The Eleventh Date

Valeria had begun to suspect that she was doing something wrong. Ten dates. Ten women. Not ten disasters. That would almost have been easier. There had been no screaming, no attempted blackmail, no woman arriving with garlic hidden in her handbag, and only one who had spent most of dinner staring at Valeria's mouth before finally admitting she had joined VamFem.com because she had always wanted to see real fangs. A fang chaser. Valeria had known within eleven minutes. The others had been perfectly pleasant. A lawyer. A financial consultant. A woman who owned three restaurants and spent half the evening attempting to persuade Valeria to invest in a fourth. There had even been a doctor intelligent enough to hold Valeria's attention considerably longer than most. Every one of them had been attractive. Several had been beautiful. Two had been extraordinarily enjoyable. One had stayed for an entire weekend. And afterward Valeria had looked around her home and found exactly what she always found. Silence. No shoes abandoned beside the sofa. No woman's coat hanging somewhere it did not belong. Nobody complaining that Valeria kept the rooms too cold. Nobody asleep in her bed when she returned shortly before dawn. Nobody whose favorite coffee had quietly appeared in the kitchen because there was suddenly a reason to keep it there. That was what she wanted now. Not another beautiful woman for one night. Someone waiting. Someone permanent. Her own perma-girl. Her own dawn girl. A woman she could leave sleeping when she went out to feed and return to two hours later, knowing there was another heartbeat somewhere in the enormous apartment and that it belonged there. Vampires could be terribly romantic creatures when nobody was looking. Valeria would have denied that if asked. She sat with a glass of wine and opened VamFem.com again. “Eleven,” she murmured. Perhaps number eleven. The newest applicants appeared first. Valeria usually ignored profiles less than a day old. Fresh applicants panicked. They changed answers, deleted photographs, telephoned friends, reconsidered their entire lives and occasionally disappeared from the site before a vampire had decided whether she was interested. Then one profile caught her attention. SARAH BENNETT — 27 JOINED 58 MINUTES AGO Valeria opened it. And laughed. The current photograph was ordinary enough: brown hair, hazel eyes, little makeup, a serious expression that did not quite work because there was something naturally soft about Sarah's face. Then Valeria noticed the edit history. Four photographs. In fifty-eight minutes. “Oh, Sarah.” She opened the first. And nearly spilled her wine. Completely nude. Not artistic. Not seductive. Not remotely intentional. Sarah had apparently photographed herself in a bedroom mirror at some unrelated moment and selected the wrong image while creating her profile. It had remained online for twenty-three seconds. The second photograph was safer: jeans, casual top, awkward smile. Unfortunately, a mirror behind Sarah showed another woman holding the phone, blonde and laughing. Friend, Valeria decided. That photograph lasted seven minutes before Sarah cropped the blonde out. Then came a third photograph in which Sarah had crossed her eyes slightly and stuck out the corner of her tongue. Valeria laughed again. Finally Sarah had straightened her shoulders, brushed her hair and attempted the solemn expression of a woman who had decided vampire dating should be taken seriously. It was hopeless. Valeria had already seen the others. Serious Sarah. Ridiculous Sarah. Embarrassed Sarah. Accidentally naked Sarah. She opened the written profile. Sparse. Recently edited twice. And unlike several hundred women on the site who appeared to have spent days constructing the perfect irresistible vampire bait, Sarah's profile looked as though someone had talked her into filling it out approximately one hour ago. Valeria smiled. Natural. Unprepared. Fresh. She touched the selection control. Saturday afternoon had not been going particularly well for Sarah Bennett. Which, in fairness, described most of the previous year. Kelly sat cross-legged on Sarah's childhood bed drinking a hard seltzer and leafing through Vampire Dating Magazine as though it were serious investigative journalism. Sarah sat on the floor. “This is