“It seems that you didn’t have the appropriate ID the last time you came in.”
What the hell. How was I supposed to get to the Cayman Islands?
Now permanently distracted, I set down my makeup brushes and wandered downstairs in my robe and a messy bun that had migrated to the side of my head. Vlad was reading by the fire. Bob, Jessica’s electrician brother, was packing up his tools for the day. He might have been “a hot mess who you better not even think about dating,” according to Jessica, but he was doing a great job on the electricity.
“Heya, Tiff,” Bob said.
I waved in Bob’s direction and poured a glass of B positive from Vlad’s supply, not even bothering to hide that I was about to drink blood. Bob wasn’t the most observant guy.
“I’m having trouble closing that account,” I said to Vlad. “They want me to show up to the bank in person.”
He drew his brows together.
“Flights from Burlington to Grand Cayman start at $526. Even worse, flights are only during the day,” I said.
Vlad looked tired of helping me do favors for Tyrone. Bob, of course, was oblivious.
“You guys planning a midwinter vacay?” Bob asked.
Vlad looked at him. “Don’t you need to head home and get ready for the ball everyone is so excited about?”
Bob shook his head. “My ex will be there. I’m not ready to see her flirting with other guys.”
Vlad put his book down. “That must be very frustrating.” He looked directly at me while he said that.
Bob took one sentence as an invitation to stay and discuss the situation at length. He relaxed into one of the chairs by the fireplace and put his feet up.
“In my opinion,” Vlad went on, “your ex certainly shouldn’t be dancing, laughing, or bidding on any bachelors at the auction, given your recent divorce, and definitely not while you’re there.” Once again, his eyes were boring a hole through me. I chugged some B positive.
Vlad was being very prehistoric in his jealousy.
“I think you might need to get used to the idea of your ex living her life and moving on,” I said. “She’ll probably bid on one of the bachelors, and that is okay.”
Bob sighed heavily.
“It’s time to move on, Bob,” I said, staring right at Vlad. “Why don’t you auction yourself off or buy another bachelor? Have a fresh start.”
From the look on Bob’s face, that advice wasn’t going down well. Hesaid, “I don’t want to give up. I’ve done some work on myself. I’m ready to be my authentic self with her.” He looked down. “It’s probably too late.”
Heaven’s advice came back to me. I was supposed to “Stop moping and be authentic.” And how many times had Dr. Rosetti told me to be myself? You can’t forge a real connection unless you tell them who you really are.
Maybe I should just come clean. Tell Tyrone everything—who I was, what I was, and that I was ready to solve his blackmail problem. That might take a while to digest, but if he could handle that, maybe we could fly to the Caymans and take care of the bank account together.
I could wear a wide-brimmed hat, oversized sunglasses. A parasol wouldn’t be out of the question. And there had to be a red-eye flight. Maybe I couldn’t sunbathe or snorkel, but the beach was probably still enjoyable at night.
Vlad stalked across the room and took my hand. “Let’s talk in private, Tiffenie.”
What was going on? This was my house. Bob should leave. Why was there always someone standing around looking lost? Had I started a collection?
“Tiffenie, I think you should let Tyrone be,” Vlad said, barely out of range of Bob’s hearing.
“Because he’s not you?”
“No, because he’s being blackmailed by Tiffany with a -y.” He paced to the other side of the room and back. “Do you not see how that is a problem?”
I shrugged.
“Red flag number one: It seems likely that he knows you’re not who you say you are and is going along with it silently. Red flag number two: He’s paying a blackmailer to cover up bad deeds.”
