Chapter 40: Let’s Have Fun
Vivienne stared at André like she wanted to strangle him with the fork on the tray. Her hands twitched. Her chest still felt heavy, but now it was rage. Pure rage. He was staring at her again, that same heavy, serious look. His eyes lingered on her face like he could peel her apart, layer by layer, and see what she was hiding.
Inside her head she screamed: Why the fuck is he looking at me like that? It makes me want to pluck his eyeballs out and fry them in butter. Stop staring at me like I’m some fragile flower in winter, you bastard. I’m sure you’ve seen a woman cry before, so why the fuck are you acting like it’s the first time? Do you want a medal for staring? A certificate? Should I clap?
Her nails dug into her palms under the blanket. Her teeth clenched so hard she almost broke them. On the outside she forced a sweet, trembling smile, but her brain was foaming.
Her body, the traitor, wasn’t helping. Her face was still soft, her lashes damp, and her lips trembling. The perfect look of a poor, fragile woman who needed comfort. The exact opposite of what she wanted.
Stupid body. Stupid face. Stupid eyes. Stupid tears. Why the hell are you betraying me? Do you want him to think I’m weak? You want him to think I’m some pitiful girl waiting for his rescue? Fuck you. Fuck all of you. You’re supposed to make me look dangerous, not like some abandoned nun in a romance story.
André tilted his head, still watching. His hand hovered, as if he wanted to touch her again.
Vivienne snapped before he could open his mouth. She straightened her back, plastered on a smug little grin, and announced like a madwoman, "It’s nothing, my lord. I was just... overwhelmed. Yes. Crying tears of joy. It’s just everything is still a shock to me. I’m so happy and grateful."
The room went quiet.
Then, without another word, she reached forward, picked up a fork, stabbed a pancake like it was André’s throat, and shoved it in her mouth. She chewed noisily, smiling like nothing had happened, like she hadn’t been on the verge of breaking down moments ago.
André blinked. His face froze for a second, deadpan.
Inside his head, his thoughts hissed: Tch. She’s lying. I can’t believe I almost thought—fuck it, never mind. What a shameless liar. Look at her. Crying one second, grinning like a lunatic the next. She’s completely crazy. A demon in ribbons.
Out loud, his voice came soft, slow, almost gentle. "Are you sure you’re fine, Vivienne?"
Her smile widened like she had just been crowned queen of France. She nodded with ridiculous confidence and said in her brightest, fakest tone, "Yes. I am."
André leaned back, watching her chew. His face was calm, but his mind was boiling. He couldn’t decide if he was impressed or disgusted. Maybe both. Maybe this woman belonged in a cage—or in his bed.
Vivienne shoved another piece of pancake in her mouth, looked at him with puffed cheeks, and frowned. "Why aren’t you eating, my lord?" she asked, her words muffled, bits of pancake sticking to her lip.
He smirked faintly. "I told you to call me by name. And besides, I’m not hungry. I’m full watching you eat."
The fork almost slipped from her hand.
Her face flushed pink, her lips parted in what looked like a bashful smile, but inside her head she gagged so hard she almost puked out the pancake. The fuck? How corny can a man get? What is this? A play? Don’t starve yourself, Romeo. Go eat or die, I don’t care.
André noticed the twitch of her mouth. He noticed how her eyes didn’t shine in real blush but in disgust. And still, he enjoyed it. He thought, Like hell I’d starve myself for you. I already ate, idiot. I just like watching you squirm. This is fun.
He said nothing. He just smirked, his silence speaking louder than words.
Vivienne kept chewing, chewing, smiling with that fake radiant charm she had mastered. But inside, her paranoia began to spin.
Why isn’t he eating though? Did he put something in this? A poison? No, no, too dramatic. A love potion maybe? He would do something stupid like that, wouldn’t he? No, idiot, love potions aren’t real. And besides, he already thinks I’m head over heels for him. Just like he is. Ha. Ha. What an idiot. You’re not Casanova. You’re a spoiled brat in silk pretending to be mysterious.
She almost laughed out loud at her own madness. Instead, she stabbed another piece of pancake, stuffed it in her mouth, and smiled even wider. A psycho with a fork.
André leaned closer. His shoulder brushed hers. His eyes were locked on her face, unblinking, sharp, yet soft. The kind of stare that made her want to slap him and kiss him at the same time.
His lips curved, slow and cruel. His voice dropped low, taunting. "I have some fun things to do with you today. You and I are going to have so much fun. So much fun. You are going to love it."
Vivienne choked. Literally choked. A piece of pancake went down the wrong way and she coughed violently, her eyes watering again.
She waved her hand, pretending she was fine, plastering on a fake demon smile. Her chest burned, her throat hurt, but she grinned through it, whispering in her head: Fun? That sounds like hell. What the fuck is he planning now? Dungeon sex? A duel? Both? Does he plan to chain me to his dungeon and fuck me till I beg for mercy. It is it the other way where he is the one chain. I can’t tell but it sounds not good.
The air in the room thickened, hot and suffocating.
Both of them sat there in silence, one pretending, the other scheming. Two lunatics in love and war, smiling like lovers, thinking like murderers.