Seven in the Morning

June Mercer had spent almost six years becoming the sort of woman people noticed when she entered a room, which was why, at twenty-eight years old, blonde, polished, expensively dressed and accustomed to stepping out of black cars behind men whose names opened doors, she was having such difficulty understanding how completely invisible she could become in less than twenty-four hours. Two weeks earlier, Cindy had tried to warn her. They had been standing beside the coffee machine in the executive kitchen, Cindy stirring sugar into a paper cup while June leaned against the counter wearing the cream-colored suit she had bought in Montreal, the one Richard had told her made her look as though she belonged in Paris rather than behind a desk. Cindy had watched her for a moment. "June." "What?" "I want to tell you something, and you're going to hate me for telling you." June smiled. "That sounds promising." "I'm serious." "So am I." Cindy lowered her voice. "Be careful." June laughed. "About what?" "Richard." That made June laugh harder. "Oh, Cindy." "I mean it." "Of course you do." "What is that supposed to mean?" "It means you're jealous." Cindy stared at her. "Jealous?" "Don't do that." "Do what?" "That wounded little face whenever somebody says something you don't like." "I am not jealous of you, June." "Then stop acting like it." Cindy put her cup down. "He took you to Montreal for four days." "Three nights." "Fine. Three nights." "It was business." "Was it?" June's smile sharpened. "You really want to ask me that?" "No." "Good." "I want to ask you what happens when he gets tired of you." June had actually laughed in her face. Richard had promised to leave his wife. Richard had said his marriage had been dead for years. Richard had said he was only waiting until the timing was right because there were properties involved, investments, family complications, attorneys and tax issues, all the beautifully complicated things wealthy married men apparently had to solve before they could finally run away with their twenty-eight-year-old personal assistants. Cindy knew none of that. Or at least June had believed she didn't. "He loves me," June said. Cindy looked at her for several seconds. "Then I hope I'm wrong." "You are." "I hope so." "You know what your problem is?" "No, June, but I'm sure you're about to tell me." "You've been married so long you've forgotten what it feels like when somebody actually wants you." Cindy's face changed. Only slightly. June noticed it. She simply hadn't cared. "That was cruel." June shrugged. "You started this." "No. I tried to help you." "By telling me the man I love is going to dump me?" "By telling you that last year he was sleeping with Amanda from corporate events." June's smile disappeared. Cindy continued before June could interrupt. "And before Amanda, there was Elise." "You're lying." "I wish I were." "He told me about Elise." "Oh?" "Yes." "And what did he tell you?" "That she became obsessed with him." Cindy closed her eyes. "Oh, June." "Don't." "What?" "Don't look at me like that." "Like what?" "Like you know something I don't." Cindy picked up her coffee. "I don't think there's anything else I can say." "No, there really isn't." June smiled again, victorious because Cindy had stopped talking. "And by the way, you might want to worry about your own marriage instead of mine." Cindy went very still. Then she nodded. "You're right." June turned away. "Glad we finally agree." That conversation had happened fourteen days ago. Yesterday morning, Richard hired twenty-two-year-old Madison Cole. Yesterday afternoon, June received a text message. She had been sitting at her desk outside Richard's office when her phone vibrated, and she remembered smiling before looking at it because Richard had barely spoken to her all morning, and she assumed the message would be an apology, perhaps dinner, perhaps something about finally telling his wife. Instead, it said: June, I've decided to restructure the executive support position. Effective immediately, your services are no longer required. HR will process two weeks severance. Please leave your keycard and company equipment with reception. She read it six times. Then she knocked on his office door. Locked. She called him. No answer. She messaged him. Richard? Nothing. What is this? Nothing. Can you please talk to me? Nothing. Then, because fear had finally broken through the disbelief: Is this because I asked you about your wife? Nothing. Five minutes later Madison came around the corner carrying a laptop. "Hi." June stared at her. Madison smiled nervously. "Mr. Bell said I'm supposed to use this desk." June looked at the desk. Her desk. Her framed photograph from Montreal was still sitting beside the monitor. "How old are you?" Madison blinked. "Excuse me?" "How old are you?" "Twenty-two." June laughed. It came out wrong. Madison looked frightened. "Okay." "Did he hire you today?" "Yesterday." June stopped laughing. Yesterday. Richard had hired her replacement before firing her. Of course he had. By five that evening, June had applied to six companies. By noon the next day, she understood that Richard Bell had not merely fired her. He had erased her. The first interviewer, a man she had met twice at charity dinners, looked uncomfortable from the moment she entered his office. "I'll be straightforward with you, June." "Please." "You have excellent organizational experience." "Thank you." "But?" He sighed. "But people know." June's stomach tightened. "Know what?" He gave her a look that told her not to embarrass herself. "About you and Richard." "There was nothing inappropriate." "June." "We traveled together. I was his personal assistant." "June." She looked away. The second company told her they had decided to pursue younger candidates. The third said the position had unexpectedly been filled. The fourth interviewer actually laughed when she mentioned executive support. "You