Before I can even understand what is going on, I'm in the salon with Benedict suddenly learning the basics of French and Italian, having my accent scrutinized with every single word I say. Bart had cleared the area while Cata made me some peppermint tea right before my throat went dry from talking so much. Richard doesn't say a word and Swithin is still busy furiously typing on his phone, tablet, and laptop, switching between them regularly, and I wonder why they stay to listen as I butcher European languages, but then I realize they might actually both be enjoying this.
Benedict turned from a sweet gentleman to an absolute nightmare of a teacher. He's happy to tear apart my poor American education with that polite but whipping tone of his and reminds me every chance he gets that most of
