Chapter 5 Vivienne
Vivienne
I settled at my kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee and a stack of essays that seemed to mock me from their neat piles.
Industrial Revolution and Its Impact on Society.
Sixty papers on a topic I could discuss in my sleep, yet I found myself reading the same opening paragraph three times without absorbing a single word.
I think I'd be perfectly fine smelling like you throughout the day.
Julian's words from earlier kept echoing in my mind, along with the way he'd looked at me—like I was something precious he didn't want to let go of. The memory sent warmth spiraling through my chest, and I caught myself touching my lips where he'd kissed me goodbye.
Focus, Vivienne. I picked up my red pen and tried again.
The Industrial Revolution began in the late 18th century and changed everything about how people lived and worked...
But instead of analyzing the student's thesis, my mind wandered to the way Julian's hands had felt on my skin, still gloved even in the most intimate moments. There was something about those gloves, something I couldn't shake. Why didn’t he ever take them off?
I shook my head and forced myself to concentrate. Twenty minutes later, I'd managed to grade exactly two papers and written "Good insight" on one that I was pretty sure made no sense.
This was ridiculous. I was a high school teacher, not some teenager mooning over some boy.
But that was just it, wasn’t it? Julian Thorne wasn't just some boy.
Before I could stop myself, I opened my laptop and searched for gallery openings that Friday. Nothing came up—no public listings, no event announcements. Whatever Julian was taking me to was clearly more exclusive than I'd thought.
That led me to search for Julian Thorne himself, telling myself I was just researching the kind of events he usually attended so I'd know what to expect.
The first images that populated made my breath catch.
Julian in a perfectly tailored tuxedo at the Met Gala, his arm around a stunning blonde in a shimmering gold gown.
Julian at a fashion week after-party with a brunette model whose legs seemed to go on for miles.
Julian at charity galas, art auctions, premieres—always impeccably dressed, always with a different beautiful woman.
And every single one of those women was wearing something unmistakably his—a signature silhouette, the kind of construction details I'd learned to recognize from studying his collections. He dressed them all.
My stomach sank as I scrolled through image after image. Supermodels, actresses, socialites—women who belonged in his world, who looked like they'd stepped off magazine covers. Women who were everything I wasn't.
What am I doing? I thought, staring at a photo of Julian at some exclusive rooftop event, his hand resting on the small of a redhead's back as cameras flashed around them. I'm a high school history teacher from Kentucky. I grade papers on Sunday mornings and buy my clothes at Target.
I was about to close the laptop when my phone buzzed with a text.
Julian: Hope your grading is going well. I’m looking forward to Friday.
My heart did a small flip, but the images on my screen seemed to taunt me. I typed back before I could overthink it.
Vivienne: Me too! Quick question - where is the gallery opening? I want to make sure I dress appropriately.
His response came within minutes.
Julian: The Meridian Gallery downtown. They've closed the gallery to the public for the evening as it'll be a private event.
Before I could respond, he sent another one.
Actually, I have a proposition - would you let me dress you for the evening? I'd love to create something specifically for you.
I stared at the message. Of course he wanted to dress me. That's what he did with all his dates, wasn't it? I'd just seen the evidence splashed across dozens of photos. Still, the thought of wearing something he'd designed sent a thrill through me.
Vivienne: That's incredibly generous, but I couldn't ask that of you.
Julian: I insist. Could you come by my studio Monday evening? I'll need to take some measurements. I've never looked forward to designing something more.
Never looked forward to it more? I glanced back at my laptop screen, at all those other women in his creations. He probably said that to all of them.
But despite my doubts, I found myself typing back.
Vivienne: Monday works. What time?
Julian: Seven? I'll text you the address. And Vivienne? You're going to bring this piece to life!
I set my phone down and returned to my essays, but concentration was even more elusive than before. Every few minutes, I'd catch myself wondering what he would design for me, how it would feel to wear something made by his hands.
Get it together, I scolded myself. It's just an outfit.
But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't true. Nothing about Julian Thorne was ‘just’ anything.
The afternoon passed in a haze of half-graded papers and wandering thoughts. I was contemplating ordering takeout for dinner when my phone rang. Melissa's name flashed on the screen.