understand this is a fairly conservative company." June stared at him. "And?" "And Richard Bell's personal assistant applying here the day after he replaces her creates certain assumptions." She stood. "Thank you for your time." "Wait." She stopped at the door. "There is somebody I could refer you to." For one ridiculous second, she felt hopeful. "What kind of company?" He hesitated. "Private companionship." She did not understand. "Companionship?" "Escorting." June stared at him. He raised both hands. "High end. Completely legitimate. Wealthy clientele." "You are suggesting I become a prostitute?" "I did not say that." "You suggested escorting." "I suggested something that might match your—" "My what?" He stopped. June waited. "Your experience dealing with affluent men." She left without another word. At home, she locked the door, closed the curtains and refused to answer her phone. Her mother called. Ignored. Her sister called. Ignored. Three former coworkers messaged. Ignored. Madison sent something beginning with I know this is awkward, but— Deleted. At eight-thirty, June opened Cindy's contact. She stared at the name for nearly five minutes. Then she called. No answer. Of course. June sat down on the floor beside the couch. The voicemail beeped. She almost hung up. Instead she said, "Hi." Her voice cracked. She swallowed. "Cindy, it's me." Silence. "I know you probably don't want to talk to me." June wiped her eyes. "And I don't blame you." Another silence. "I was horrible to you." Her face crumpled. "You tried to warn me, and I laughed at you, and I said terrible things because I thought I knew everything, and you were right, you were completely right, and he fired me." Her voice broke. "He hired a twenty-two-year-old, Cindy." She covered her mouth. "And every company around here knows what happened, and nobody wants me, and one of them offered me a job as an escort because apparently that's what everybody thinks I'm good for now." She started crying properly then, the sort of crying she had been too proud to allow herself all day. "I don't know what to do." She wiped her face again. "I'm sorry." Then she whispered, "I'm really sorry." And hung up. Cindy called eleven minutes later. June stared at the phone until it nearly stopped ringing. Then she answered. "Hello?" "Open the door." June sat upright. "What?" "Your door." June looked toward the hallway. "Cindy?" "Unless you've recently acquired another friend standing outside your apartment holding wine and regretting every life decision that brought her here, yes, Cindy." June got up so quickly she nearly dropped the phone. She opened the door. Cindy stood there in jeans, an oversized cream sweater, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, holding two bottles of red wine under one arm. June stared at her. Cindy stared back. Then June started crying again. "Oh, for God's sake," Cindy said, stepping inside. "Come here." June threw her arms around her. "I was awful to you." "Yes." "I'm serious." "So am I." "You could at least pretend I wasn't." "No." June laughed through the tears. Cindy hugged her tighter. "But you were also hurting, apparently considerably earlier than you realized, and I wasn't going to leave you sitting here alone because Richard Bell finally proved what half the women in this city already knew." June pulled back. "Half?" "Probably more." "That's not helping." "Sorry." "You brought two bottles?" "I know you." "You haven't spoken to me socially in almost a year." "I still know you." They opened the first bottle at nine-fifteen. At ten, June had explained everything. At eleven, she explained it again with considerably more profanity. At midnight, Cindy took off her shoes, curled one leg underneath herself and said, "I should probably tell you something." June narrowed her eyes. "You're sleeping with Richard too?" Cindy nearly inhaled her wine. "No!" "Sorry." "My marriage." June quieted. "What about it?" "It's over." June remembered the coffee machine. Her own words. You've been married so long you've forgotten what it feels like when somebody actually wants you. Her face fell. "Cindy." "Don't." "I said—" "I remember." "I didn't know." "No." "I'm sorry." Cindy stared into her glass. "We haven't announced anything. We're still living together technically, but he's downstairs, I'm upstairs, and neither one of us has cared enough to file anything." "How long?" "A year." June whispered, "A year?" Cindy nodded. "And I made fun of you." "Yes." "Why did you come here?" Cindy looked at her. "Because you called." The answer was so simple that June started crying again. Cindy groaned. "Oh, no." "I'm sorry." "We are going to need the second bottle much sooner than anticipated." By one-thirty in the morning they were sitting sideways on the couch, their bare feet tucked beneath a blanket, eating popcorn and crackers directly from their containers. The subject of Richard had finally exhausted itself. Then Cindy said, "You know what you need?" "A new job." "Besides that." "Money." "Besides that." "A time machine." "June." "What?" "You need somebody completely inappropriate." June laughed. "That's what got me here." "No, Richard was predictable." "He was married." "Exactly. Married executive sleeping with attractive assistant? That's practically an office supply." June laughed so hard wine nearly came out of her nose. "Stop." "I'm serious. You need something ridiculous." "Like what?" Cindy thought about it. "A vampire." June stared at her. "A vampire." "Yes." "That's your solution." "Absolutely." "Why?" "They're immortal, so twenty-eight isn't old." June threw a cushion at her. Cindy caught it. "See? Already helping." "And where exactly do you propose I find a vampire?" Cindy picked up the laptop. "Oh, somewhere online, obviously." June snorted. "Dating apps are terrible enough." "There must be vampire dating." "There is not vampire dating." "There is everything dating." "Cindy." "I'm looking." "You