ridiculous.” Kelly turned a page. “This woman says her vampire bought her a Porsche.” “Exactly.” “Maybe vampires have excellent credit.” “Kelly.” Sarah reached for the magazine. Kelly pulled it away. “No.” “You brought this garbage into my mother's house.” “Your mother likes me.” “My mother thinks you make poor choices.” “Your mother is correct.” That got a smile. Kelly noticed. That had been the purpose of the afternoon. Getting Sarah to smile had become difficult. A year earlier Sarah had possessed the life everybody was supposed to envy. Four-year relationship, engagement, wedding dress, venue, invitations. Then, on the day she was supposed to get married, the groom's wife had appeared. Not ex-wife. Not separated wife. Wife. Two children. House in Arizona. Family photographs. Every mysterious business trip and unavailable weekend suddenly made perfect sense. Sarah had lost the fiancé, the wedding, the apartment she could no longer afford alone and, for several miserable months, most of her confidence. She moved back home. Took a steady reception job at a dental office. Stopped answering friends. Kelly simply refused to leave. Kelly brought wine, insulted the ex-fiancé, dragged Sarah to lunch, sat on the bedroom floor when she cried and occasionally delivered sophisticated observations such as: “You know what your problem is?” Sarah looked up. “I have several. Be specific.” “Men.” “You've been dating Jason for three years.” “That doesn't mean I recommend men generally.” Sarah laughed. Kelly held up the magazine. “You need something different.” “No.” “You told me last month, and I quote, ‘Maybe next time I'll try a woman.’” “I was joking.” “I wasn't.” “You weren't even part of the conversation.” “I heard it.” “That does not make it your decision.” Kelly was already reaching for Sarah's laptop. “No.” “Yes.” “We're only looking.” “That sentence has destroyed civilizations.” Kelly typed. VamFem.com appeared. Black. Burgundy. Silver. Surprisingly elegant. No fake blood. No plastic fangs. No half-naked women chained to coffins. Just: WOMEN APPLY. VAMPIRES CHOOSE. Kelly whispered, “Ooooooh.” “Stop.” “That's actually kind of hot.” “It's fake.” “Then what are you scared of?” “I am not scared.” “Apply.” “No.” “Apply.” “Kelly—” Kelly clicked. Sarah lunged. “You bitch!” Kelly rolled away laughing. For the next hour the joke became unexpectedly entertaining. They filled in answers, argued over wording, deleted half of Kelly's suggestions and eventually reached the photograph. Sarah scrolled. “This?” “You look constipated.” “Thank you.” Sarah tapped another image. It uploaded. Both women froze. Kelly's eyes widened. Sarah stopped breathing. The photograph was nude. Completely. Spectacularly. Accidentally. Nude. “OH MY GOD!” “DELETE IT!” “I'M TRYING!” “YOU JUST SENT YOUR BOOBS TO VAMPIRES!” “I KNOW!” Sarah deleted it and stared at the screen in horror. “How long?” Kelly was laughing too hard to answer. “How long was that online?” “I don't know!” “You were supposed to be watching!” “I was looking at your boobs!” “Kelly!” The next photograph put Kelly in the mirror. Sarah cropped her out. She hated the crop. Then she made a ridiculous face to make Kelly laugh and Kelly uploaded that. Another scream. Finally Sarah brushed her hair, stood against the wall and looked directly at the camera. Kelly studied the result. “You look like you're applying for a library card.” “Good.” They uploaded it. Then they began reading. Stories. Interviews. Women describing limousines, astonishing dinners, vampires more beautiful in person than photographs suggested and mornings after that sounded suspiciously like athletic injuries. Kelly pointed at one article. “This one says she couldn't walk properly the next day.” Sarah laughed. “That part is definitely fake.” The computer chimed. Both women stopped. The screen went black. Silver lettering appeared. YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN. Sarah stared. Beneath it appeared a photograph. Dark hair. Elegant face. Confident eyes. Beautiful in a way that made Sarah abruptly conscious of the old shorts and T-shirt she was wearing on her childhood bedroom floor. Kelly whispered: “Holy shit.” Underneath: VALERIA LAURENT DINNER TONIGHT — 7:15 PM I WILL PICK YOU UP IN MY LIMOUSINE IN 45 MINUTES. Then: ACCEPT DECLINE Sarah looked at Kelly. “This isn't