The air felt heavier than before.
Even the sky looked tired, as if it had seen too much of them already. And just wanted to sip a hot cup of tea and take a nap.
Vivienne rode behind André as they made their way down the narrow mountain path, the horses' hooves hitting the ground in slow, steady beats. The wind had grown colder, brushing her face and neck like an unwanted hand.
The silence between them was so thick it could choke a saint.
André rode in front, quiet, stiff, his back straight as a sword. He didn't look at her, didn't speak, didn't even seem to blink. Everything about him screamed control, but not the calm kind — the kind that looked ready to break.
Vivienne hated it.
She hated silence. She hated men who acted mysterious. She hated cliffs, horses, and the fucking smell of flowers that was still stuck in her hair. She hated everything. Everyone. Including herself at that moment.
But most of all, she hated that she couldn't stop thinking about what he'd said.