cannot be serious." Cindy typed. Then stopped. Her eyebrows lifted. "What?" Cindy looked at her. "No." "What?" "No way." June leaned closer. "What?" Cindy turned the laptop. At the top of the screen, in elegant lettering against black, burgundy and silver, was a name. VamFem.com June blinked. "No." Cindy grinned. "Oh, yes." "That's fake." "Probably." "Obviously fake." "Almost certainly." June pulled the laptop closer. The page was nothing like she expected. There were no photographs of glamorous women to browse, no parade of faces, no cheap fangs, no coffins and no dripping blood. Just an elegant dark design, burgundy and silver, restrained graphics and a registration panel. June read aloud. "Women apply. Vampires choose." Cindy smiled. "I like them already." June continued. "'Human women create a profile and submit one photograph. Vampires browse privately. Humans cannot browse vampire profiles.'" She looked at Cindy. "So I can't see them?" "No." "I don't get to pick?" "No." "I just put myself there and wait to see whether one wants me?" Cindy smiled. "Having difficulty with somebody else doing the choosing?" June gave her a look. "Very funny." Cindy took another drink. "I think it's perfect." "Why?" "Because you spent six years believing Richard choosing you made you special." June's smile faded. Cindy touched her knee. "I'm not trying to hurt you." "I know." "Maybe tonight you do something stupid that has absolutely nothing to do with Richard." June looked back at the screen. "Registering on a website where vampires supposedly choose human women qualifies." "Very strongly." June scrolled farther. "If you're chosen, she sends a photograph, first name and invitation." "That's it?" "Apparently." "No chatting?" "No." "No browsing?" "No." June stared at the registration panel. "This is bizarre." "Yes." "And you're doing it too." Cindy laughed. "No." "Yes." "I'm married." "You said separated." "Sort of." June shoved the laptop toward her. "It doesn't say unmarried human women." "June." "You started this." "As a joke." "Too late." Twenty minutes later June's profile was open. First name. Age. A few words about yourself. Photograph. That was almost all. "What are you writing?" Cindy asked. "I don't know." "Don't write about Richard." "I wasn't going to." "Don't write about work." "I wasn't going to." "Don't write that you're drunk." June looked at her. "I might." "June." She finally typed: Twenty-eight, blonde, starting over sooner than expected, currently learning that I may not know nearly as much about life as I thought I did. Cindy read it. Her expression softened. "That's actually good." "You sound surprised." "I am." June elbowed her. Then came the photograph. She opened her gallery automatically and stopped at the photograph from Montreal, the one Richard had taken of her at dinner. Cindy immediately said, "No." June looked at her. "What?" "Not that one." "It's a good picture." "Richard took it." June stared at the photograph. For several seconds she said nothing. Then she closed it. "Fine." Cindy picked up her phone. "Sit up." "What are you doing?" "Taking one." "Now?" "Yes." "I've been crying for twelve hours." "And drinking for six." "My hair is a disaster." "You still look annoyingly beautiful." June smiled despite herself. "That sounded almost affectionate." "Don't get used to it." Cindy took several photographs while June protested, posed, stopped posing, laughed, told Cindy she was terrible at this and finally reached toward the camera to make her stop. Cindy showed her the last one. June stared. Her hair was messy, her makeup mostly gone, and she was laughing directly at Cindy rather than at the camera. "I look ridiculous." "You look happy." June stopped. Neither woman said anything for a moment. Then June selected it. She pressed Submit . Cindy sighed. "I cannot believe you actually did it." June looked at her. "Your turn." "Oh, absolutely not." Half an hour later Cindy's profile had been submitted too. At three-thirty they checked. Nothing. At three-forty-five June refreshed. Nothing. At four Cindy caught her doing it again. "Stop." "I'm not doing anything." "You've checked five times." "I was looking at the rules." "You know the rules." June put the phone down. "Fine." At four-ten Cindy caught her reaching for it again. "June." "What?" "Nobody chose you in the last ten minutes." "How do you know?" "Because your phone didn't make a sound." June sighed. "This is stupid." "Extremely." "I don't care anyway." "Obviously." A little while later Cindy stretched out along the couch, June curled against her almost automatically, and neither woman remarked upon how natural it felt because they were far too tired and far too drunk to examine anything that closely. June pulled the blanket over them. "Cindy?" "Hmm?" "I'm sorry." "For what?" "Everything." Cindy was quiet. Then she said, "I know." "That isn't the same as saying you forgive me." "No." June lifted her head. "Cindy." Cindy opened one eye. "I drove across town with two bottles of wine after you insulted my marriage two weeks ago. What do you think?" June smiled. "I think you're a better person than I am." "Probably." "Cindy." "I'm kidding." June settled against her again. "Don't leave before I wake up." "I'm not going anywhere." "You promise?" "Yes." Sometime before five, both women fell asleep. At exactly seven in the morning, June's phone chimed from somewhere beneath the couch cushions. She groaned. Cindy shifted beside her. The phone chimed again. June opened one eye. "No." Cindy murmured, "Turn it off." "I can't find it." "Then kill it." June shoved one hand between the cushions and finally found the phone. She squinted at the screen. Then stopped. Completely. Cindy's eyes remained closed. "What?" June didn't answer. "June?" Nothing. Cindy opened one eye. June was sitting upright now, staring at her phone. "What happened?" June whispered, "I got chosen." Cindy's other eye opened. "What?" June turned the phone toward her. At the top was the VamFem notification. A vampire has selected you. Below it was a photograph. A stunning woman who appeared to be in her early thirties, with long dark hair, pale skin, elegant features and calm gray eyes, photographed in a black evening dress as though she had never once in her life needed to wonder whether anybody would notice her. Beneath the photograph was one name. Vivienne And beneath that: Dinner tonight. The Aurelia Hotel. 