Chapter 71 - The Smell Of Deception

The study smelled of everything at once. Ink, old paper, a hint of polish from the desk, and of course, the unmistakable musk of two people who had just turned the room into a hurricane of sweat and chaos. The scent clung to the air like a bad secret. If guilt had a smell, Vivienne thought, it would smell like this room. She perched on André's lap, her hair sticking to her face in sweaty strands that felt like cobwebs. Her arms were crossed tightly as if she could squeeze her dignity back into her body like wringing water from a rag. André's hands rested on her hips, calm, almost tender, as if she were some rare treasure he had fished out of the mud. Vivienne looked at him like he was the most infuriating idiot to ever exist in Ravelle. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to steal his entire castle and set it on fire.