Chapter 16 Vivienne
Vivienne
Monday morning arrived with crisp autumn air and golden sunlight streaming through my bedroom windows, and for the first time in recent memory, I woke up genuinely excited about the day ahead.
Not just because it was Monday—though even my Mondays felt more manageable lately—but because at six o'clock this evening, Julian would be picking me up for my first motorcycle ride.
I'd barely slept, my mind alternating between nervous excitement about the bike and warm anticipation about seeing Julian again.
Our weekend texting had been sweet and constant, but brief exchanges about grading papers and photo shoots couldn't compare to being in the same room, feeling that electric connection that seemed to spark whenever we were together.
I chose my outfit more carefully than usual—dark jeans, a soft blue sweater that brought out my eyes, and comfortable boots. Nothing too fancy for school, but I wanted to look nice for Julian when he arrived.
The drive to Roosevelt High was accompanied by an internal soundtrack of nervous energy and anticipation.
Every red light felt eternal, every slow-moving car an obstacle between me and the evening ahead.
I caught myself humming while I prepared my classroom, actually humming, like I was the heroine in some romantic comedy.
Get it together, Ellis, I told myself, but I couldn't stop smiling.
"Someone's in a good mood," Lydia observed, appearing in my doorway with her usual morning coffee and sharp-eyed assessment. "Let me guess—your mysterious fashion man?"
"Julian," I corrected, unable to suppress my grin. "And yes, definitely Julian."
"Details," Lydia demanded, settling into the student desk closest to mine. "We barely talked over the weekend—you were too busy drowning in those essays to give me proper gossip. Spill everything."
So I did. Over the course of the morning, between classes and during brief hallway encounters, I told Lydia about the gallery opening—about Scarlett's cruelty and Margaret's defense, about seeing Sadie again and feeling genuinely proud of my former student, about how Julian had made me feel like I belonged in his world not as his guest, but as myself.
But it was at lunch, settling into our usual corner table in the faculty room, that I really opened up about the weekend.
"He asked me to the photo shoot," I said, still marveling at the memory. "Just to watch, to see his process. Lydia, it was incredible. All these people creating art together, and Julian conducting it all like some kind of creative orchestra."
"And how did the models treat you?" Lydia asked with the protective instincts of a true friend. "After what happened with that Scarlett woman at the gallery?"
"One of them was awful to one of the staff. But I handled it." I smiled, remembering my successful intervention with Delaney. "I made friends with one of the makeup artists instead. Sometimes the best way to deal with mean girls is just to ignore them and be kind to everyone else."
"Wise woman. What else happened?"
I felt heat rise in my cheeks. "We may have had a rather intense makeout session in the break room."
Lydia's eyebrows shot up. "May have?"
"Definitely had. And he asked me to be his girlfriend. Officially."
"Holy shit, Vivienne!" Lydia's voice carried across the faculty room, earning us a few curious glances. She lowered her tone but her excitement was palpable. "Official girlfriend status with Julian Thorne? I looked him up earlier. Do you realize how huge this is?"
"I'm beginning to," I admitted. "He's picking me up tonight for my first motorcycle ride."
"Your first what now?" Lydia's expression shifted from excitement to concern. "Vivienne, have you ever been on a motorcycle before?"
"Never. But I trust him completely. He promised to be careful, and I've been researching motorcycle safety all weekend.
" I pulled out my phone to show Lydia some of the articles I'd bookmarked.
"Did you know that most accidents happen because of rider error or other drivers not seeing motorcycles?
But Julian's been riding for over a decade without incident. "
Lydia studied my face carefully. "You're nervous."
"Terrified," I admitted. "But also excited. I want to experience something he loves, you know? And there's something thrilling about the idea of trusting him that completely."
"Just promise me you'll wear a helmet and all the safety gear."
"Promise. Julian said he's already arranged everything." I glanced at the clock on the wall. "Five more hours."
The afternoon passed in a blur of lesson plans and eager anticipation.
My AP European History class was particularly engaged, discussing the social implications of industrialization with the kind of passion that reminded me why I loved teaching.