funny.” “I know.” “You did something.” “I didn't.” “You signed me up for something else.” “I swear.” The countdown began. Sarah's stomach dropped. “No.” “No?” “I can't.” “Sarah.” “I have nothing to wear.” Kelly stared. “That is your objection?” “I don't know her! I don't know if she's real! I don't know if any of this is real!” Kelly looked at Valeria's photograph. Sarah saw her looking toward ACCEPT . “Don't.” “Sarah.” “Don't you dare.” Kelly hesitated. Then asked quietly, “Are you saying no because you don't want to go?” Sarah looked at the photograph again. “Or because you're terrified?” Silence. Sarah whispered, “I'm terrified.” Kelly reached over. Pressed ACCEPT . Sarah screamed. Twenty-eight minutes later Sarah stood before the mirror near tears. “This looks horrible.” “It does not.” “You hesitated.” “I was choosing my words.” “Oh my God.” The black sequin dress was several years old, too short by Sarah's current standards and matched with silver heels she had bought for somebody else's bachelorette party. Kelly stood behind her. “You look hot.” “I look cheap.” “You look like a woman going on an expensive date.” “With a vampire.” “Yes.” “Who looks like that.” “Yes.” Sarah stared at Valeria's photograph on the phone. “I'm going to die.” “Possibly, but beautifully dressed.” A car appeared outside. Not a car. A black limousine. Sarah and Kelly moved to the window. “Oh,” Kelly whispered. The rear door opened. A woman stepped out. Even from upstairs Sarah knew immediately. Valeria. Photographs had not prepared her. The magazine articles had been annoyingly accurate about that. Sarah grabbed Kelly's arm. “No.” “Yes.” “No, no, no.” The doorbell rang. Downstairs, Sarah's father opened the door. Tom Bennett had expected a delivery driver. He had not expected Valeria Laurent. For several seconds he simply stared. Valeria smiled. “Good evening.” “Yes.” Tom realized that made no sense. “I mean—good evening.” “I'm Valeria Laurent. I'm here to pick up Sarah.” “Sarah?” “Yes.” “Our Sarah?” “If Sarah Bennett lives here, then I believe so.” Behind him appeared seventeen-year-old Ryan. “Dad, who's—” He saw Valeria and stopped so abruptly he nearly walked into his father. Valeria smiled. “You must be Sarah's brother.” Ryan's gaze traveled downward toward Valeria's long legs and black heels. Tom elbowed him. “Ryan.” “Hi.” “Ryan.” “Yes, ma'am.” Valeria laughed. Ryan turned red. Susan arrived from the kitchen. “What is going—oh.” Unlike her husband, she recovered reasonably quickly. “You're picking up Sarah?” “That was the plan.” Susan glanced through the doorway at the limousine. “Would you like to come in?” “Thank you.” Inside the ordinary Bennett foyer, Valeria somehow looked even more extraordinary. Susan attempted hospitality. “Water? Coffee? Wine? Tom, do we have wine?” “We have beer.” “I wasn't offering her beer.” Valeria smiled. “I'm perfectly fine, thank you. We have dinner reservations.” Ryan finally asked, “Where?” “Ryan.” “What?” Valeria answered. “Aurelia.” Three Bennetts stared. Tom said, “At the Imperial Crown?” “Yes.” Susan's eyebrows rose. “That's almost impossible to get into.” “I live there.” Sarah's parents stared again. Valeria added, with apparently no awareness that she was making matters worse, “I own the penthouse, so they usually find me a table.” Nothing moved. Ryan whispered, “The penthouse?” “Most of the top floor.” “Wow.” Upstairs, Sarah gripped Kelly. “She owns the penthouse.” “I heard.” “At the Imperial Crown.” “I heard that too.” “I can't go downstairs.” Then Valeria's voice floated up. “I hope Sarah isn't feeling rushed.” Kelly pushed her toward the bedroom door. “You're going downstairs.” Sarah descended carefully several minutes later. Everyone looked up. Then Valeria looked at her. And everything changed. Valeria did not appear to notice the cheap sequins, the old shoes or Sarah's hand tugging nervously at the hem. She noticed Sarah. Her expression softened. “Sarah.” “Hi.” Valeria crossed toward the staircase and held out her hand. Sarah placed hers in it. “There you are.” Three simple words, spoken as though Valeria had been waiting specifically for her. Sarah's nervous smile appeared. Valeria stepped slightly closer. “You look beautiful.” Sarah stopped tugging at the dress. Not completely. But enough. Valeria turned toward her parents without releasing Sarah's