André and Vivienne walked slowly through the wide terrace of the château. The spring breeze drifted lazily, tugging at Vivienne's messy hair and carrying the faint perfume of blossoms blooming somewhere in the night. The sky above was turning darker, a soft violet melting into the navy blue of early night.
To anyone watching, they must have looked like a perfect couple, strolling side by side under the evening sky, his hand resting lightly over hers. But Vivienne was bored out of her mind.
Her lips curved into a polite little smile, the kind expected of a sweet lady on the arm of a duke, but inside her head she was cussing him, the château, and the entire universe.
What in the name of the devil am I doing here, walking like a peasant's mule that lost its path? God, someone take me out of my misery. He's smiling like a lovesick idiot again. What's this fool's problem?