I found myself thinking about Julian's interest in my students' essays, the way he'd genuinely wanted to understand what made me passionate about my work.
I was in the middle of explaining the connection between textile innovations and social mobility when there was a soft knock on my classroom door. Mrs. Henry, the math teacher from down the hall, peered in with an apologetic expression.
"Ms. Ellis? I'm sorry to interrupt, but you're needed in Principal Morrison's office immediately. I've been asked to cover your class."
I felt my stomach drop. In five years of teaching at Roosevelt, I'd never been summoned to the principal's office for anything more serious than scheduling conflicts or administrative paperwork.
"Is everything alright?" I asked quietly, gathering my materials while trying not to alarm my students.
"I'm sure it's nothing serious," Mrs. Henry said, but something in her tone suggested otherwise.
I left my classroom with a growing sense of unease, my earlier excitement about the evening ahead overshadowed by whatever crisis required my immediate attention.
Principal Morrison was known for her old-fashioned approach to education and her absolute intolerance for anything that might reflect poorly on the school's reputation.
The walk to the main office felt endless, and when I knocked on Principal Morrison's door, the stern "Come in" from within made my stomach clench with anxiety. As if I was some misbehaving child.
Principal Morrison was a woman in her early sixties who'd been running Roosevelt High with an iron fist for over a decade.
She believed in discipline, tradition, and maintaining the school's reputation at all costs.
She looked up from her desk as I entered, her expression unreadable but somehow disapproving all the same.
"Ms. Ellis, please sit down." she gestured to the worn plastic chairs in front of her desk that were usually reserved for misbehaving students and their parents.
I settled into the chair across from her desk, my mind racing through possible explanations for this meeting. Had I said something inappropriate in class? Was there a complaint from a parent? Had I missed some important deadline?
"I'll get straight to the point," Principal Morrison said, pulling out what appeared to be a printed photograph. "This was brought to my attention this morning by the school board president."
She slid the photo across the desk, and my heart stopped.
It was a picture of me and Julian at the gallery opening, clearly taken by one of the photographers outside the venue.
We were walking together, Julian's hand at the small of my back, both of us smiling.
We looked happy, elegant, completely natural together.
It was actually a beautiful photo—except for the fact that it was apparently causing problems at my workplace.
"I don't understand," I said carefully. "What's the issue?"
"The issue, Ms. Ellis, is that you're photographed here with Julian Thorne, a man whose personal life has been the subject of considerable media speculation. The school board is concerned about the potential for negative publicity."
I felt anger beginning to simmer beneath my confusion. "Negative publicity about what, exactly?"
"Mr. Thorne is known for his... associations with various women. Models, actresses, socialites. The concern is that this public relationship could reflect poorly on the school's reputation."
The implication hit me like a slap. They were worried I'd be seen as just another notch on Julian's bedpost, another temporary fling that would embarrass the school when it inevitably ended badly.
"Principal Morrison," I said, working to keep my voice level, "Julian is my boyfriend. We're in a committed, exclusive relationship. There's nothing inappropriate or scandalous about two adults dating."
Principal Morrison's expression softened slightly at the word 'boyfriend,' but her tone remained stern.
"Be that as it may, Ms. Ellis, you need to understand that as a representative of this institution, your personal life reflects on all of us.
Any hint of impropriety, any suggestion that you're involved in the kind of lifestyle associated with Mr. Thorne's usual…
companions... could have serious consequences. "
"What kind of consequences?" I asked, though I was afraid I already knew the answer.
"The kind that could affect your employment here," Principal Morrison said bluntly. "I'm not saying anything will happen, but I am saying you need to be very careful about how this relationship proceeds. We can’t bring unwanted scrutiny to Roosevelt High due to bad publicity or media attention."
I stared at the woman across from me, feeling like I'd stepped into some kind of alternate reality. "You're threatening my job because I'm dating someone famous?"
"I'm protecting this school's reputation," Principal Morrison corrected. "And advising you to do the same. As long as your relationship remains… private, and doesn't generate any negative attention, there shouldn't be any problems. But if it becomes a media spectacle..."
She didn't finish the sentence, but the threat was clear.