This morning, after a quick workout and conversation with the girls I already knew during our fitness time, I encouraged bothHillary and Abigail to gather a larger group to sit with us for lunch. They did—Abigail has been quite the social butterfly since arriving and knows nearly everyone—but it didn’t do me much good, seeing as I couldn’t get a word in edgewise around the palpable excitement over tonight.
How handsome they would be. The things they might say. The thrill of a new crush and then being chosen by him tomorrow.
They had a dozen positive twists on something I see as the worst experience of my life, and while that hindered my progress, it also made me sad.
Sad for them. Sad for the letdown when the truth is far less pretty.
Determined to make headway, I regrouped and focused on the afternoon spa event for planting my seeds, and because of how weird it was on a basic level, I was fairly successful.
Women who showed up expecting massages and facials were met with IVs and blood-filtering machines instead. It was very Dr. Frankenstein-esque, and I could tell by the looks on several of their faces, they were wondering what the hell they’d gotten themselves into.
I can see now, though, that the time back in their rooms and the exercise of getting ready for a party tonight has renewed some of their positive energy, and it’s my job now to find a way to squash it without being so much of a buzzkill they all stop talking to me.
Easy, right?
Hah.
“You look really nice, Hillary,” I say finally, the words feeling out of place with everything else rattling around in my head, but very much needed to cultivate her trust.
“Thanks,” she says graciously, accepting my compliment. “I tried, but I’m not exactly a dab-hand with makeup. My mom hired a makeup artist for me yesterday, who came before I left the house. All I had to do last night was a few touch-ups, so I did the best I could.”
I laugh a little. “Mine did too. But not because I can’t do it myself. She just knew I wouldn’t if left to my own devices.”
I present my face as evidence, but instead of laughing, she tilts her head thoughtfully to the side. “Why do you think you’resoopposed to this whole thing? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I understand the hesitation. I’m undecided too. But I’ve kind of…” She shrugs. “Been trying to get used to the idea, I guess. You don’t really seem like you want to, but for me, I feel like it’s the best thing I can do. I don’t want to resent my life. Especially preemptively. I mean, what if it’s great?”
“Yeah, I don’t think this is the kind of idea I can get used to.” I shake my head, trying not to drag her into the pit of despair before she has to go out there and put on a happy face. I want her to doubt—not put herself in real danger by outwardly objecting to the fucking vampires. “My mom and dad have been prepping me for this for years. So, it’s not as if I haven’t had time, but I don’t know… I just pictured something more…romantic for myself. I don’t want to settle. Why should I have to settle? Why shouldany of ushave to settle?”
She nods, lowering her voice as we slow behind a group of other girls at the door to the ballroom. “Meet a guy, be courted, fall in love.”
“Yes,” I agree. “Exactly. This is a great group of women. The best of the freaking best, purportedly. And we’re supposed to be cool with having everything picked for us instead of having any say?” I scrunch up my nose. “Seems weird.”
I think about Cal scaling the building last night to climb in my window like some kind of unhinged superhero and telling me we’re freakingfated mates.
The same Cal I used to follow around like a shadow when I was a little girl. The one I chose before I even knew what choosing meant.
It’s not my choice either, but somehow, it feels different.
Irrational or not, deep down, I feel like something in me has been waiting for him all along. And the second he kissed me, something inside me…clickedinto place.
In a weird way, it seems as if being hereismy path to romance. As fucked up as it is. And that Cal is fated to mebecauseI chose him so early on.
I can’t say that to her without exposing Cal or betraying him by putting his trip to my room at a statistically higher chance of being revealed, though, so I settle for the next best option—saying nothing at all.
“I get that, Romy. I do.” Her smile is soft and thoughtful—hopeful in a way that stings. “But maybe…maybe being thisadored…thisuseful…thispowerfulfor someone else, so much sothat these men are basically fighting over us… Maybe it could be good too?”
Good?Yeah, somehow, I don’t think anything good for women includes the loss of free will and having to be locked and guarded in their rooms at night just to sleep,but I don’t bother explaining that. I’ve already said it. She already knows. She just needs time for the doubt to fester.
“Yeah. Maybe,” I say instead, trying to comfort her with a small smile.
She snorts. “Wow. You really shouldn’t ever play poker, okay?”
I shrug. “I’m sorry. Really.”
“It’s okay,” she reassures with a shake of her head. “It’s a wild thing, coming here to be selected by a vampire and giving up your entire life as you’ve known it. We’re all handling it the best we can.”
Okay, that clinches it.Her sweet nature is too good to ignore.The friendship with Hillary is a solid plan, and if and when I find a way out of this mess, I’m taking her with me.
“You’re so right,” I confirm, squeezing her hand as we take our turn through the door to the ballroom and fan out to the side where waiters are standing with trays of champagne. I grab a glass for me and a glass for Hillary, handing it to her.
