I sent Vivian the information she needed for her move at precisely noon on
Sunday. Not out of fear she'd cause a scene in front of my building, but out
of reluctant admiration for the stunt she'd pulled at my exhibition.
It turned out the delicate little rose had some steel in her spine after all.
The following weekend, Vivian showed up at my house again, this
time with an army of movers in tow.
Greta, my housekeeper, and Edward, my butler, took charge of guiding
the movers through the apartment while I led Vivian to her room.
Neither of us spoke, and the silence expanded with each step until it
became a living, breathing entity between us.
Annoyance wormed its way into my chest.
Vivian had been perfectly friendly to Greta, Edward, and the rest of
my staff, whom she'd greeted with warm smiles and fucking cookies from
Levain. But when she got to me, she'd shut down like I was the one moving
into her house and disrupting her carefully planned life.
Like I was the one who'd showed up uninvited at her party wearing an
outfit that could send a man to his fucking knees.
A week later, the image of that black dress clinging to her curves was
still ingrained in my mind, as was the fire in her eyes when she'd laid into
me.
There was none of that fire now. Vivian was the picture of cool
elegance walking next to me, and it pissed me off for no explicable reason.
Or maybe my ire had something to do with the fact that, even in a
casual blouse and skirt, her presence awoke an unwanted heat in my gut.
My body had never reacted so viscerally to anyone before, and I didn't even
fucking like her.
We stopped in front of a carved wood door.
"This is your room." I'd set her up in the farthest suite from mine, and
it was still too close. "Greta will unpack for you later."
My voice sounded abnormally loud after the oppressive quiet.
One of her brows rose. "Separate rooms until marriage. I didn't realize
you were such a traditionalist."
"I didn't realize you were so eager to share a bed with me."
A small smirk curved my mouth when Vivian's cheeks pinked. It was
her first loss of composure all morning.
"I didn't say I wanted to share a bed with you," she said coolly. "I
simply pointed out the outdatedness of your thinking. Sleeping in separate
rooms is for married couples who are fighting, not newly engaged couples
who are supposed to be in love. Word will get out. People will talk."
"It won't, and they won't." My household staff had been with me for
