Chapter 22: Oh God. I’m Fucked
André and Vivienne continued kissing, their mouths crashing together with messy urgency. His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her close like he wanted to fuse her to him. Their lips moved fast, almost violently, like they were fighting instead of kissing. It was as if they were trying to kiss eachother until they kill eachother. His hands slid down and began slowly undoing the ribbons of her dress, tugging them apart with deliberate care.
Vivienne tugged his shirt in return, jerking at the buttons like she was wrestling the fabric instead of undressing him. Inside, her head was screaming. Let’s just get this over with so I can find that shitty horse and get the fuck out of here. I don’t have time for this stupid bullshit.
Her hands brushed against his chest, rough and dry from endless washing. She froze for a second. His skin felt smooth, hot, and far too real under her calloused palms.
André noticed it instantly. He broke the kiss and caught her hands in his. His eyes narrowed.
"Why are your hands like this?" he asked sharply.
Vivienne wanted to laugh in his face. Why? Because I’m basically a laundress-slave with the hands of a ninety-year-old woman. Maybe ask your head servant, Madame Lefebvre why my skin looks like sandpaper.
She bit her tongue and said quietly, "It’s nothing, my lord. Just work."
André didn’t believe a damn word. He studied her face closely, his gaze lingering on the faint circles under her eyes and the slight slump of her shoulders. She looked drained, as if she had been wrung out and left to dry.
He thought, Looks like she might actually die from stress. Poor thing. Exhausted from playing maid. What a disaster. My little idiot is burning herself alive just for a con.
He frowned. "Are you okay, Vivienne? You look really tired."
Before she could protest, he scooped her up like she weighed nothing and carried her to the bed.
Vivienne flailed. "It’s okay, my lord, really, I’m fine—"
"Shut up. You aren’t fine," he interrupted calmly, pressing her back down into the pillows. "You don’t have to worry. I’ll help you relax."
He kissed her forehead gently.
Vivienne froze. Her brain screamed, What the fuck is he planning to do now? Oh God, is this it? Is this where he chains me to the bed?
But instead, he pulled away and bent down to her legs.
Then, to her absolute shock, he began massaging them.
Vivienne blinked, speechless. "My Lord, what are you doing?"
"Relax," André said smoothly. "I just want to help you."
Her mind went into meltdown. Ishe serious right now? This psycho duke, who tried to feed me like a baby yesterday, is now rubbing my legs like some servant?
She tried to sit up. She tried to say no. But then his thumbs pressed deeper into her muscles and a sound escaped her mouth.
A groan.
A very embarrassing groan.
André smirked. "See? You like it."
His hands moved to her arms, kneading her sore muscles with almost painful precision. Her body betrayed her completely. Every nerve relaxed. Her chest rose and fell slower.
Her brain kept screaming, Stay awake, Vivienne. You need to stay the fuck awake. You came here for a job. Don’t you dare fall asleep in this lunatic’s bed. I know it feels so good but you have to stay awake. So don’t you dare fall asleep. Don’t you dare—
But her body melted.
Her eyelids gave up.
She drifted off.
---
André sat there, watching her breathe softly against the pillow. Her lips parted slightly. Her hair spilled across the sheets.
He smiled to himself as he brushed strands of her hair from her face. It was a very very crazy and dangerous smile. The type you would smile when you watched your enemies fall. "You are really fun. You are so easy. Watching you fall will be so much fun."
---
The next morning came.
Vivienne’s eyes fluttered open to sunlight streaming across the room.
Her first thought: Oh no. No, no, no, no.
She looked around and froze. She was in André’s bed. Again.
Her stomach twisted violently. She wanted to scream at the ceiling. "Are you fucking kidding me?" she whispered to herself.
She quickly looked down. She wasn’t naked. Relief washed over her. But still—she had spent the night here, sleeping like an idiot in his arms instead of doing her actual job.
I’m supposed to be looking for that horse, not playing duchess wife. What the hell is wrong with me?
She groaned and buried her face in her hands.
Disgust filled her. The thought that she had curled up in his bed like some love-struck maid made her want to vomit.
She sat up quickly. Her eyes darted around.
André wasn’t there.
Her pulse sped up. Wait. Where is he?
She scanned the room. Empty. No sight of him.
Maybe Romeo went to get breakfast. Probably coming back with a tray to shove croissants down my throat again.
This was her chance.
Vivienne jumped off the bed. She rushed to the cabinets, opened drawers, peeked under the bed. Nothing. She stormed across the room, eyes darting everywhere. It was just a large, boring duke’s chamber.
"Damn it," she hissed under her breath. "Where the fuck is that horse."
Then she froze.
Her gaze fell on the far wall. Behind the heavy curtains, the wallpaper didn’t line up properly. A faint outline.
Her heart skipped.
It was a door.
A hidden door.
Her hands shook slightly as she pushed the curtains aside. She reached out and touched the edge. Her pulse roared in her ears.
This was it. She was so close.
She wrapped her fingers around the edge, ready to pull it open.
Then she heard the soft creak of the bedroom door.
Her stomach sank.
She turned slowly.
André stood there, perfectly calm, holding a tray with coffee and bread. His eyes flicked from her to the wall and back.
Vivienne froze like a deer in headlights.
Inside, her brain screamed, Oh God. I’m fucked.