hand. “I hope you don't mind me stealing her for the evening.” Susan looked at her daughter. “No. Of course not.” Tom cleared his throat. “Have a good time.” “We will.” Valeria looked at Sarah when she said it. Sarah blushed. Outside, the driver opened the limousine. Valeria helped Sarah inside. The door closed. The car pulled away. Nobody in the Bennett foyer spoke for several seconds. Ryan finally said: “Wow.” Tom shut the door. Susan turned toward Kelly. “You knew about this?” Kelly's eyes widened. “Nope.” Ryan looked at her. “You're a terrible liar.” Kelly ignored him. Instead, she sat down on the stairs, unlocked her phone and became suddenly very busy with whatever she was typing. Susan glanced at her. “What are you doing?” “Nothing.” Kelly did not look up. Inside the limousine Sarah sat rigidly upright, knees together, tiny purse clutched in both hands. Valeria settled beside her. Not opposite. Beside. “You can breathe now.” Sarah exhaled so suddenly it became a laugh. “I am breathing.” “Barely.” Sarah looked at her. Mistake. Valeria was worse from this distance. “You saw Kelly in the photograph.” “The mirror.” Sarah groaned. “I thought I deleted that.” “You did.” Sarah looked at her suspiciously. “But?” “But vampires see profile history.” Sarah closed her eyes. “Oh no.” Valeria smiled. Sarah immediately knew exactly what that meant. “No.” “I haven't said anything.” “The first photograph was an accident.” “I know.” “You saw it?” “Yes.” “How long?” “Twenty-three seconds.” Sarah stared. “You know exactly how long?” “Yes.” Sarah covered her face. Valeria laughed. The limousine continued toward the Strip. Eventually Sarah's hand drifted again toward the hem of her dress. Valeria caught it. “Stop.” Sarah looked down. “It really is too short.” “No.” “Everybody is going to stare.” “Probably.” “That does not help.” “They aren't going to be staring because your dress cost less than theirs.” Sarah looked at her. “Then why?” Valeria's gaze moved over her face. “Because you're with me.” Sarah's hand became still. The Imperial Crown made Sarah feel poor before she had even crossed the lobby. People knew Valeria. The doorman. The manager. The hostess at Aurelia. Sarah became painfully conscious of her sequins again until Valeria reached for her hand and simply kept it. A hostess led them to a secluded table beside an enormous sweep of glass. Las Vegas glittered below. Sarah stared. “That is ridiculous.” Valeria pulled out her chair. Sarah looked at her. “There are probably people here whose job is to do that for you.” “Tonight I'd rather do it.” That did not help Sarah's heart rate. The waiter appeared. “Your usual champagne, Miss Laurent?” Valeria looked at Sarah. Sarah laughed nervously. “I have absolutely no idea what your usual champagne is.” “Then tonight you learn.” Dinner began. And gradually Sarah forgot about her dress because Valeria seemed to have forgotten it first. She asked questions and waited for answers. She remembered little things Sarah said. When Sarah admitted she had never tried caviar, Valeria showed her how she liked it. Sarah tasted it. “Oh.” “You like it.” “I hate that I like it.” “Why?” “Because I've spent twenty-seven years claiming rich people only pretend to enjoy this stuff.” Valeria laughed. Another course arrived. Another glass of champagne. Eventually Valeria asked, “Why did you move back home?” Sarah looked down. She had several prepared answers. Rent. Saving money. Bad timing. Instead she said: “My wedding didn't happen.” Valeria became still. “You don't have to tell me.” “I know.” Perhaps that was why Sarah did. “I was with him four years. Engaged eleven months. Dress, venue, invitations, everything.” She looked out across the city. “His wife arrived on our wedding day.” Valeria's expression changed. “His wife?” “Actual wife. Two children. House in Arizona. Family photographs. Every business trip was him going home. Every weekend he couldn't see me suddenly made sense.” “You believed him.” Sarah laughed bitterly. “Apparently I'm very talented at that.” “No.” Sarah looked at her. “You trusted someone you loved. Those are not the same thing.” Sarah's face changed. She looked away quickly. Nobody had ever put it that way. People had asked how she had missed the signs. Why she had not investigated. Whether deep down she had known. Nobody had simply