Chapter 59: Nightfall Of Disaster
André was still staring at Vivienne, his gaze sharp, puzzled, and a little desperate. He wasn’t used to this. Not being able to read her. Usually, her thoughts were written all over her face, but now... nothing. She sat there, smiling faintly, but her eyes were unreadable, flat, almost empty. He frowned. What the fuck did I do? Did I break her? No, she’s still here. Still breathing. Still... something. But he could not place it. He felt the odd pull of worry, a rare moment where his insane obsession collided with... fear? Not exactly fear. But concern. He wanted to ask if she was okay, if she was hurt, if... but his mouth wouldn’t move. And then, like fate mocking him, there was a knock.
"Your grace, your bath has been prepared," the servant said, voice tight and nervous.
André turned to Vivienne, about to ask if she wanted him to check on her again, to reassure himself that she wasn’t silently plotting a way to stab him in his sleep. But Vivienne shifted, smiled that fucking sweet, angelic smile, the one that made his stomach flip in a chaotic mix of lust and irritation.
"Let’s go have our bath," she said, her voice light and airy, practically purring sweetness, while her eyes—just for a heartbeat—flickered back to the wild, dangerous chaos he knew she could unleash at any moment.
He blinked. That smile. That voice. What was that? And more importantly, why the hell did he care? He snapped himself back into his mask, the calm, composed, yet still deranged version of himself.
Vivienne, meanwhile, internally scolded herself. Why is he looking at me like that? The idiot’s obsessed, of course he’s staring, but don’t get fucking emotional, idiot. Focus. Focus on the vault. The horse. Get it. Get out. Do not, under any circumstance, melt under his ridiculous doe eyes. She gritted her teeth, turned her fake lover face on, and let him think she was his perfect, obedient, swooning little thief of a lover.
The bath was a disaster of chaos in the best possible way. Steam curled through the room, and André’s hands were all over her before she even stepped in. Kissing her neck, teasing her shoulders, fondling her breasts and nibbling at her nipples, sliding his hands lower, flicking over her ass like he had lost his goddamn mind.
Vivienne wanted to stab him. She wanted to shove him underwater and leave him gasping like a drowned cat. But her body... betrayed her. Trembling under his touch, arching, melting. She thought, Isn’t he tired? Didn’t we just do the apocalypse session that almost killed me? And yet, here he was, still touching, still teasing, still whispering sweet, poisonous things into her ear. She clenched her teeth, tried to glare through the haze of lust and water and heat, but it was no use. He knew exactly how to manipulate her chaos. And she couldn’t stop herself from moaning, even if she spat curses in her head with every breath.
They stayed in the bath for a long while, too long, until the water was cool and the heat of their bodies was the only thing keeping the room from freezing. André, ever the ridiculous, obsessed fool, helped her out of the tub, his hands gentle, teasing, yet firm. Vivienne screamed half in protest, half in embarrassment, and yet she kept smiling. He handed her a towel, draped it around her shoulders, whispered, "Our robes match. See? We look like a married couple."
Vivienne laughed in her head so hard she almost choked. Married couple? After that? After the war zone that was their bed, the only thing they had in common was mutual insanity and a tiny shred of shared chaos. But she played along, half-smiling, while internally shouting FUCK THIS, fuck him, and fuck all of it. André’s hand lingered on her back, the way a lover’s would, and she shivered—not from tenderness, but from the ridiculousness and the intensity of being touched by someone who drove her crazy in every goddamn way.
Dinner was quieter, but still... an unspoken battle. Their eyes met across the table. Smiles on the outside, rolling eyes in their heads. Vivienne was thinking, At least he isn’t doing anything crazy right now. For once. André was thinking, She’s impossible. Every single nerve she has is designed to drive me insane, and somehow, she’s doing it while smiling at me like a little angel of chaos.
When dinner ended, André put the tray away, turned to her, and smiled. That smile. The one that spelled trouble. Vivienne froze, eyes narrowing, internally screaming, What does he want now? Can’t he leave me the fuck alone?
Vivienne’s heart was hammering in her chest. Does he plan to fuck me again? No way in hell, she thought, trembling. Her body was betraying her anyway, knees weak, hands shaking, stomach twisting. André walked towards her, slow, deliberate, that impossible smile on his face that made her want to punch him and crawl under the bed at the same time. God, I’m finished, she thought, all her instincts screaming run, fight, stab, anything.
Then he did the unthinkable. He pulled out a book. A real, goddamn book. He held it up like some sacred object and grinned. "Read this to me," he said.
Vivienne froze. "Huh?" she said, aloud, like her voice made sense, while internally screaming WHAT THE FUCK.
André tilted his head, completely serious. "Your voice... it is very soothing. I want you to read to me... until I fall asleep."
Her brain short-circuited. She stared at him, wide-eyed. Is he a toddler? Has he lost his mind completely? She wanted to grab the book and throw it at his face. She wanted to scream. She wanted to kick him in the balls. She wanted to do everything except read. Her body still trembling, still buzzing from what just happened, still molten from his touch, and now... now he wants bedtime stories?
Vivienne clenched her jaw. This is fucking crazy. I hate this man so much, she thought, willing herself to melt into rage and disgust at the same time. She wanted to tell him no, to run, to spit, to punch him—but then... she opened the book. Because what else could she do? She might be the most chaotic, foul-mouthed, unhinged woman in all of France, but she was not a coward. She might hate him, but she was not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her freak out completely.
Her hands shook as she flipped the pages. Her mind screamed, GOD I HATE THIS MAN, yet her lips moved, soft and clear, reading the words aloud. She cursed herself silently for the absurdity. What the hell had she gotten herself into? But at least, for once, she wasn’t the one tied up.
André leaned back, eyes half-closed, smirk tugging at his lips, utterly pleased. Vivienne’s head spun. She was dying inside, but... she read.