Vlad, in the ruffled shirt I had advised him not to wear, was heading my way across the room, intent on interrupting my moment with Tyrone. Luckily, he was waylaid by nonstop admiration. Stephanie blew off her dance partner and threw herself between Vlad and me as if we’d planned it. Get ’em, Steph!
I looked at Tyrone again and shouted over the music, “You want a drink?”
“WHAT?”
“LET’S GET A DRINK!”
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, he headed toward the bar, happy to oblige my request. I followed behind him, feeling anything but festive.
“Tyrone, I have to confess something. I don’t really drink—and I don’t dance, either.”
He looked amused. “You didn’t have to tell me that.”
“No, it’s worse than being a bad dancer. I’m not who I say I am. My real name is Tiffenie.” I pronounced it in the accent of my homeland, the word thick with the essence of who I was at my core, an eighteenth-century girl from a Transylvanian village.
I waited for Tyrone to respond.
The simple restatement of my name as it was meant to be said made my hair stand on end. It was a confession. I had undone the corset stays of my lies. I said it again. “I am Tiffenie.”
“What? I know.” He flashed me a look of concern. “Do you still feel a little off or something?”
I said it again. “Tiffenie.” Couldn’t he hear the difference?
Tyrone narrowed his gaze in confusion. I caught Vlad’s eyes on me, even as he was spinning another woman on the dance floor, and then quickly looked away from him to Tyrone. My ire spiked. If Vlad didn’t stay out of my business, I was going to use that paddle for something besides bidding on Tyrone.
“I just want us to be honest with each other,” I said.
“Don’t you think I’m being honest with you?” His voice bristled slightly.
“No, I want to be honest with you. I’m trying to tell you. I’m not the Tiffany you think I am.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“I’m not nice and sweet and charitable. If fact, I’m not Tiffany at all. I’m a…”
With a big smile, he said, “What are you going to say—that you’re a vampire?” He laughed at the absurdity.
“Yes.” I gasped. “Why are you laughing? How did you know?”
“Jessica and I were joking about that after all the neck injuries.”
The conversation around us faded away. This was the moment I’d been building to. You can’t have true connection without authenticity. Heaven said so, and Dr. R, and Esther Perel.
Here I am, Tyrone.
I took his hands. His warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile.
“I love how funny you are,” he said.
I bit my lip in frustration. Slowly and deliberately, I explained, “I am the vampire Tiffenie. I am over three hundred years old, and I am just finding my footing. No one has ever found me to be funny.”
For a second, he looked like he wasn’t sure how to take it. “This is great stuff, Tiff. And you are funny. Stephanie and Claire can’t stop talking about it.”
“I’m dead serious, Tyrone. I bit your neck.” I traced my fingers along the mark I’d left. What more evidence did he need?
He leaned in, his breath tickling the baby hairs at the nape of my neck. “I haven’t had a hickey like that since high school.”
“That wasn’t a hickey. I bit you.”
