Chapter 8: The Handsome Idiot

Vivienne’s hands froze in midair, the duster still clutched between her fingers. Her whole body stiffened. Slowly, she turned to face him, her eyes narrowed in confusion. "How do you know my name?" she asked quietly, trying to keep her voice steady. André stood there, not in his usual cold posture, but calm. His eyes looked gentle. "I asked Madame Lefevre about you," he said softly. "You see... I was a little curious about you." Then he smiled. Not the arrogant smile of a nobleman looking at a servant. No. This was soft. Warm. Strange. Vivienne blinked and turned away quickly, pretending to go back to dusting the bookshelves. Her heart felt like it skipped a beat—not from flattery, but shock. What the hell were you thinking? She scolded herself silently. Of course, he can get information about the servants in his house. He’s the bloody duke. Idiot. She tried to ignore him, but then she heard something again—his voice, low and barely there. "She’s really beautiful... just like her name." Her hand froze again. Her brain paused. Wait—was he talking about me? She glanced back over her shoulder to see if he was looking at her. But no. He was seated now, pretending to read a book like nothing had happened. Vivienne shook her head. He’s crazy, she thought. Or bored. Still, her cheeks felt a little warm. She scowled and turned back to her work, trying to shake the moment off. She finished cleaning the library after a while, ignoring every weird glance or word from him. Then she followed Madame Lefevre around like a lost ghost, doing chore after chore, her feet aching and her fingers numb from scrubbing. By nightfall, she could barely move. She literally crawled into bed like a wounded soldier returning from war. Her whole body ached. Her back. Her arms. Even her eyebrows hurt, though she had no idea why. She lay there, face buried in the pillow, muttering, "Fuck this." The next morning came too fast. Vivienne was woken up by Genevieve, who shook her gently but urgently. "Vivienne," Genevieve whispered, her face tight with worry. "Wake up." Vivienne groaned and sat up, rubbing her eyes. "What is it?" "Madame Lefevre asked for you." Vivienne blinked. That was not a good sign. "Did you do anything?" Genevieve asked, her voice low, almost afraid. "I mean... did something happen? She sounded serious." Vivienne shook her head. "No," she replied honestly, then sighed. "I mean, I wish I did something. But no. I’ve been good." Still, her stomach felt tight. Why would Madame call her so early? It couldn’t be anything nice. Her heart began to beat faster as she got dressed. Not because she was scared of being fired. She didn’t give a damn about floors or bookshelves. But if she lost the job... the golden horse would be out of her reach. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm herself. As she walked to Madame Lefevre’s office, her steps felt heavy. Her hands were cold. She told herself she’d act calm. Collected. Maybe even a little confused. But when she stepped inside, she stopped. Madame Lefevre was calm. Too calm. Her face was stiff, unreadable. Vivienne felt even more nervous. "You called for me, Madame?" she asked carefully. Madame Lefevre nodded. "Yes." Vivienne swallowed hard. Please don’t say it. Don’t fire me. I need this stupid job to rob your stupid boss. Then Madame said the words. "You will no longer be working as a maid here." Vivienne’s chest dropped. Her mouth opened to say something. Maybe beg. Maybe explain. But Madame raised a hand, cutting her off. "His Grace has requested that you become his personal maid." Vivienne blinked. What? She almost said what the fuck out loud, but she caught herself. Madame kept talking, her voice sharp and cold. "You will make sure he has everything he needs. Clothes. Meals. Anything he asks for. You may go now." Vivienne turned to leave, still in shock. But then Madame’s voice came again, like a slap. "And don’t think of this as a promotion," she said sharply. "You’re still just a maid. Nothing more. Don’t try to use this as a chance to climb up the ladder. If you do anything with the Duke... I will throw you out myself. Is that clear?" Vivienne clenched her jaw, hiding her real thoughts. Oh, believe me, she thought. If I wanted to sleep with him, it wouldn’t be for some stupid ladder. She nodded politely and left. So now I’m his maid, she thought bitterly. Still a servant. Still scrubbing. But at least maybe I can find that damn golden horse faster now. She walked down the hall to his chambers. The place was huge. Elegant. Fancy in that rich-boy kind of way. Everything smelled like fresh books and lavender. Like the kind of man who had never touched dirt in his life. She knocked on the door. No answer. She knocked again. Still nothing. So she pushed the door open. He was inside. His hair was damp like he had just stepped out of a bath. It fell over his forehead in soft waves, still wet. His skin glowed slightly, and he was shirtless. His back was lean but strong. He turned around and saw her... and immediately looked shy. He reached for a shirt and turned his back to her, fumbling awkwardly like a boy caught naked. Vivienne stepped back. "I’m sorry for intruding," she said quickly. "It’s okay," he said softly, not facing her. She stood there, watching him struggle to button his shirt. It was almost painful to watch. What a pampered brat, she thought. Now I’m a maid and a nanny for an overgrown child. She sighed and walked to him slowly, her voice gentle and fake-sweet. "Let me help you." He nodded, not looking at her. As she buttoned his shirt, her fingers brushed against his skin by accident. She felt him flinch. His cheeks turned red. His ears are too. Weird, she thought. Has he never been touched by a girl before? When she finished, he looked at her and held her hands. His palms were warm and soft. "Will you... have breakfast with me?" he asked. Vivienne blinked. She didn’t even get the chance to say no. So she agreed. The breakfast was more than breakfast. It was a damn feast. Pastries. Fruits. Eggs. Cheese. Breads she couldn’t pronounce. The kind of food that could feed an entire family for a week. He sat close to her, too close, and kept stealing little glances at her. She stabbed a piece of fruit with her fork, pretending not to notice. But her mind was spinning. What’s his fucking problem? she wondered. Why’s he acting like a nervous schoolboy? Then he spoke again. His tone was serious, but still soft. "Vivienne..." She looked at him, eyebrow raised. "I want to be honest with you," he said, his eyes searching hers. "I really... I really want to be friends with you." Vivienne blinked. "Friends?" He nodded. "Ever since the day I saw you..You seemed kind. And honest. And I don’t know why... but I trust you." He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His voice dropped lower. "I don’t have friends. Or family. I’ve always been alone." He paused, then looked at her with eyes that looked far too sad for someone so rich. "So... will you be my friend?" Vivienne stared at him. In her mind, she was screaming. What is happening? What is this? A lonely prince looking for a friend? She smiled a little, just enough to hide the storm inside. Seems like he’s just a handsome idiot. But she nodded anyway. "Of course, Your Grace." André smiled, and for a second, he looked like a child who had just found a new toy.