Chapter 12 BLURRED LINES
By noon, she had what she needed. The paparazzi owed her favors. She paid generously and they adored the chaos she brought. Ethan had been spotted entering the Sinclair family estate outside Trastevere. Not a hotel, not a honeymoon suite. His family house.
"How intimate,bringing the bride home like some lost kitten." she muttered, tossing the last of her champagne aside at the restaurant table.
"No mistakes, you hear me? Do a fucking good job" she said pointing to the reporters she met with, before walking out of the restaurant and driving off in her rented car.
Vivienne didn't waste time. She drove straight to the estate, its tall iron gates and manicured hedges so familiar, they felt like an old lover. The security didn't dare stop her.
Ethan had brought her here several times, during their time together, so her face wasn't a strange one.
She finally got to the entrance and stopped her car, playing her music at a very high pitch and making sure to alert them of her arrival, as she made her way onto the balcony of the house.
Genevieve, who was cleaning around the house, quickly sighted Vivienne and rushed over to her, tone tight. "Ethan is on his honeymoon ma'am, what the hell are you doing?
"Then why is he here?" Vivienne turned, tilting her head. "It's Not exactly romantic to spend your first week of marriage in your parents' house, is it?" She asked, looking Genevieve in the eye.
Genevieve's jaw stiffened. "This isn't your concern."
"Anything involving Ethan is my concern. You and I both know Lena is nothing more than a prop." Vivienne snapped.
"You should leave." Genevieve said again, her face remaining unreadable. "Ethan's choices are none of your business."
"Of course it's my business, it's everyone's business," Vivienne hissed as she was trying so hard to control her anger and impatience.
Before Genevieve could respond, Ethan walked in on them.
Tall, refined, with that same unreadable charm that had once made Vivienne's heart race. But today, his expression was cold steel.
"Vivienne," he said sharply. "What the hell are you doing here?"
He stepped forward, his posture rigid. "You can't just show up like this. I'm on my honeymoon."
She moved closer, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve. "Don't pretend you didn't think about me. You always do." She said, making a fool of herself without knowing it.
Ethan stepped back, jaw tightening. "You're delusional.
"Oh please," she interrupted. "You've been playing house with a nobody and pretending it's real. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"
"It is real," he said sharply. "And Lena is not a nobody."
Vivienne tilted her head. "Really? Because I saw the way you looked at her at the wedding. Like she was a co-worker you were forced to slow dance with." she said, forcing a laugh like it didn't bother her, the pain.
"That's enough, I'm married Vivienne, get that into your head." he said, voice sharp.
"And yet here you are, spending your honeymoon in your mother's house," she shot back. "No island, no luxury hotel. Just this cold place and a wife you barely look at." She was steaming red this time around, so shameless like the world revolves around her.
His fists clenched. "You don't know what you're talking about."
She smirked. "Don't I? Or are you angry because the press just picked up a story about a certain ex-girlfriend who might've been brought to Rome by you, on your private jet?" She said moving back and smiling
Ethan stared at her, his facing forming in confusion and anger. "What did you do?"
"Oh, I didn't do anything, darling," Vivienne cooed. "Just called in a favor. The headline's already trending: "Ethan Sinclair's Secret Lover on Honeymoon Hideaway?" She said, finally getting the expression she wanted from Ethan and laughing in fulfillment.
"You're insane," he said, his voice low with fury.
"No," she whispered. "I'm smart. I know what this is. I know this marriage is a lie. You're hiding something, Ethan. And I'm going to find out what."
He turned away from her, muttering a curse under his breath. Genevieve watched silently, her disapproval radiating like heat from the marble floors.
"You should leave," Ethan said finally, not turning around.
"I think I'll stay a little while," Vivienne replied, brushing past him and walking into the grand sitting room.
Outside the estate, a man leaned against a car, camera in hand, eyes scanning the upper windows. Another flash. Another photo. The story was already out there, and soon it would explode.
Vivienne's game had begun.
And Ethan Sinclair had just been caught in the middle.