Chapter 12 Paul The Announcement
TWELVE
Paul: The Announcement
The door opens.
My breath catches as a sliver of light appears, widening. A figure slips through the gap, movements cautious and deliberate.
Vivianne.
She closes the door behind her, pressing her back against it. Her eyes, wide and luminous in the dim light, lock onto mine. For a heartbeat, we're frozen, drinking in the sight of each other.
Then, as if a dam has burst, we surge forward.
We collide in the center of the room, bodies crashing together. My arms encircle her waist, lifting her off her feet. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, fingers digging in to assure herself I'm real.
I bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of her perfume—lilacs and roses—floods my senses, achingly familiar.
"Paul." My name is a prayer on her lips.
"Vivianne." I pour weeks of longing into those three syllables.
The grandeur of the gala fades into insignificance. Her ivory gown hugs her body, and I'm drawn to her with an urgency that obliterates everything else.
She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze. Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears that catch the light.
"I thought I lost you." Her voice is husky, raw.
I cup her face, thumbs brushing away the tears that trace paths down her cheeks. Her skin is soft, warm, slightly flushed—a stark contrast to the cool elegance of her gown.
"Never." The word holds the weight of a thousand promises.
Our lips collide with a fervor that steals the air from my lungs. I devour her mouth as if it's the very essence of life, my hunger matched only by the desperation of our circumstances. The kiss is raw, primal—tasting of shared suffering and the isolation of months apart.
Her mouth is eager, urgent, as if she's been starving for this very moment. I meet her desperation with my own, our lips moving together in perfect synchrony. The months of separation, the fear, the longing—they all surface in this kiss.
Our bodies press closer, hers soft and yielding against my hard frame, like puzzle pieces clicking into place. She clings to me, hands gripping my shirt, pulling me closer, as if she can't bear even the slightest distance between us.
The silken fabric clings to her like a second skin, revealing every curve, every delicate line. The knowledge that only a thin layer of material separates us sends a surge of raw desire coursing through me. I ache to explore every inch of her, to reclaim what has always been mine.
I want to tear away the ivory gown, expose the flesh beneath, and brand it with desperate kisses. But I resist, knowing the destruction of her dress would leave her exposed when she returns to the gala. The anticipation is its own torment.
Her breath comes in quick, ragged gasps, mirroring my own. Her pulse pounds against my chest, its rhythm matching mine.
Our bodies meld, and my hands roam her back, sides, hips, reacquainting myself with every curve and line. Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging, urging me closer, deeper into the kiss.
I trace the seam of her lips with my tongue, slow and deliberate, savoring the soft gasp that escapes her as she opens to me. Her taste floods my senses—sweet like champagne, uniquely Vivianne.
It's a taste that has haunted my dreams, and now that I have it again, I'm consumed by hunger for more. Our tongues meet, each stroke sparking a fire that burns hotter within me.
My hands drift from her hair, tracing the contours of her shoulders, her back, before settling on her hips. I pull her closer, and she melts into me with a soft moan that nearly undoes me.
I'm painfully aware of my body's response to her, the throbbing ache that grows more insistent with each passing second.
I want her right here, right now, amidst the glitz and glamour of the gala.
Instead, I channel my desire into our kiss, into the way my hands roam her body, memorizing every curve.
Her hips press against mine, a subtle, tantalizing movement that sends shockwaves through me. I can feel her need matching my own, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to give in to the primal urge to take her right here.
I trail kisses along her jaw, down the column of her throat, reveling in the little sounds of pleasure that escape her lips.
For a blissful eternity, nothing exists but this—the taste of her, the feel of her body pressed against mine. The world outside fades away, narrowing down to just us, just this moment.
But reality intrudes all too soon. The distant sound of laughter reminds us where we are and the danger we're in.
Reluctantly, I break the kiss, resting my forehead against hers as we both struggle to catch our breath.
We cling to each other, frantically making up for lost time.
Her tears mingle with the salt on our skin, erased by fervent kisses.
Vows are silently made and received, promises of forever sealed in fleeting touches.
"We don't have much time." Though every fiber of my being rebels against letting her go.
"Then let's make it count." Her fingers trace the line of my jaw.
"We need to talk about the painting."
"I saw the necklace."
"Yes, in the painting. That's what I want to talk about."
"Not in the painting. I saw the real necklace."
I freeze. "You saw—Where? How?"
She glances nervously at the door. "My father has it. In a vault beneath our house. Paul, there's so much down there—paintings, jewels, things I never knew existed."