8:00 PM. June stared. Cindy stared. Neither spoke for several seconds. Finally Cindy whispered, "Oh." June swallowed. "Yeah." "She's..." "I know." "No, I mean she's really..." "I know." Two buttons waited beneath the invitation. ACCEPT DECLINE Cindy looked at them. "Well." June's thumb hovered over the screen. "Well what?" "Are you going?" June stared at Vivienne again. "This is insane." "Completely." "It might not even be real." "Probably isn't." "The whole thing could be some elaborate joke." "Possibly." June looked at Vivienne's photograph once more. Then pressed: ACCEPT. For approximately ten seconds, June felt extraordinarily brave. Then reality arrived. She stared at the word ACCEPTED . Cindy stared at her. "You didn't even think." "I thought." "You looked at her picture for approximately four seconds." "It was longer than four seconds." "It was not." June looked back at the photograph. Vivienne. Dinner. The Aurelia. Eight o'clock. June swallowed. "Maybe it's fake." Cindy poured herself coffee. "That would probably be the best possible outcome." June looked at her sharply. "Why?" "Because if it isn't fake, you're apparently having dinner with a vampire tonight." June opened a search window. "What are you doing?" Cindy asked. "Checking." "Checking what?" "Whether this is a hoax." "How exactly do you check whether vampires are real?" "I don't know." June typed. Results appeared. She frowned. There were discussion boards. Articles. Anonymous accounts. Hotel photographs. Women arguing about whether VamFem had become too selective. Women complaining that they had been registered for years without being chosen. Women claiming they had been chosen once and had spent the next five years hoping it would happen again. Then June stopped. Vampire Dating Magazine. Cindy leaned over. "Oh, that cannot possibly be real." June opened it. The website was glossy, sophisticated and disturbingly matter-of-fact. June began reading aloud. "'I Was Chosen at Thirty-Seven.'" Cindy raised an eyebrow. "Good for her." "'Three Hours in Paris With Sabine.'" "Sounds expensive." "'What Your First Invitation Really Means.'" June clicked it. Cindy groaned. "You're going to make yourself insane." "I'm researching." "You're hungover." "I can be both." The article claimed that a verified VamFem invitation meant precisely what it appeared to mean. A vampire had seen your profile. She had chosen you. She wanted to meet you. June kept reading. "Apparently they don't choose accidentally." "That's reassuring." "'Do not expect forever. Most invitations are exactly what they appear to be: one evening, one woman, one extraordinary experience.'" Cindy became quieter. June scrolled farther. There were articles about what to wear, what not to ask, why feeding was never part of the arrangement, why vampires valued privacy and why human women were repeatedly warned not to confuse an extraordinary night with a promise of permanence. Then June found a column titled: YOUR FIRST NIGHT: STOP TRYING TO CONTROL IT She clicked it. Cindy sighed. "Oh, no." June read silently. Her expression changed. "What?" June didn't answer. "June?" She lowered the laptop. "It says women usually make the same mistake." "What mistake?" "They spend the whole day worrying about whether they're attractive enough, interesting enough, experienced enough, young enough..." Cindy gave her a pointed look. June ignored it. "...and apparently none of that matters once the vampire arrives." "Why?" June looked back at the article. "Because she chose you already." Cindy smiled. "There you go." June continued reading. Then her eyes widened. "What?" "Nothing." "That was not a nothing face." "It says not to make plans for early morning." Cindy burst out laughing. "Stop." "And to bring an overnight bag unless the invitation says otherwise." Cindy laughed harder. "This isn't funny." "It is a little funny." June stood abruptly. "I need clothes." Cindy checked the time. It wasn't even nine. "You have eleven hours." "I have nothing to wear." "You own more clothes than anybody I know." "Nothing appropriate." "For dinner?" "For dinner with a vampire." Cindy paused. "Fair point." That was the beginning of the problem. By ten, June had tried on seven dresses. By eleven, she had rejected nine. At noon, Cindy finally went home after extracting a promise that June would stop reading Vampire Dating Magazine. June promised. Then waited until Cindy left and immediately reopened it. That was when she found the reader accounts. They were worse. Or better. Depending upon how she looked at them. One woman described her VamFem evening as the first time in my life I understood what it meant to have someone's complete attention. Another wrote that she had expected seduction and had not expected kindness. Another simply said that nothing before it had prepared her, and nothing afterward had ever quite compared. June read that twice. Then three times. She found an entire section devoted to the rarest outcome. CHOSEN TWICE. The stories were almost legendary. A second invitation was unusual. A third was astonishing. Anything permanent was rare enough to become magazine material. June closed the browser. Opened it again. Closed it. Changed dresses. Changed back. Called Cindy. Cindy answered immediately. "You're panicking." "I'm not." "You didn't even say hello." "Should I wear black?" "You called me to ask that?" "Yes." "June." "What?" "She's a vampire. She probably owns enough black for both of you." June looked at