Page 57 of Her Vampire, His Ruin

“I am, but she definitely isn’t.”

Later that evening, I flick through the brochure I picked up from Scottsdale Gallery in search of the section dedicated to Basilia Hallward’s paintings. Other than the same brief description typed into the placards beside all of her paintings in the gallery, there’s no further information about the mysterious artist. My gaze drifts over her paintings, every single one of them a view through the same window. They all display a similar melancholy, as though that view was her only escape from the life she was trapped in. I shudder, closing the brochure and shoving it across the desk. Then, chewing on my lip, glance at my laptop.

“This is ridiculous,” I grumble, dragging it across the table and opening up a search engine.

I’ve never been one to run background checks on a prospective partner, choosing instead to take someone at face value. Then again, I did have the misfortune to marry Robert, and a quick search into his dubious past would’ve prevented all the heartache. Which is why I’m choosing to do this now. Better late than never, I guess.

Pulling up the same website Elizabeth had earlier, I spend the next few minutes reading through the pages, of which there are only two. The main page details the history of Grayhaven Estate and shows several photographs of the building. According to this website, it was built in the early seventeenth century on a remote island situated off the coast of East Anglia. Apparently, visitors have been prevented from taking the hour-long boat trip to the island not just because of the unpredictable North Sea, but also because the current owner has refused to turn it into a tourist site. Honestly, I don’t blame Dorian. If Grayhaven were mine, I would want to keep it safe, too.

My gaze flicks back to the painting of Basilia Hallward and Dorian Gray. The pair are undeniably beautiful, and the resemblance to the Dorian I know is remarkable. Basilia herself has long blonde hair that seems to glow like a halo around her head. She’s petite, both in height and stature, and seems swamped by her husband, barely reaching his shoulder. They look happy, and I can’t help but wonder why Basilia’s artwork is filled with so much sorrow. After reading the next page, which only really details the baroque architecture, I quickly do a search on Basilia. The first website I come across is the gallery we visited today, but it doesn’t have any new information. The next is a Wikipedia page that really doesn’t tell me anything I haven’t already found out. Other than that, Basilia is as mysterious as her paintings.

“Well, that’s just bizarre,” I say.

Next, I search the name Dorian Gray, but yet again, come up empty, my search taking me back to the Grayhaven Estate website. Finally, I do a quick search on my Dorian, and aside from his hotel and his club appearing, there’s little information about him either. He has no social media accounts, there are no articles about him, nothing to suggest he’s ever been arrested for criminal activity, which, I suppose, is a good thing.

Maybe he’s not a gangster after all.

Or he’s so good at being a gangster that whatever nefarious shit he gets up to can only be found on the dark web. Even if I were somehow able to get access to the dark web, I’m not about to go down that rabbit hole. Instead, I power down my laptop and grab my glass of wine, wondering if Elizabeth was right, that I’m a fool to pursue anything with Dorian and only opening myself up to more heartache.

I push those thoughts aside. Heartache is only a concern if I allow myself to fall for Dorian, and that’s never going to happen.

Chapter 14

Dorian

“Where are you going, Edie?” I mutter, my fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the steering wheel as I watch her stride down her garden path toward a waiting car.

It’s just past eight, and I had every intention of knocking on Edie’s door and asking her out to dinner.

I guess she had other plans. Well, now so do I.

She glances at her phone, checks the license plate, then flashes the driver a quick smile before sliding into the car.

I trail the car into the heart of town until it stops on a quiet backstreet, just five minutes from my hotel. For a moment, I wonder if Edie is planning a surprise visit, but when she steps out of the car and disappears down a dark alley between two tall buildings, I know I’m not the reason she’s here.

Parking across the street, I cut the engine and slip after her. By the time I catch up, she’s already greeting Henrietta, and together they vanish inside the Unlit Lounge, its name pulsing in purple neon above the door. I’ve heard stories about this bar where a small number of guests wander through rooms that grow darker and darker until finally they’re swallowed by total darkness in a blackout room and must trust every sense but sight to find their way out.

Without a second thought, I enter.

“Good evening, Sir, are you here for the singles’ night?” the receptionist asks, a flush creeping up her cheeks as I snap my attention to her.

My brows lift. “This is a singles’ night?”

“Yes, once a week we host a singles night. It’s a fun way to meet new people. Would you like a ticket? The next group is about to enter the first room.”

“Interesting,” I mutter, another thread of jealousy winding its way through my body. It’s just as well that I followed Edie tonight. She needs to be reminded that I do not fucking share.

“And when they reach the blackout room. How do you prevent something untoward happening?”

“Everyone is vetted before they arrive. We have strict rules about expected behaviour. We also have a member of staff waiting on the other side of the exit. He can intervene if necessary.”

“Is there another entrance to the blackout room?”

She frowns, and I feel the back of my neck prickling as my glamour reaches out towards her. It takes mere seconds to creep into her mind, and her frown eases as a soft smile spreads across her face, her will giving way with a gentle push.

“Yes. There’s the hidden staff entrance. We use it in case someone has a panic attack and wants to leave the room before the allotted time is up.”

“How long are they in the room for?”