separated love from stupidity. “Don't be nice to me right now.” “Why?” “Because I'll cry in the most expensive restaurant in Las Vegas wearing a sixty-dollar dress, and there has to be a rule against that.” “There isn't.” Sarah laughed. Then wiped beneath one eye. “I lost the apartment. Moved home. Everybody at work knew about the wedding, so I got to come back and explain why I wasn't married. Eventually I stopped going out. Kelly didn't let me stop seeing her.” “I like Kelly.” “You've met her once.” “I saw her before I saw you.” Sarah froze. Valeria smiled. “The photographs.” “No.” “The first was memorable.” “Accident.” “Then Kelly in the mirror.” Sarah covered her face. “You saw everything.” “Yes.” “The stupid face?” “Yes.” Sarah lowered her hands. “And you still chose me?” Valeria reached across the table. “You made me laugh.” Sarah stared at her. Valeria took her hand. “You weren't performing. You weren't trying to become whatever you thought a vampire wanted. You were simply Sarah, including the parts you kept trying to delete.” Sarah looked down at their joined hands. Then her eyes drifted toward Valeria's mouth. Valeria noticed. Of course she noticed. “What?” “Nothing.” “You disappeared.” “I didn't.” “Where did you go?” Sarah's cheeks warmed. She remembered the magazine articles. The women describing impossible evenings and extremely difficult mornings. The jokes she and Kelly had laughed about only a few hours earlier. Sarah looked at Valeria again. Suddenly they did not seem particularly exaggerated. “I was thinking about later.” Valeria's expression changed almost imperceptibly. Sarah swallowed. “At least I'm honest.” “Yes.” “Was that a mistake?” “No.” Valeria rose slightly from her chair, leaned across the corner of the table and kissed her. Slowly. Nothing theatrical. Nothing anybody across the restaurant would necessarily notice. But when Valeria sat back, Sarah stared at her as though the entire room had shifted several inches sideways. “Oh.” Valeria smiled. Sarah touched her mouth. “That was unfair.” “Why?” “Because now dinner is going to take forever.” Valeria laughed. A waiter approached. “Would you care for dessert, Miss Laurent?” Sarah froze. Dessert. She had read that word all afternoon. Vampires fed from men. Women were dessert. Valeria glanced at Sarah and immediately understood. The faintest smile appeared. “Dessert sounds perfect.” Sarah almost dropped her glass. After the waiter left she whispered, “That was deliberate.” “What?” “You know exactly what.” “Dessert?” “Stop saying it like that.” Valeria laughed softly. Sarah looked toward the city. Then back at her. “This is only one night, isn't it?” Valeria did not answer instantly. “Usually.” Sarah nodded. She had known. Still, hearing it hurt more than she expected. “I don't like that.” “You don't know me.” “I know. That's the stupid part.” Valeria did not offer promises. Sarah appreciated that more than she would have appreciated a lie. Dessert arrived. Chocolate, berries, gold leaf and something expensive Sarah could not identify. Valeria lifted a spoon toward her. Sarah stared. “You're feeding me?” “Yes.” “In front of everybody?” “Yes.” Sarah accepted the bite. Valeria smiled. Sarah shook her head. “I understand the word now.” “Dessert?” Sarah's face went scarlet. By the time dinner finally ended, Sarah had stopped pretending she was not impatient. She caught Valeria's hand. “Come on.” Valeria allowed herself to be pulled two steps. “Where are you going?” Sarah pointed toward the elevators. “Up.” “Wrong way.” Valeria led her instead toward a decorative alcove concealed behind heavy drapery. A hidden passage waited behind it. At the end stood a private staircase. Sarah stared. “You have a secret staircase from the restaurant to your penthouse?” “It isn't secret.” “Nobody can see it.” “That doesn't make it secret.” “That is almost exactly what makes something secret.” Valeria laughed. “After you.” Sarah climbed. Two steps later she remembered the dress. She stopped. Valeria was below her. Sarah pulled the hem downward. Valeria's mouth twitched. “Do not.” “I said nothing.” “This is why you liked the dress, isn't it?” Valeria raised an eyebrow. Sarah continued upward, mortified. Then Valeria said: “If it helps, I've already seen considerably more of you.” Sarah stopped dead. “The photograph.” “Twenty-three