herself in the mirror. "Maybe the champagne dress." "Yes." "Too soft?" "No." "Too eager?" "June." "What?" "Are you hearing yourself?" "No." "Good." June sat on the edge of the bed. "I shouldn't go." "Then don't." That answer came so quickly that June frowned. "You think I shouldn't?" "I think if you don't want to go, you shouldn't." "That's not what I said." "You said you shouldn't go." "That's different." "How?" June struggled. "I want to go." "Then go." "I'm terrified." "Then be terrified and go anyway." June lay backward across the bed. "What if she's awful?" "Leave." "What if she's strange?" "Leave." "What if she's actually a vampire?" There was a pause. Then Cindy said, "Apparently that's the point." June covered her face. "Oh, God." "And according to everything you read, you're safe." "Yes." "And according to the site, she can't force you to do anything." "No." "And according to Vampire Dating Magazine—" "Don't mock me." "I'm not. According to your extremely serious vampire journalism, most women come home very happy." June went quiet. Cindy heard it. "Oh." "What?" "That's what's actually bothering you." "I don't know what you're talking about." "Yes, you do." June stared at the ceiling. "No, I don't." "You haven't been nervous about dinner for the last hour." "Cindy." "You're nervous about what comes after dinner." June closed her eyes. "I hate you." Cindy laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow." "If I survive." "You'll survive." "How do you know?" "Because apparently vampires have rules." June sighed. "Cindy?" "Yes?" "What if it's incredible?" Cindy was quiet for a beat. Then she said gently, "Then maybe you deserve one incredible night." June did not answer. "June?" "I'm here." "Stop thinking about Richard." That struck harder than Cindy intended. June opened her eyes. "I'm trying." "No. Stop letting him come with you tonight. He doesn't get to be there." June swallowed. "Okay." "Tonight has nothing to do with him." "Okay." "And June?" "What?" "Do not call Vivienne old." June laughed. "I'm hanging up." By seven-thirty, she had changed dresses twice more. At seven-forty, she nearly cancelled. At seven-forty-five, she put her shoes back on. At seven-fifty, she was inside the lobby of the Aurelia Hotel wondering whether she could still escape without anyone noticing. At seven-fifty-nine, June Mercer was a nervous wreck. She stood beside an enormous arrangement of white flowers, one hand wrapped so tightly around her evening bag that her fingers hurt. Every woman who crossed the lobby made her look up. Too young. Too old. Blonde. Brunette. Human. Probably human. How did one even tell? June checked the time again. 7:59. "This is insane." "Is it?" The voice came from beside her. June turned. And forgot every sentence she had prepared. Vivienne was there. Not approaching from across the lobby. Not announcing herself. Simply there. Tall, composed, black evening dress, dark hair falling over one shoulder, pale skin luminous beneath the hotel lights, gray eyes fixed on June with an expression that was neither predatory nor cold but quietly amused. And the photograph had been completely inadequate. June stared. Vivienne smiled. "June?" June's mouth opened. Nothing happened. Vivienne waited. June finally managed, "You're..." Vivienne's smile deepened. "I'm?" June wanted the floor to open. "You're Vivienne." "I am." "Obviously." "That is usually how introductions work." June laughed nervously. "Oh, God. I'm sorry." "For recognizing me?" "For being an idiot." "You've been speaking to me for approximately twelve seconds. I think we should postpone that judgment." June looked at her. Vivienne extended one hand. "May I?" June placed her hand in hers. Vivienne's fingers closed gently around it. Cool. Not cold. Cool. June's entire arm tingled. "Hello, June." June stared into those gray eyes. "Hello." Vivienne released her hand. "Have you been waiting long?" "No." June corrected herself. "Nine minutes." Vivienne laughed softly. "Nine minutes is not long." "It felt long." "Nervous?" "No." Vivienne looked at her. June lasted perhaps two seconds. "Terrified." "Better." "Better?" "Truth usually is." Vivienne offered her arm. "Dinner?" June looked at it. Then at her. Then slipped her hand around Vivienne's arm. "Yes." Dinner should have calmed her. It did not. It simply changed the nature of the problem. Vivienne did not dominate the conversation by speaking endlessly about herself. She did something far more dangerous. She asked about June. Not the profile. Not the photograph. June. "What makes you laugh?" "I don't know." "You laughed in your photograph." "Cindy took that." "Cindy?" "My friend." "The one who convinced you to apply?" June blinked. "How did you know that?" Vivienne smiled. "I didn't. But now I do." June laughed. "Right." "Tell me about Cindy." And somehow June did. She talked about work without mentioning Richard at first. Then mentioned Richard without intending to. Then stopped. Vivienne noticed. "You don't have to tell me." June looked down. "No, I want to." So she told her. Not everything. Enough. Richard. Montreal. The promises. The message. Madison. Twenty-two. The interviews. The escort offer. By the time she finished, she was embarrassed again. Vivienne merely lifted her wineglass. "May I offer an observation?" June nodded. "You seem remarkably determined to describe yourself through the opinions of mediocre men." June stared at her. Then laughed unexpectedly. "Mediocre?" "Would you prefer disappointing?" June laughed harder. "No." "Then mediocre." "You don't even know him." "I know he fired a woman by message after sleeping with her and replaced her with someone younger rather than having an adult conversation. I feel sufficiently informed." June's eyes widened. Then she smiled. "I think I like you." Vivienne leaned back. "I would hope so. You accepted dinner." "No, I mean..." "I know what you mean." June blushed. Vivienne noticed that