Chapter 19: Just One More Day
It would have been a normal breakfast. Really, it should have been nothing more than a meal, something calm and ordinary. But nothing with André and Vivienne ever stayed ordinary. It would have been normal if André wasn’t feeding her in a way that made her want to puke her guts out. If you had walked into the room, you would have sighed and thought, what a sweet couple. The kind of couple you’d paint on a porcelain plate. But the truth was ugly. Both of them were pathological liars.
André sat close to her on the bed, holding the tray with the kind of grace only a duke could have. His posture was perfect, his smile delicate and warm, like the sun itself had been caught and placed on his lips. Anyone else would have believed it. Anyone else would have sworn that he was hopelessly in love with the woman in front of him.
He scooped up a spoonful of food, leaned in close, and said softly, "Say ah."
He looked like a charming new groom feeding his new bride.
But inside he mocking her.
Say ah. You foxy little thief.
Vivienne’s stomach twisted. She wanted to smack the spoon away, but she didn’t dare. She opened her mouth and swallowed what he gave her. Every bite felt like swallowing poison, even though the food was expensive and rich. A normal person would have been in heaven. She felt like she was being force-fed death.
From the outside, though, she looked perfect. Her lips curled into a shy smile, her cheeks turned pink, and she gazed up at him with big eyes like she was some fragile maiden in love with her master.
Inside, she was screaming.
I fucking hate you. If you offer me one more spoonful, I swear I’ll stab this fork into your throat and watch your smile slide off your fucking face.
But her lips said softly, "Thank you, my lord."
André looked at her, his smile never faltering. She was so good at pretending. But he could see it. He could see that little spark in her eyes that said she wanted him dead. And he thought to himself, this is boring. How do I make her break?
So he leaned closer with the spoon again, this time with honey. He brought it to her lips and purposely let it smear against her mouth. The sticky golden line glistened on her lower lip.
"Oh, I’m so sorry," André whispered with mock guilt. He leaned in and, before she could stop him, licked it off her lips. Slowly. Casually. As if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Vivienne froze. Outwardly, she gave the perfect reaction: her cheeks flamed red, her eyes went wide, and she whispered, "It’s... it’s alright, my lord."
But inside? Inside she was burning with rage.
It’s not alright. It’s never alright. You fucking bastard. You fucking stupid bastard. I will pray for lightning. Not for me. For you. Strike him, God. Strike him now. End this circus. I can’t do this anymore.
André caught the flicker of disgust in her eyes before she masked it. He smirked. He loved it. Watching her try so hard to hold the act was delicious.
The breakfast dragged on. Every spoonful felt like four hours. Every fake smile felt like a dagger twisting in Vivienne’s chest.
Finally, after what felt like four whole days trapped in hell, the tray was empty. André set the spoon down and looked at her with that unbearable sweet smile.
"You did so well," he said softly, like she was a child who had eaten her vegetables.
Vivienne thought, I need to leave. If I stay here one more fucking minute, I’ll actually kill him. Or myself. Or both of us. Dear God, get me out. Before I do something I will regret.
She stood up quickly, clutching the tray in her hands. "I’ll go put this away, my lord."
André rose too, graceful as always, and gently took the tray from her hands. His fingers brushed hers, lingering just a moment too long. "Get some rest," he said kindly. "I’ll take care of this."
She wanted to scream. How adorable. You think I want to stay here with you? Hell no. I want to run away and never see your annoying face again.
But she smiled instead, lowering her gaze like a bashful maiden. "You don’t have to worry, my lord. I’m not tired."
That was when the gaslighting began.
She took a breath, put on a sad little voice, and said, "I’m still a maid, my lord. I don’t want to get into trouble. I’m sure Madame Lefevre is already looking for me. She’ll be furious if I don’t return to my duties soon."
Her eyes were wide, her lips trembled just enough to look convincing. Anyone else would have melted at the sight.
André tilted his head, studying her. He saw through her lie, but he let her have it. He thought, how adorable. You really think you can escape me with such a flimsy excuse?
Vivienne grabbed the tray again and backed toward the door. Her heart raced like a wild horse. Her mind screamed, get out, get out, get out.
She turned the handle, desperate to flee, when his voice stopped her.
"Let’s meet tonight," André said softly. Almost tenderly.
Vivienne froze. She nodded quickly, keeping her face calm. "Of course, my lord," she whispered. But inside she said, what the fuck. Over my dead body. Tonight? No, no, no.
Then she opened the door and left.
André stood there alone, smiling faintly to himself. "What a bloody liar," he murmured under his breath.
Vivienne rushed through the corridors, clutching the tray like it was her lifeline. Her steps were quick, her heart pounding in her ears. The polished floors and tall windows of the chateau seemed endless.
Her thoughts raced louder than her footsteps. I need to find that fucking horse. I need to find that horse tonight. Because God only knows what this lovesick bastard plans to do to me if I go back to his room. He’ll eat me alive and smile while doing it.
She swallowed hard, pushing herself forward, her eyes set on the kitchen door at the far end of the hall. Find the horse. Survive the duke. Just one more day. Please.