seconds.” Sarah spun around so quickly she nearly lost her balance. Valeria caught her at the waist. They ended up very close. Sarah stared down at her. Then began laughing. The entire situation was ridiculous. A hidden staircase. A vampire. A dress barely surviving the climb. The fact that Valeria had accidentally seen her naked before they had even met. The laughter softened. Valeria's hands remained around her waist. Sarah put one hand on her shoulder. “We're almost there?” “Yes.” “Good.” This time when Sarah turned around, she stopped tugging at the dress. Mostly. The door at the top opened. Sarah entered the penthouse and stopped. Glass. Stone. Dark wood. Art. Terraces floating above the Strip. A fireplace stretched along one wall while Las Vegas appeared to wrap around the entire apartment. “Oh.” Then she began moving. The windows first. Then the terrace. Then an enormous painting. Then the fireplace. Then the bar. Then another sitting room. Valeria remained behind her, watching Sarah run almost from one discovery to another in the same sparkling heels she had been embarrassed by all evening. “This is all yours?” “Yes.” “You live here?” “Sometimes.” “This isn't somewhere someone lives sometimes. This is where a Bond villain lives permanently.” Valeria laughed. Sarah reached the largest wall of glass and finally stopped. The city spread beneath her in every direction. She placed both hands against the window. Valeria approached behind her. One hand settled at Sarah's waist. Sarah closed her eyes. Then turned. The kiss came slowly. Sarah melted into her, arms sliding around Valeria's neck, the entire city forgotten. When they separated, Sarah did not let go. “Don't move.” “I wasn't planning to.” Valeria looked at her. Ten dates. Ten pleasant women. Ten mornings that had meant very little. Standing there with Sarah clinging to her, laughing softly whenever Valeria kissed her again, one unexpected word entered Valeria's mind. Keeper. Too early. Much too early. But it remained. Sarah eventually looked down one hallway. Then another. Valeria noticed. “What?” “Nothing.” “You're looking for something.” “No.” Valeria folded her arms. Sarah glanced toward another doorway. Valeria smiled. “Water?” “No.” “Wine?” “No.” “Coffee?” Sarah stared at her. “You know what I'm looking for.” “Do I?” “Oh, come on.” Valeria laughed and finally took her hand. At the end of the quiet hallway stood a pair of tall doors. Valeria stopped. The teasing disappeared from her face. She took both Sarah's hands. “Are you ready?” Sarah looked at the doors. Then at Valeria. “Yes.” Valeria waited. Sarah understood. “Yes, please.” The doors opened. The bedroom beyond was enormous and softly lit, facing another wall of glass, with a fireplace glowing beside the bed. Sarah stepped inside. “Oh my God.” Valeria came behind her. “Still nervous?” “Yes.” “Still want to be here?” Sarah answered immediately. “More than anything.” Valeria kissed her. Sarah's fingers rose to the back of her dress. Valeria found the zipper of Sarah's. A moment later the little black sequin dress slipped toward the floor. Sarah looked down. Then up at Valeria. “So much for the sixty-dollar dress.” Valeria smiled. “I told you I liked it.” The bedroom doors closed. Sarah woke because sunlight was touching her face. At first she resented it. The bed was too comfortable, the sheets too smooth and the room far too quiet to belong to her parents' house. Then she opened her eyes. Las Vegas shimmered beyond enormous windows. Sarah remembered. Not neatly. Pieces. The restaurant. The staircase. The windows. The bedroom doors. Valeria's voice. Her own voice saying things she sincerely hoped never returned to her memory in complete sentences. Sarah pulled the sheet over her face. “Oh my God.” She looked at the bedside clock. 