Chapter 8 Vivienne
Vivienne
Friday morning arrived gray and drizzling, matching my mood as I sat in my empty classroom, staring at my phone for the hundredth time that week. Still nothing from Julian beyond the brief, almost cold responses he'd been sending since Tuesday.
Not today, sorry. Looking forward to Friday.
The same message, or variations of it, every time I'd tried to reach out.
I'd started the week excited, texting him about little things—a funny comment from one of my students, a question about the gallery opening, just wanting to connect after the intensity of Monday night at his studio.
But his responses had grown shorter, more distant, until I'd stopped trying altogether yesterday.
I picked up my phone again, scrolling through our text thread with growing embarrassment. There were my messages, bright and chatty, met with his terse replies. I looked like someone desperately trying to get attention from a man who clearly wasn't interested.
What am I doing? I thought, finally setting the phone face-down on my desk. Maybe Lydia was wrong. Maybe he's just not that into me.
The thought made my stomach clench with disappointment and something deeper—humiliation. I'd let myself believe that what happened between us meant something, that the way he'd looked at me, touched me, measured me with such careful attention, had been about more than just professional courtesy.
But maybe that's all it was. Maybe I was just another woman he was dressing for an event, no different from all those models I'd seen in the photos online.
My phone buzzed, and my heart leaped with excitement only to be dashed a moment later. It was just Lydia.
Lydia: How are you feeling about tonight? Excited?
I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. How could I explain that I was considering not going at all? That the man who'd seemed so interested in me had essentially ghosted me all week?
Vivienne: Honestly? I'm thinking about skipping it.
Not even a minute later I hear loud hurried footsteps outside my classroom hall before an out of breath Lydia yanks open my classroom door causing me to jolt in my seat.
"What do you mean, skipping it?" Lydia's voice was sharp with disbelief. "Vivienne, he's designing you a custom outfit for this thing. You can't just not show up."
"He's barely spoken to me all week, Lydia. I think I misread the situation."
"Or," Lydia said firmly, slamming her hand on my desk, "He's been busy creating something amazing for you and didn't want to be distracted.
Seriously, Viv, you're overthinking this.
The man spent his Monday night taking your measurements.
If he wasn't interested, he would have given you something off the rack.
Actually," Lydia corrected herself, "He wouldn't be giving you anything at all if he wasn't interested. "
I wanted to believe her, but the lackluster responses from Julian felt too pointed, too deliberate. "Maybe I should just text him and say I'm sick."
"Vivienne Ellis, if you bail on this, I will personally drive to your house and drag you to that gallery myself. You're going. End of discussion."
I rolled my eyes, "Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for your class in twenty minutes?"
"Aren't you supposed to be out of here already?
" Lydia shot back. "Your Friday classes are over by noon so you can get a head start and grade all those papers.
Stop wasting time, it's,” she looked at her watch, “One twenty already.
Use some of that extra time to shave your legs and get ready for tonight. "
A startled laugh came from my lips before I got up to thank and hug Lydia.
After Lydia was done lecturing me and waltzed off to her next class, I sat alone in my classroom, watching the rain streak down the windows.
My students had been dismissed an hour ago—one of the perks of the Friday schedule—and I had the rest of the afternoon to either get ready for an evening that might be magical or might be a complete disaster.
I was just gathering my things to leave when my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
Delivery for Ms. Ellis scheduled for 2 PM. Please confirm you'll be available to sign.
I frowned at the message. I wasn't expecting anything, and I definitely hadn't ordered anything that required a signature. But I texted back my confirmation and headed home, curiosity temporarily overriding my anxiety about Julian.
At exactly 2 p.m., my doorbell rang. Through the peephole, I could see a delivery man holding an enormous white box tied with what looked like emerald green ribbon.
"Vivienne Ellis?" He asked when I opened the door.
"That's me."
"I’ve got your delivery. I'll need your signature here."
I signed the electronic pad with shaking hands, my heart suddenly racing. The box was definitely large enough to hold a dress, and the emerald green ribbon hinted at the sender.
I carried the box inside with reverent care, setting it on my coffee table like it might explode. There was a small cream envelope tucked under the ribbon, my name written in Julian's precise handwriting I'd seen when he took my measurements.
With trembling fingers, I opened the envelope.
Vivienne, Every detail was chosen with you in mind. I hope you feel as extraordinary wearing this as you are in every moment I've known you. Until tonight, Julian
Tears pricked at my eyes as I read the note again. This wasn't the message of someone who'd lost interest. This was... personal. Intimate. Like he'd been thinking about me all week, even if he hadn't been responding to my texts.
I untied the ribbon with careful fingers, not wanting to damage anything. When I lifted the lid, I gasped.
Nestled in layers of white tissue paper was the most beautiful dress I'd ever seen.