I struggle to process this information. The necklace, after all these years...
"Vivianne, that necklace—it's more important than you know."
"Tell me."
"It's a long story. One, I promise to tell you in full, but for now, you need to know this—that necklace was given to your grandmother by Merlin for safekeeping just before World War II. It was stolen when she married your grandfather."
The color drains from her face. "My grandfather? But that would mean—"
"Viv? Where the hell has that girl gotten to?" Her father's voice slices through the air, sharp and grating. It carries an edge that leaves the room tense in its wake—abrasive, demanding attention whether you want to give it or not.
Vivianne's eyes widen. Her hand flies to her mouth, stifling a gasp.
"Paul, you have to go. Now." The words are barely audible.
I nod, understanding the urgency. We both know what's at stake if we're caught together. Vivianne's gaze darts to the door, then back to me. She takes a half-step toward me as if pulled by an invisible thread before jerking back.
I gesture toward a second exit I scouted earlier.
Vivianne squares her shoulders, composing herself with visible effort. She smooths her dress, fingers trembling slightly as they brush over the fabric. With one last longing look at me, she turns to the door.
"I'm here. I'm coming, Father." Her voice is steadier now but still tinged with tension.
She slips out, closing the door softly behind her. Through the wood, I hear her fabricate an excuse.
"I'm sorry, Father. I... I needed a moment alone. The excitement of the evening..."
"Nonsense." Mr. Faulks's tone is sharp enough to make me wince. "You've been raised better than to abandon your guests. Prescott has been looking for you."
"I apologize. It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't." His voice lowers, but I can still make out his words. "This is an important night, Viv. The announcement of your engagement... It's time we showed the world the strength of the Faulks name."
"Yes, Father." The words sound hollow, rehearsed.
"Come, everyone's waiting. It's time for the announcement."
I wince, imagining Vivianne's fingers frantically smoothing down the hair I shamelessly ran my hands through moments ago.
Their voices fade as they move away, leaving me in sudden silence.
My fists clench at my sides. The revelation about her family's vault hangs heavy, another complication in our already tangled web.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. There will be time to deal with that later. For now, I need to get out of here undetected. And then... then we plan our next move.
Their footsteps fade, swallowed by the gala's ambient noise. I lean against the door, forehead pressing against the cool wood. The weight of what we're up against settles heavily on my shoulders.
But the memory of Vivianne in my arms, the taste of her still on my lips, steels my resolve. Her father, Prescott, this whole damned engagement—they're just obstacles.
And I've never met an obstacle I couldn't overcome.
I slip out of the Blue Room, straightening my borrowed uniform. The cacophony of the gala washes over me as I make my way back toward the main ballroom. Glasses clink, laughter bubbles, the orchestra swells…
I barely take three steps when a vice-like grip clamps on my shoulder. My muscles tense, ready for a fight, as I spin around.
Marcus—the bodyguard—fixes me with a steely gaze, his massive frame blocking the corridor.
"Mr. de Gaulle." His voice is low and menacing. "I'm afraid you're not on the guest list."
I force my lips into an easy smile, though my pulse races.
"Surely there's been some mistake. I have an invitation right here."
My hand slips into my jacket pocket, fingers closing around a taser—something that will buy me the seconds I need to escape.
Marcus's eyes narrow. He opens his mouth, likely to call for backup, when a sudden commotion erupts from the ballroom. We both turn instinctively toward the sound.
Mr. Faulks is at the podium, microphone in hand. His voice booms through the room, silencing the chatter.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming. We have a very special announcement to make tonight."
My stomach twists. No. Not now. Not like this.
"It is my great pleasure to announce the engagement of my daughter, Vivianne Faulks, to Mr. Prescott Harrington."
The world seems to slow down. Prescott slips a massive diamond ring onto Vivianne's finger. It catches the light, throwing off prisms that mock me with their beauty. Prescott leans in, pressing a kiss to Vivianne's cheek. Mr. Faulks beams, every inch the proud father.
But Vivianne... her gaze darts through the crowd, searching. She finds me, a silent plea in her eyes. The anguish there mirrors the pain lancing through my chest.
Applause erupts, shattering the moment. I use the distraction to wrench free from Marcus's grip, melting into the sea of well-wishers. Plans A through Z crumble to dust.
They moved up the engagement.
The wedding will follow soon.
This changes everything, but one thing remains constant—I will not lose her. Not to Prescott, her father, or anyone.
Vivianne's eyes find mine one last time. A promise passes between us, unspoken but binding.
This isn't over. Not by a long shot.