CHAPTER 72: THE DOT OF LIES

Vivienne and André were still naked. She was perched on his lap, knees brushing the sides of his legs, her arms crossed like she could shield herself from the storm of heat, sweat, and mess that clung to their skin. The air around them was thick, almost sticky, smelling faintly of salt and skin and something dangerously sweet. André’s fingers ran through her tangled hair, slow and deliberate, as if he were untangling secrets from the very strands, secrets she didn’t even know she had. Vivienne bit her lip, glaring at him, muttering curses under her breath that could fill the royal court with scandal. Bastard. Prick. Holy shit, you insane bastard. I hate everything about you. Fucking hell, this is humiliating. She gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached, yet the absurd warmth curling through her belly made her want to swear louder, scream louder, maybe even laugh until she cried.

André leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her neck. She shivered violently, twitching like a marionette whose strings were in completely the wrong hands. "Oh, please, stop," she whispered through clenched teeth, though her body betrayed her completely, moving in ways her brain hadn’t asked for. Her chest heaved, her skin prickled, and she felt herself wobble just a little as she tried to pretend she wasn’t being utterly undone.

"I want to know everything about you," André murmured, voice low, teasing. He ran his fingers along her bare back, tracing delicate lines, making her gasp and curse in equal measure. "Vivienne... do you know..."

"Know what?" she said, voice dripping fake sweetness while plotting murder in her head. She glanced around wildly, as if someone could peek through the walls and witness her ridiculousness, her insane body squirming on his lap while she plotted his death simultaneously.

"You have tiny moles on your back," he said softly, as though revealing some sacred secret, like he’d just discovered the lost city of Atlantis hidden in her shoulder blades.

Vivienne rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, Tiny moles? Are you seriously talking about this now? You sick bastard. Her tone was a mix of fury, disbelief, and the kind of incredulous laughter that bursts out in the middle of absolute chaos. "Yes," she said casually, shrugging. "Three moles, right. Not exactly world-changing, but sure, count them if it makes you feel special."

"Yes. Three. They form a triangle," he said, kissing the spot just above her shoulder blade, gentle but deliberate, like he was claiming something unspoken. "They are beautiful. I love them."

Vivienne groaned, curling slightly, as if to protect herself from the onslaught of ridiculous tenderness. "Don’t. I hate it. I hate everything about it." Her voice cracked slightly, though she immediately tried to smother the tiny betrayal of softness that slipped through.

André raised an eyebrow, slow, deliberate, that kind of eyebrow that made a person rethink every life choice they’d ever made. "But why?"

Vivienne sighed, bitterness creeping through her voice like smoke through a ruined house. "No reason, really. Apparently I got them from my father or something. They said he had a mole just like this on his back. The only trait I inherited from him. I look nothing like him. That’s what they say."

She chuckled bitterly, a sound that grated against André’s calm serenity but somehow made him lean in closer. "Apparently that’s the only thing I know about him. He didn’t want anything to do with me. I never knew him. I don’t care though. It’s not my fucking business." She instantly added, "Sorry for the language," though she said it with such casual disregard it sounded more like punctuation than apology.

André’s lips curved faintly. "I do not mind," he said, fingers tracing her spine as if reading the words off her skin, reading them like braille that only made sense in chaos.

So that is what she sounds like when she speaks from her heart, he thought, eyes softening, dangerous but tender. I like it more than her fake sweetness.

She snorted, a bitter little laugh that sounded like broken glass clinking in a wine glass. "Isn’t it funny? Not really. It’s fucking tragic, actually. Like, congratulations, I now have tiny dots that prove my dad exists somewhere in the world and simultaneously do not give a shit about me. Wonderful. Love it."

Vivienne’s mind was a maelstrom of vulgar chaos. Oh, bloody hell. Did I just let something real slip? Ugh, my life is a mess. I am literally melting on this idiot’s lap while talking about dead fathers.

Her thighs trembled slightly, and she flexed them, reminding herself she was still half in control. Not fully. Maybe a quarter. She was chaos incarnate, but still vaguely aware that breathing too deeply might ruin the illusion of being untouchable.

Trying to reclaim control, she quickly said, "Let’s talk about something else. Not about fathers who don’t give a fuck—ah, I did it again." She groaned, pressing a hand to her face, cursing herself in every medieval syllable she could muster, spitting out syllables like daggers at the air. "Why am I like this? Why do I always do the dumbest thing ever? I swear, if someone wrote a book about my life, it would be a tragedy, comedy, and a horror story all at once."

André’s expression shifted, subtle and unreadable. He was quiet now, watching her like she was a book he had just opened to a page he never expected, pages that smelled like sweat, madness, and very inappropriate desire.

Vivienne panicked internally. Why is he quiet? Did I say something wrong? Did I make him sad? Fuck. Did I just remind him of his dead father? Poor fool. Gods above, save me from this softness. Save me from being human in front of this insane man. I cannot. I will not. I am chaos, not softness.

She leaned closer, feigning tenderness, voice trembling with fake concern. "Are you okay? You’ve been quiet. Are you okay?" Her words were syrupy, honeyed, and just a little bit poisonous, like licking sugar off a knife.

André’s lips twitched slightly, the corner of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "I am fine," he said, voice calm. But Vivienne could see the flicker of something else—something dangerous, raw, and unreadable. Something that made her think, maybe, just maybe, she was flirting with an abyss that could swallow her whole, and she would laugh the entire way down.