Chapter 41: Waiting For Fun
Vivienne’s head was screaming.
Seriously, what does he mean by fun? Why does that word sound terrifying when it comes out of his mouth?
Her heart wouldn’t stop pounding, but her face was a perfect mask. She forced a blush, pulled up a wide smile, and batted her lashes as if she were some shy little maiden caught in love.
André looked at her squirming and thought to himself: look at her pretending, so stubborn, yet so adorable.
He leaned closer. Vivienne stiffened, but before she could react, he brushed his lips over hers in a soft peck. It was so quick, so casual, yet it left her whole body burning like someone had poured fire down her throat.
"Since you are busy," he whispered, his voice calm and sweet in a way that made her want to strangle him, "how about we meet later. At my lounge. I have a lot of fun ideas we can do. Today."
Her stomach dropped.
Fun. He said fun again. Oh God, kill me now.
André took her hand, kissed it lightly, and smiled like a doting lover. "Eat a lot, hmm?" His tone was soft, teasing, almost affectionate.
Vivienne forced her lips to stretch even wider. Her cheeks hurt. Her jaw ached. She thought her mouth was going to tear in two. It was the most painful smile she had ever worn in her life.
"See you later, my love," André said gently.
"See you too," Vivienne replied in the sweetest tone she could fake, though in her head she was screaming curses.
The moment the door closed behind him, she dropped the mask. Her face collapsed into pure exhaustion. She sighed so loudly she almost scared herself.
"When does this end?" she muttered into the air.
She stabbed the fork into the pancakes and shoved them into her mouth angrily, chewing like a woman possessed. Every bite felt like punishment.
"What is he planning to do?" she muttered again, glaring at the pancakes as if they held the answers. "Poetry? A game? Or something even worse? That bastard is plotting something, I can feel it."
She was still chewing when a knock came on the door.
Vivienne’s head shot up. Her first thought was: God, no. Not him again. Don’t tell me he’s back already.
But the voice that came through was high and cheerful. "Vivienne!"
The door opened and in came Genevieve, carrying a basket of fresh towels and clothes. She walked in like sunshine and flowers, humming, smiling like the happiest maid in the world.
She set the basket down and exclaimed, "I’m so envious! It looks so delicious!"
Vivienne’s mind snapped.
God, this stupid bitch again.
She had been forcing pancakes into her mouth like they were poison, but instantly her appetite was gone. She dropped the fork with a loud clatter.
Genevieve pressed her hands together and sighed dramatically. "I have never tasted anything as good as this."
Vivienne looked at the plate, then at Genevieve, and her smile turned sharp and fake. "Kindly have it," she said sweetly, though in her head she was shouting: Shove it down your fucking throat, you stupid bitch. Choke on it. See if I care.
"Really?" Genevieve’s eyes sparkled like a child on Christmas.
"Yes," Vivienne said aloud, her voice sugar-coated.
Genevieve sat down happily and dug into the pancakes, giggling with every bite like she was eating manna from heaven. "It’s so delicious!" she squealed, stuffing her cheeks like a squirrel.
Vivienne stared at her in silent rage.
Then Genevieve spoke again, her mouth full. "Ah, Vivienne, I’ve prepared your bath for you."
Vivienne forced a polite tone. "Just give me a minute. Let me finish this off."
Genevieve hummed in delight and kept eating, crumbs spilling everywhere.
Vivienne stared at her, then stood abruptly. She couldn’t take it anymore. "I’m coming," she muttered, not waiting for Genevieve to stop chewing.
She walked straight into the bath chamber, leaving the giggling maid behind.
The hot water surrounded her body the moment she sat in the tub. Steam rose around her, warming her skin, but her mind was racing too much to enjoy it.
Immediately, Genevieve rushed to the side of the tub, leaned down with stars in her eyes, and said, "I’m so jealous and happy for you, Vivienne. It feels like a dream. Love really conquers all."
Vivienne almost choked on the steam.
What the fuck is love? That’s just bullshit.
Her face stayed blank, but her thoughts were ruthless. Only what matters is gold. Gold and escape. That’s why I need to find that horse, that vault, that treasure. Then I’ll get the hell out of here. I don’t care what that idiot Romeo is planning. If I have to play along, I’ll play. But my endgame is gold.
She closed her eyes and sank deeper into the water, muttering in her head: Love conquers all? My ass.
Minutes later, Vivienne stood before the mirror.
Her reflection almost startled her. The woman in the mirror was beautiful—too beautiful. The dress hugged her body perfectly, her hair was brushed until it shone, her lips had a natural color that looked almost painted.
She tilted her head, watching herself. Her mouth twisted into a cynical smile. "Let’s just play his stupid love game," she muttered.
Her heels clicked against the polished floor as she walked through the halls. The chateau felt endless, the air thick with silence.
But something was wrong. Her body wasn’t behaving.
Her heart kept pounding, louder and louder, as if warning her. Her hands trembled slightly, her legs felt unsteady. Her lips pressed tight together, but inside she was panicking.
"Keep it together," she whispered harshly to herself. "Keep it together, you stupid body. Don’t shake. Don’t tremble. Don’t make me look weak now."
She turned the corner. The lounge door was just ahead.
Her steps slowed.
Her hands were shaking so badly she had to curl them into fists to hide it.
She stood in front of the door, staring at it like it was a beast waiting to eat her alive.
"I don’t feel good about this," she whispered. Her throat was dry.
Her mind screamed: I don’t know what he’s planning, but it doesn’t feel good. I should turn back. Right now. Pretend I’m sick. Pretend I fainted. Anything but this.
But another voice inside her whispered back: No. No, Vivienne. Do it for the gold. Do it for the treasure. Do it for your escape. Play his game. Smile. Pretend. Survive.
Her whole body trembled.
She pressed her forehead to the cold wood of the door and whispered: "Open the fucking door."
And she did.