11:47 AM Sarah sat upright. “No.” She calculated. Dinner had ended after ten. At some point she remembered four. Then six. Then daylight. Her eyes widened. “Eight hours.” Eight hours after dinner. The women in Vampire Dating Magazine had not exaggerated. If anything, Sarah suspected the editors had removed details for credibility. She laughed into the pillow. Then attempted to stand. One foot. Second foot. Push. Her knees immediately rejected the proposal. Sarah dropped onto the mattress. “Oh!” Laughter came from the bedroom entrance. Valeria stood there in a long dark silk robe, freshly showered, carrying two cups of coffee and looking offensively well rested. Sarah pointed. “No.” Valeria entered. “No?” “You are not allowed to laugh.” “I smiled.” “You laughed.” “Perhaps a little.” Sarah accepted the coffee. Then noticed the floor. No dress. No silver heels. “Where are my clothes?” “Good morning.” “Good morning. Where are my clothes?” “You won't be wearing them home.” Sarah stared. “Did you throw away my dress?” “No.” “Where is it?” “Safe.” “You're keeping it?” Valeria smiled. “I haven't decided.” Sarah attempted to stand again. This time she made it almost upright before her thighs trembled. Valeria crossed the room and caught her. “I've got you.” Sarah found herself pressed against the vampire's robe. “You do realize this is your fault.” “I remember considerable enthusiasm from both participants.” Sarah turned pink. “That doesn't mean you're allowed to look pleased with yourself.” “I am extremely pleased with myself.” Sarah laughed and rested against her because, at the moment, Valeria was considerably more reliable than Sarah's legs. “This is exactly what those women wrote about.” “What?” “The useless legs.” Valeria laughed. “The inability to think.” “That may have existed before last night.” Sarah hit her lightly. Then the smile faded. Morning. Morning meant the night was over. “So when do I go home?” Valeria studied her. Sarah tried to make the question casual. “I know how this works.” “Do you?” “Usually one night.” “Yes.” Sarah nodded and looked toward the windows. “Okay.” “If that's what you want.” Sarah looked back. “If I want?” Valeria calmly sipped her coffee. Sarah narrowed her eyes. “You're doing that thing again.” “What thing?” “Making me suffer because you find it entertaining.” “Perhaps.” Sarah folded her arms. Valeria looked at her for another moment. “What are you doing next weekend?” Sarah blinked. “Nothing.” “Good. Danielle will pick you up Friday around eight.” Sarah stared. “For dinner?” “For the weekend.” Sarah’s mouth fell open. Valeria smiled. “Stay with me until Sunday. We’ll go out, have some time together, sleep eventually, go shopping—whatever we feel like doing.” Sarah laughed. Then, unexpectedly, her eyes filled. “You’re serious.” “Very.” Sarah wiped at her eyes, laughing again. “I thought I was going home and that was it.” “It isn’t.” That did it. Sarah laughed and cried at the same time, completely overwhelmed. “I don’t even know what to bring for a weekend.” Valeria smiled. “Nothing.” “Nothing?” “Bring yourself. I’ll take care of the necessities.” Sarah shook her head, still laughing through the tears. “You really need to stop making normal words sound dangerous.” Valeria laughed and pulled her close. “Friday.” Sarah held on to her. “Friday.” Sarah's phone buzzed. Then again. Twenty-three notifications. Kelly had apparently experienced several crises. ARE YOU ALIVE SARAH I AM SERIOUS Your mother keeps pretending she isn't waiting for you Your father has walked past the window six times Ryan says if you married the rich woman he would support it Sarah burst out laughing. Then: I NEED TO KNOW WHETHER THE ARTICLES LIED Sarah turned the phone away. Valeria's eyes narrowed. “What did that say?” “Nothing.” “Sarah.” “Private correspondence.” Her mother had written only: Just let us know you're okay. No hurry. Sarah typed: I'm fine. Very fine. I'll be home later. Kelly answered instantly. VERY FINE???? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN SARAH Sarah put the phone face down. “I'm done.” “A wise decision.” “So what happens now?” Valeria stood. “You need a shower.” Sarah looked toward the bathroom. Then at her legs. “You've seen the problem.” Valeria held out her hand. “I'll help.” Sarah took it. That turned out to be another mistake. The shower lasted nearly two hours. Sarah would later insist that actual washing could not possibly have occupied more than fifteen minutes. What happened to the remaining time was information Kelly would never receive. When they finally emerged wrapped in enormous towels, Sarah gripped the bathroom counter. “This was supposed to help.” “It did.” “I can barely stand.” “You're standing.” “Because there is furniture.” Valeria kissed the side of her head. Sarah closed her eyes. “That is also not helping.” Something waited in the