too. Dinner lasted almost two hours. June barely remembered eating. Every time she tried asking Vivienne something, Vivienne answered, but somehow the conversation curved back toward June. Her childhood. Her ambitions. Her mistakes. The things she liked. The places she had traveled. The things she wanted but had never admitted wanting. At one point June stopped and laughed. "What?" June shook her head. "You've barely told me anything about you." "You haven't finished telling me about you." "That's not fair." "Why?" "Because I'm starting to feel interviewed." Vivienne smiled. "Do you dislike my questions?" "No." "Do you want me to stop?" "No." "Then perhaps you simply aren't accustomed to someone being interested." That silenced her. Vivienne's expression softened. "Too much?" June shook her head. "No." "Good." June looked down at her hands. "It's strange." "What is?" "Richard talked constantly." Vivienne waited. "About work, money, people he hated, people he wanted to impress, what he was buying, where we were going, what his wife didn't understand about him..." "And you?" June laughed without humor. "I listened." Vivienne reached across the table and touched two fingers lightly against June's hand. "That sounds exhausting." June looked at their hands. A tiny touch. Nothing more. And somehow it made her pulse jump harder than Richard kissing her ever had. Dinner ended before June was ready. The waiter removed the final glasses. Vivienne looked at her. "Would you like coffee?" June nearly said yes simply because it would prolong dinner. Then Vivienne added quietly: "Or are you ready for the next part of the evening?" There it was. June's heart slammed against her ribs. She stared at Vivienne. Every article. Every reader account. Every stupid thought she had entertained since breakfast suddenly crowded into her head at once. Vivienne watched her calmly. "You can say no." June swallowed. "I know." "We can stay here." "I know." "We can finish the evening after another drink." "I know." "Or you can go home." June shook her head immediately. "No." Vivienne's eyebrow lifted. June blushed. "I mean... I don't want to go home." Vivienne stood. "Then come with me." The elevator was worse. Far worse. Because there was nobody else inside. The doors closed. June watched the numbers climb. Vivienne stood beside her. Close. Not touching. Which was somehow worse. June could smell her perfume. Could feel her presence. Could remember every word she had read that morning. Vivienne glanced sideways. "You've gone quiet." June stared at the floor indicator. "I'm trying not to have a nervous breakdown." "Would touching you make that better or worse?" June turned toward her. Vivienne was very close now. "Better." "Are you sure?" "No." Vivienne smiled. "Another honest answer." She moved closer. Not enough to trap her. Enough that June's back almost touched the elevator wall. Vivienne placed one hand lightly at June's waist. June inhaled sharply. "Still all right?" "Yes." The answer came embarrassingly fast. Vivienne's eyes dropped briefly to June's mouth. June felt heat rush through her entire body. The elevator chimed. The doors opened. Vivienne stepped away. June almost protested. Instead she followed her down a quiet corridor toward a private suite. The moment the door closed behind them, June's nerves became unbearable. The suite was enormous. Beautiful. Quiet. City lights beyond the windows. Vivienne removed her wrap and placed it over a chair. June stood near the doorway. Vivienne looked at her. June laughed nervously. "What?" "Nothing." "I'm doing something." "You are." "What?" "Thinking." June exhaled. "I have been thinking since seven this morning." "I noticed." "I read everything." Vivienne's expression became amused. "Everything?" "Vampire Dating Magazine." "Oh." June narrowed her eyes. "Don't laugh." "I wasn't." "You were about to." "I was considering it." June covered her face with both hands. "I am making a complete fool of myself." Vivienne crossed the room. "June." "I spent twelve hours reading stories about women having the greatest night of their lives, and now I'm standing here wondering whether I'm supposed to say something clever or wait for you to do something or—" "June." "—and I know that's ridiculous because I'm twenty-eight years old, I've had relationships, I've had sex, I'm not some frightened teenager, but this is completely different and—" Vivienne kissed her. June stopped. Everything stopped. One hand slid gently behind June's neck, the other around her waist, and the kiss was slow, certain and unhurried, as though Vivienne had all the time in the world and knew perfectly well that June would eventually stop thinking. She did. June's hands found Vivienne's shoulders. Then her arms. Then she simply folded into her. Vivienne broke the kiss only slightly. "Better?" June opened her eyes. "No." Vivienne smiled. "No?" June pulled her closer. "Do it again." Vivienne did. This time June stopped trying to understand anything. She stopped wondering about Richard. Stopped wondering about Madison. Stopped wondering whether she was too old, too foolish, too eager, too inexperienced at whatever this was supposed to be. Vivienne kissed her again and June surrendered with a soft sound against her mouth, clinging to her as though every humiliation of the previous two days could be forgotten if Vivienne simply did not let go. When they finally separated, June's face was flushed. Vivienne brushed blonde hair away from her cheek. "Still nervous?" "Yes." "Good." June blinked. "Good?" "It means you're here." June laughed breathlessly. Then Vivienne kissed the corner of her mouth. June closed her eyes. "Vivienne." "Yes?" "Please don't make me wait anymore." Vivienne took her hand. June followed her toward the bedroom. At the doorway Vivienne turned. "June?" June looked at her. "You can still change your mind." June stared at this extraordinary woman who had spent an entire evening listening