"Viv!" Melissa's voice was bright and breathless. "Oh my god, I have so much to tell you. I met the most incredible man last night—"
"Wait." My grip tightened on the phone. "That's it? That's how you're starting this conversation?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you completely abandoned me last night, Melissa. I waited at that club for over an hour. I texted you, called you. Nothing."
There was a pause. "Oh. Right. Sorry about that, but you're not going to believe what happened. I was at my hotel’s bar, and this gorgeous guy—"
"Are you serious right now?" My voice rose with frustration. "You left me stranded at an exclusive club where I knew nobody, wearing clothes you made me buy, and you want to jump straight into talking about some guy you picked up?"
"Vivienne, calm down. It's not like you were in danger or anything."
"That's not the point!" The words came out sharper than I'd intended. "The point is that you made plans with me, convinced me to dress up and go somewhere completely out of my comfort zone, and then you just… vanished. Without a word. Do you have any idea how that felt?"
Silence stretched between us. When Melissa spoke again, her voice was smaller. "I...I'm sorry. Really. I got caught up in the moment and I should have texted you. That was really shitty of me."
The apology took some of the wind out of my anger, but hurt still lingered. "It was shitty, Mel. I felt like an idiot standing there waiting for you."
"I know. I'm sorry. Look, I'm still in town until next Sunday. Can I make it up to you? Lunch tomorrow? My treat, and I promise to grovel appropriately."
Despite everything, I found myself softening. Melissa had always been flighty, even in college. It was part of her charm and part of her frustration. "Fine. But somewhere good. And you're buying me dessert too."
"Deal. I'll pick you up at noon?"
"I'll meet you there. Text me the address."
After we hung up, I felt oddly deflated.
The conversation had reminded me why Melissa and I had drifted apart over the years—her tendency to get swept up in her own drama and forget about everyone else.
But she was also the friend who'd driven twelve hours to help me move out of my ex-boyfriend's apartment junior year, who'd held my hair while I threw up after too much cheap wine, who'd celebrated with me when I got my first teaching job.
People were complicated. Friendships were complicated.
Kind of like whatever was happening with Julian.
Monday morning arrived gray and drizzly, matching my mood as I prepared for another week of teaching teenagers who would rather be anywhere else. But even the prospect of discussing World War I with distracted seventeen-year-olds couldn't completely dampen the anticipation humming beneath my skin.
Tonight, I would see Julian again.
The morning dragged by in a blur of lesson plans and pop quizzes. During lunch, I drove to meet Melissa at a trendy café downtown, a new place that served eighteen-dollar salads and called them ‘artisanal.’
Melissa was already seated when I arrived, looking effortlessly polished in a way that made me suddenly conscious of my worn cardigan and sensible flats.
"Viv!" Melissa stood to hug me, all air kisses and expensive perfume. "You look good. Teaching really suits you."
"Thanks." I settled into my seat, noting that Melissa looked exactly the same as she had in college—perfectly highlighted hair, expertly applied makeup, clothes that had designer labels.
We ordered, and Melissa launched into the story of her weekend conquest, her enthusiasm reminded me of how much she truly lived for romantic drama. The man was apparently a venture capitalist, divorced, with a penthouse and a yacht and connections to ‘everyone who matters.’
"And get this," Melissa said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "He's taking me to this exclusive event on Friday night. Apparently it's invite-only, super high-end. I'll probably meet celebrities."
"That sounds great,” I enthused, “I'm sure you'll have a lovely time."
"What about you? Please tell me you're dating someone. Your mom asked me about your love life when she called last month, and I had nothing to tell her."
My phone buzzed before I could answer. A text from Julian.
Julian: Color preference for Friday - emerald green or midnight blue?
My pulse quickened as I typed back.
Vivienne: Either would be beautiful. What do you think would work better?
Julian: Emerald. It'll make your eyes the focal point.
I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face.
"Who's that?" Melissa asked, craning her neck to see the phone.
"Just a friend," I said, slipping the phone back into my purse. But the butterflies in my chest suggested it was much more complicated than that.