Chapter 29: Here Comes Misery
The room was quiet. Too quiet.
Vivienne could hear the sound of her own pulse in her ears. Her eyes were locked on his, his eyes locked on hers. Neither moved. Neither blinked. It was like they were both frozen in some stupid painting, and for one insane second she thought if someone walked in right now, they’d think this was romantic.
Romantic, my ass.
Her lips parted slightly, and she hated herself for it. His eyes were so steady, so unreadable, like he had all the time in the world to stare at her and absolutely ruin her sanity. His mouth twitched as if he might smile.
That was when reality came crashing back.
Vivienne’s brain screamed. God, why the fuck am I staring at this bastard?
At the exact same time, André’s own thought hit like a slap. What the hell am I doing staring at her like that?
They both snapped out of it so fast it was almost comical. Vivienne looked away, pretending to study the curtains like they were the most fascinating thing in existence. André straightened his back, his calm mask sliding into place again like nothing had happened.
The silence dragged for another painful beat. Then André broke it, completely casual, as if he hadn’t just stared into her soul like a lunatic.
"I am hungry."
Vivienne’s head snapped toward him. Hungry? Hungry? Hungry? Oh really? And whose fault is that, genius? Didn’t you throw your perfectly good breakfast on the floor like a spoiled toddler and then feed on me like some deranged animal? You absolute ungrateful bastard. Now you stand here telling me you’re hungry?
Her inner voice was ready to strangle him. But outwardly, she forced the fakest sweet smile, her voice dripping honey. "Oh, Your Grace, then you should eat something."
Yes, eat arsenic. A nice big spoonful. I’ll even serve it with a silver spoon and clap while you choke.
André tilted closer, his face maddeningly calm. His lips moved just enough for his whisper to slide directly into her ear.
"Since I am in a good mood, we may have more than just breakfast."
Vivienne froze. She blinked once. Then twice.
Oh wow. And I suppose you want to eat me again, you demonic bastard? More than breakfast, huh? What are you planning, a whole five-course meal with me as the side dish? I swear I should have bitten your lips and tongue off when I had the chance. Then we would see who is feasting on who.
Her face, however, did not reveal any of this. She giggled. A light, stupid, fake giggle that made her want to punch herself in the throat. "You are teasing me, Your Grace," she said softly, pretending to be shy.
André’s lips curved just slightly, enough to tell her he was amused by the entire performance. Of course he was. He lived for this.
Then, as if he hadn’t just whispered about eating her alive, he said in the most casual tone, "Shall we take a walk to the dining room?"
Vivienne’s entire body screamed no. She wanted to plant herself on the floor and declare she was a tree, unmovable, rooted forever. But her mouth betrayed her, shaped into that obedient little smile again. "Of course, Your Grace."
Fantastic. Just fantastic. This is my chance, I seriously need to get away from him. Don’t trip, don’t look weak, don’t let him see you sweat. Just survive. For God’s sake, just survive.
They began walking together, his pace slow and steady, hers tight and irritated. The silence stretched, her inner monologue foaming at the mouth.
Then, out of nowhere, André asked, "Would you like me to write a poem for you?"
Vivienne almost tripped. A poem? A poem? A poem? For me? Oh yes, please do write me a fucking sad poem about a bird that fell out of a tree and broke its neck. Then eat it. You sad, poetic bastard. Honestly, do you ever hear yourself?
But on her face? Sweetness. Shyness. She lowered her gaze, faked a blush, and whispered, "That would be an honor."
Yes, an honor to shove it down your throat when you’re done. May your quill snap in half, may your ink spill all over your fancy desk, and may you choke on your metaphors.
André’s calm gaze lingered on her, sharp enough to tell her he saw through every bit of her fake shyness. She knew it. He knew it. And still they played their stupid game.
Before she could curse him again in her head, the sound of sharp heels echoed down the corridor.
Vivienne’s stomach dropped.
Here came misery itself.
Madame Lefevre appeared, her dull gray dress and ugly shoes making her look like boredom had been wrapped in fabric. Her face was all elegance, her hair pinned neatly, but her entire presence screamed sharpness.
Her eyes landed on André first. Her lips stretched into a warm smile. "Your Grace," she greeted, her voice dipped in sweetness.
Then her eyes slid to Vivienne. The smile vanished. Poison took its place.
"I would like a word with your maid," she said flatly.
The way she spat the word maid was like stabbing a dagger straight into Vivienne’s chest.
Vivienne’s inner voice went wild. Oh, fantastic. Here comes Madame Misery to make my life fucking hell again. What is it today? Will you order me to scrub the chandeliers with my tongue? Shine the floors with my spine? Pluck the stars out of the sky and sew them into your petticoats?
But her face remained calm, her smile polite, her bow respectful. "Of course, Madame," she murmured sweetly.
André’s eyes followed her, quiet, his expression unreadable.
Vivienne walked away with Madame Lefevre, every step stiff, every muscle bracing for the rain of insults that was surely about to crash over her head.
Wonderful. Just wonderful. The day isn’t even halfway done and I am already drowning in disasters. God, I swear if she makes me clean chamber pots again, I’ll stab myself with a feather duster.
André stayed behind, watching her retreating figure until it vanished down the hall. His face looked calm as always. But inside, his thoughts weren’t calm at all.
She is leaving. She is slipping away from me. I need to keep her glued to me. But how?
The corridor grew silent again. Only André’s thoughts lingered, restless, circling the same question like a predator.