to her, asking about her, looking at her as though there were nowhere else she would rather be. June stepped forward. "No." Vivienne touched her cheek. "No?" June kissed her. Then whispered against her mouth: "I've changed my mind enough this week." Vivienne smiled. June pulled her into the bedroom. The door closed. A moment later June's laughter drifted through the suite. Then: "Vivienne..." A pause. "Oh..." And somewhat later: "Don't stop." The rest of the night belonged to them. June woke slowly. For several seconds she did not know where she was. Then she moved. And remembered everything. Her eyes opened. "Oh." She lay very still. Her entire body seemed to be sending her reports. Aches in places she had not expected. Warmth. A strange heaviness in her legs. And underneath all of it something she could only describe as satisfaction so complete that she wanted to laugh. Then she did. Quietly. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "Oh, my God." Memory arrived in pieces. Vivienne's hands. Vivienne laughing. June's own voice saying things she absolutely hoped nobody in the next room had heard. She pulled the sheet over her face. "No." Then she started laughing again. Richard Bell seemed like something that had happened to another woman. June lowered the sheet. The other side of the bed was empty. Her smile faded. She touched the pillow. Cold. Of course. One night. That was what VamFem was. One invitation. One evening. Do not expect forever. June stared at the empty side of the bed, surprised by how quickly happiness could develop a sharp edge. Then she heard a door open. She looked up. Vivienne walked into the bedroom wearing a white hotel robe, dark hair damp from the shower, no makeup, somehow even more beautiful than she had been the night before. June's entire face changed. Vivienne noticed. "Good morning." June pulled the sheet slightly higher. "Hi." Vivienne smiled. "How do you feel?" June considered lying. Then remembered Vivienne's preference for honesty. "I hurt." Vivienne's expression changed immediately. "In a bad way?" June's eyes widened. "No!" Vivienne waited. June turned crimson. "No. Definitely not in a bad way." Vivienne smiled. "Good." June buried half her face in the pillow. "Please don't make me explain." "I wasn't planning to." "Thank you." Vivienne sat on the edge of the bed. June looked at her. Vivienne brushed a strand of hair from June's face. "Did you like your date?" June stared. "That's your question?" "Yes." June began laughing. "Vivienne." "Was that not a reasonable question?" June pushed herself up against the pillows. "I have never had a date like that in my life." Vivienne's expression remained maddeningly calm. "So yes?" June grabbed the front of Vivienne's robe, pulled her down and kissed her. Vivienne laughed against her mouth. When June finally released her, she whispered: "Yes." "I see." "Do not look so pleased with yourself." "I'm not." "You absolutely are." "Perhaps a little." June kissed her again. This one was slower. Softer. Morning rather than night. When Vivienne pulled away, she nodded toward the sitting room. "There's coffee." June's eyes widened. "Coffee?" "And breakfast." "I may marry you." Vivienne laughed. "I believe Vampire Dating Magazine would consider that premature." June stared at her. "You know about that?" "Everyone knows about that magazine." "I spent half of yesterday reading it." "I suspected you might." June groaned. "Was I that obvious?" "Painfully." Vivienne stood. June watched her. Then remembered something. "What time is it?" "Almost ten." June's smile faded slightly. Vivienne saw that too. "I have to leave early today." "Oh." June tried to hide the disappointment. Failed. Vivienne walked back to the bed. "June." "It's fine." "I didn't say you have to leave." June looked up. Vivienne touched her cheek. "Stay awhile if you like. Have breakfast. Use the bath. Sleep another hour." June smiled faintly. "While you leave?" "Unfortunately." June nodded. There it was. One evening. One extraordinary experience. Exactly what the website promised. Vivienne leaned down and kissed her. June closed her eyes. When it ended, June whispered, "Will I see you again?" The question escaped before pride could stop it. Vivienne studied her. June immediately regretted asking. "You don't have to answer that." Vivienne smiled. "Perhaps." June's heart jumped. "Perhaps?" "Perhaps we meet again." June stared. Vivienne kissed her forehead. "Coffee first." Then she walked toward the bathroom to finish getting ready, leaving June sitting in the enormous bed feeling happy, aching, satisfied, disappointed, hopeful and completely incapable of deciding which emotion deserved priority. She grabbed her phone. There were six messages from Cindy. 8:04 PM — You alive? 9:17 PM — I assume dinner is happening. 10:42 PM — WELL??? 11:31 PM — I hate you. 7:13 AM — Are you alive? 9:06 AM — JUNE MERCER ANSWER ME June smiled. She typed: Lunch. 12:30. Cindy responded before June could put the phone down. OH MY GOD YOU'RE ALIVE. June typed: Barely. Three dots appeared. Then: THAT SOUNDS PROMISING. June laughed so loudly that Vivienne called from the other room: "Everything all right?" June looked toward the doorway. "Perfect." Cindy was already seated when June arrived for lunch. June walked toward the table. Cindy looked up. Then stopped. June sat down. Cindy continued staring. "What?" Cindy leaned forward. "No." June smiled. "No what?" "You cannot sit there looking like that and say 'what.'" "Looking like what?" Cindy pointed at her. "That." June tried to suppress the smile. Failed. Cindy's eyes widened. "Oh, my God." "Would you stop?" "No." People at the next table looked over. Cindy lowered her voice. "You did." June picked up the menu. "I had dinner." "June." "At a hotel." "June." "With a very interesting woman." "June!" June started laughing. Cindy leaned across the table. "Was she actually a vampire?" June lowered the menu. Her smile