
They marched into the living room like conquering heroes returning from a crusade.
"Mom!" Sacha announced, throwing his arms wide. "I conquered the school. I have a Lieutenant. And now, we feast!"
Anaïs was sitting on the sofa, her laptop balanced on her knees. She looked up, her blue eyes—the exact same shade as Sacha's—sparkling with amusement.
"You conquered the school?" she asked.
"Yes," Sacha nodded gravely. "I hired a bully. It was a strategic merger. Now, Dad promised pizza. The greasy kind."
Bastian smiled sheepishly. "I may have made a tactical promise during extract."
Anaïs closed her laptop. She crossed her arms.
"Vetoed," she said simply.
Sacha's jaw dropped. "What? But the treaty was signed!"
"You had pizza three days ago at the studio," Anaïs reminded him. "If you eat any more pepperoni, you're going to turn into a circle. We are having real food."