Emerald green silk that seemed to shimmer with its own light, and as I pulled it out, I could see how it was cut in lines that I could immediately tell would flatter every curve of my body.
But it wasn't just a dress—there were shoes in matching silk, earrings in an emerald green jewelry box that caught the afternoon light like captured stars, and underneath it all, undergarments in the same emerald silk that were works of art themselves.
At the very bottom of the box, wrapped in its own tissue paper, was a delicate hair piece, subtle and elegant, that would complement the outfit.
I held the dress against myself as I looked in the hallway mirror. Even without putting it on, I could see that it would transform me, not into someone else, but into the best possible version of myself.
Julian had been thinking about me all week. He'd been creating this.
I was still marveling at the dress when my doorbell rang again. This time when I opened the door, a woman stood on my doorstep, tall and elegant, carrying a professional case that suggested she was here for business.
"Ms. Ellis? I'm Claire from Bella Vista Beauty. I'm here to help you get ready for this evening."
"I'm sorry, there must be some mistake—"
"No mistake," Claire said with a warm smile. "Mr. Thorne arranged for the full service. Hair, makeup, the works. He was very specific about wanting you to feel pampered."
He arranged a makeup artist? I felt my throat tighten with emotion. How long had he been planning this? How much thought had he put into every detail of my evening?
"I..." I started, then stopped. Julian had done all of this for me. The least I could do was trust his vision. "Come in. I guess I should shower first?"
"Perfect," Claire said, setting down her case. "Take your time. I’ll give you a lotion to put on once you’re done, we'll start with a clean canvas and work from there."
An hour later, I sat in my bathroom while Claire worked magic with brushes and colors I couldn't even name. The woman asked thoughtful questions about my usual style, my preferences, what made me feel most like myself.
"Mr. Thorne was very clear," Claire said as she applied something that made my eyes look larger and more luminous. "He said you should look like yourself, just... more. Enhanced, not changed."
The hair took another hour—Claire's skilled hands creating an elegant updo that felt both sophisticated and natural, the delicate hair piece Julian had included adding just the right touch of glamour.
"Ready to see?" Claire asked finally, positioning me in front of the full-length mirror.
I looked at my reflection and recognized the woman staring back at me even as she seemed ethereal.
It was definitely me—same face, same eyes, same smile—but everything was elevated, perfected, brought into sharp focus.
My skin glowed, my eyes sparkled, my hair framed my face like it had been designed specifically for this moment.
"Now let's get you into that dress," Claire said.
The emerald silk undergarments slipped over my skin like water, the dress followed and settled into place as if it had been waiting for my body specifically.
The fit was perfect—not tight, but sculpted, emphasizing my curves while allowing me to move with grace and confidence.
The shoes fit like they'd been made for my feet, and when Claire helped me with the earrings, the entire look came together in a way that took my breath away.
"My God," I whispered, turning to see myself from different angles. "I look..."
"Like the woman Mr. Thorne sees when he looks at you," Claire said softly. "He has excellent vision."
My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. Your car will arrive in ten minutes.
My stomach fluttered with nerves and excitement. This was really happening. I was going to an exclusive gallery opening, dressed in a custom creation by one of the world's most renowned designers, to meet a man who had spent the week creating this magic for me.
"Thank you," I said to Claire, meaning it more deeply than the woman could know. "For everything."
"Have a wonderful evening," Claire said, packing up her supplies. "You're absolutely stunning. Something tells me you'll be the most captivating piece in that gallery."
I let Claire out and ten minutes later, I stood at my front door, clutching the small purse that Claire had declared perfect for the outfit. Through the window, I could see a sleek black car waiting at the curb, its driver standing beside the open rear door.
This was it. No turning back now.
But as I slid into the leather seat, I realized I didn't want to turn back. Whatever this was with Julian, whatever it meant, I wanted to see it through. I wanted to step into his world, into this evening he'd crafted for me, and see what happened next.
The drive downtown passed in a blur of city lights and nervous anticipation. I tried texting Julian once more, wanting to thank him for everything, but my phone showed the message as delivered but unread.
I recalled he said he would pick me up. Old doubts worming their way in from his week of indifferent texts, and now, no Julian here to pick me up
Maybe he's busy getting ready too, I told myself, though doubt was settling in at the edges of my confidence.
The car pulled up to the gallery, and out the car’s window, I could see photographers clustered outside, their cameras ready to capture whoever emerged from the expensive vehicles arriving at the curb.
Oh God, I thought. There are photographers.
The driver came around to open my door, and I took a deep breath, trying to channel the confidence that Claire had built into my appearance. I was wearing Julian's creation, carrying his vision of me, and that had to count for something.
I accepted the driver's hand and stepped out of the car, immediately feeling the cool evening air against my skin and the weight of curious eyes assessing me. The photographers took a few shots, but without recognizing me, they quickly turned their attention elsewhere.