changed. "Yes." Cindy went silent. "Really?" June nodded. Cindy stared. Then leaned closer. "And?" June thought about the lobby. The elevator. Vivienne's hand at her waist. The suite. The morning. The white robe. Perhaps we meet again. June felt herself blush. Cindy saw it. "Oh." June looked down. Cindy whispered, "Oh, wow." June laughed. "What?" "You look completely different." "I do not." "You do." "How?" Cindy studied her. Then smiled. "Yesterday you looked like somebody had thrown you away." June's smile faded. Cindy reached across the table and took her hand. "Today you look like somebody just reminded you that was never true." June looked at her. For a moment neither woman spoke. Then Cindy's expression became mischievous again. "So." June groaned. "No." "Come on." "No details." "One detail." "No." "Was Vampire Dating Magazine lying?" June bit her lip. Cindy's eyes widened. June began laughing. "June!" June picked up the menu and hid behind it. Cindy leaned around the side. "Was it better than anything?" June lowered the menu just enough for Cindy to see her eyes. She thought about the night. About the morning. About Vivienne saying perhaps . Then she smiled. "Yes." Cindy sat back. "Well, damn." June looked through the restaurant window, sunlight spilling across the table, yesterday's disaster suddenly feeling impossibly far away. Cindy noticed June glancing toward the phone beside her plate. "Waiting for something?" June looked at her. "No." Cindy smiled. June glanced at the phone again. "Maybe." "You're hopeless." "I had one date." "You spent twelve hours researching that date, nearly cancelled it three times, disappeared into a hotel with a vampire, came to lunch looking like that, and now you're staring at your phone hoping she asks you out again." June tried to look offended. "Looking like what?" Cindy laughed. "Don't start that again." June picked up her coffee. "I'm perfectly normal." "You have been smiling at absolutely nothing for forty-five minutes." "Maybe I'm happy." Cindy's expression softened. "Maybe you are." June looked at her friend across the table, remembered the woman who had driven across town with two bottles of wine when June deserved considerably less kindness than that, and smiled. "Thank you." Cindy frowned. "For what?" "Coming over." "June—" "No. Really. If you hadn't come over, none of this would have happened." Cindy laughed. "I am not accepting responsibility for you sleeping with a vampire." June nearly choked on her coffee. "Cindy!" "What? It's true." "People can hear you." "Good." June covered her face. "I hate you." "No, you don't." "At this exact moment, slightly." Cindy reached for her iced tea. "And for the record, I still maintain that signing up was a terrible idea." June lowered her hands. "You signed up too." "Drunk Cindy signed up." "Still Cindy." "Completely different woman." "Same photograph." "Unfortunately." "Same phone." "June." "Same profile." Cindy pointed at her. "Enough." June grinned. And then Cindy's phone chimed. Neither woman reacted at first. Cindy took another sip. June reached for her coffee. Then both of them stopped. Slowly, June looked at Cindy. Cindy looked at June. The phone sat between them on the table. June's smile began to grow. "No." Cindy stared at the phone. "Don't." "Cindy." "It could be anything." June leaned forward. "Your husband?" "Possibly." "At twelve-forty-seven?" "People communicate at lunchtime." The phone chimed again. Cindy did not move. June's eyebrows rose. "That's twice." "I can count." "Open it." "No." "Cindy." "June, if you touch my phone, I swear—" June was already laughing. "You're scared." "I am not scared." "You're terrified." Cindy picked up the phone. "I am proving you wrong." She looked at the screen. And froze. June knew immediately. "Oh, my God." Cindy said nothing. "You got one." Nothing. "Cindy." Cindy slowly turned the phone toward her. At the top of the screen: A vampire has selected you. Beneath it was a photograph. A striking Black woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties, with rich deep-brown skin, very short sculpted natural hair, elegant gold earrings, dark expressive eyes and a warm, self-assured smile that somehow looked both inviting and dangerous, as though she already knew exactly how nervous Cindy was going to be when they finally met. One name. Marcella And underneath: Cocktails tonight. The Bellrose Hotel. 8:30 PM. June stared. Then looked at Cindy. Cindy looked horrified. "No." June's mouth fell open. "She's gorgeous." "That is irrelevant." "Cindy." "No." "Look at her." "I am looking at her." "Exactly." Cindy put the phone facedown. June immediately flipped it over again. "Stop touching my phone." "You made me go." "I did not make you go." "You told me to be terrified and go anyway." Cindy stared at her. June smiled sweetly. "I believe those were your exact words." "I hate you." "No, you don't." Cindy looked back at Marcella's photograph. Her expression changed. Just slightly. June saw it. "Oh." Cindy immediately looked up. "What?" June began laughing. "Nothing." "June." "Absolutely nothing." Cindy looked at the two buttons beneath the invitation. ACCEPT DECLINE June rested her chin in her hands. "Well?" Cindy stared at the screen. "I'm still married." "Sort of." "June." "Your words." "This is insane." "Completely." "She might actually be a vampire." June's smile became positively radiant. "That's apparently the point." Cindy glared at her. June waited. Cindy looked at Marcella again. Then at June. "If this goes badly, I'm blaming you." June leaned back in her chair. "That's fair." Cindy took a breath. Her thumb moved. ACCEPT. For several seconds neither woman said anything. Then Cindy whispered: "Oh, God." June picked up her coffee. "Relax." Cindy looked at her. "That's easy for you to say." June smiled over the rim of the cup. "Actually..." Cindy narrowed her eyes. June's smile widened. "...I know exactly how you feel." THE END