bedroom. Clothes. Not Sarah's clothes. A cream blouse. A fitted dark skirt. New undergarments. And black high heels elegant enough that Sarah was afraid to touch them. She picked up one shoe. Then saw the name inside. “No.” Valeria looked over. “No.” “What?” “I know this designer.” “Good.” “I've seen these in magazines.” “Then you've seen them before.” “That is not the problem.” Sarah looked at her. “How much?” Valeria's expression answered. “Right. Not asking.” “Excellent.” The clothes fit perfectly. Sarah stood before the mirror afterward and barely recognized herself. The blouse softened her. The skirt fit beautifully. The heels changed her posture entirely. But it was her face that looked most different. Tired, certainly. Completely exhausted. But glowing. Radiant. Alive. Valeria stood behind her. “Is this necessary?” “No.” Sarah turned. “Then why?” “Because I wanted to.” Sarah looked down. Not compensation. Not payment for a night. Valeria simply wanted to spoil her. “The dress?” “Stays.” Sarah laughed. “You really are keeping it.” “Yes.” “Why?” Valeria looked at her. “It reminds me of the first time I saw you coming down those stairs.” Sarah stared. Suddenly the cheap little dress did not seem cheap at all. “You're going to make me cry again.” “I'd prefer not to.” “Then stop being nice.” “No.” It was after four when they finally descended in the private elevator. Sarah carried no suitcase. Valeria had somehow produced a new small handbag. At the hotel entrance the limousine waited. Valeria's driver Danielle took one look at Sarah and smiled. “Good afternoon, Miss Bennett.” Sarah groaned. “Please don't look at me like you know anything.” Danielle's expression became professionally blank. “I know absolutely nothing.” “Thank you.” Valeria walked Sarah to the car. The goodbye felt nothing like the previous night's arrival. Sarah stepped into Valeria's arms without hesitation. “Friday.” “Eight.” “You're really coming?” Valeria smiled. “I'm giving you five days' notice. Compared with yesterday, that's practically an eternity.” “No suitcase.” “No suitcase.” “You're taking care of everything.” “Everything.” Sarah narrowed her eyes. “That sounds suspicious.” “It should.” Valeria kissed her. Not like the first kiss at Aurelia. Not like the one against the penthouse windows. Slower. Almost affectionate. The kind of kiss that already knew there would be another. When they separated, Valeria touched Sarah's cheek. “Go home.” “You are the reason I need to go home.” “Yes.” “And now you're pretending to be responsible.” “Go.” Sarah laughed and climbed into the limousine. At exactly 4:30 it pulled away. Sarah watched Valeria until the hotel disappeared. Then looked down at herself. New clothes. Impossible heels. No suitcase next weekend. Friday. Eight o'clock. She smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. Kelly saw the limousine first. The Bennett front door flew open before the car had completely stopped. Susan appeared behind her. Then Tom. Then Ryan. Sarah laughed from inside the car. “Oh no.” The door opened. Sarah stepped onto the pavement. Carefully. Very carefully. Her new heels were magnificent. Her legs remained largely theoretical. The family stared. The woman who had left the night before in a nervous little sequin dress looked transformed. Not because of the clothes. Sarah looked radiant. Her shoulders were relaxed, her eyes bright, her face glowing with the unmistakable satisfaction of somebody who had just discovered that the worst year of her life might finally have ended. Kelly's mouth fell open. “Oh my God.” “Don't.” “You look—” “Don't.” Sarah took one step. Her knee wobbled. Kelly lunged and caught her. Ryan shouted from the doorway: “What happened to your legs?” “Ryan,” his father said immediately. Susan covered her mouth, unsuccessfully hiding a smile. Sarah straightened with Kelly's help. “I am fine.” Kelly stared at her. “No. You are not.” Sarah smiled. “Yes. I really am.” Kelly studied her face. Then understood. “Oh.” Sarah's smile widened. Kelly whispered: “Oh my God.” “Later.” Tom approached. He looked at the limousine. Then Sarah's outfit. Then the shoes. “Different clothes.” Sarah looked down. “Apparently the old outfit didn't make the return trip.” Kelly's eyes became enormous. Sarah elbowed her. Susan hugged her. “You had a good time?” Sarah closed her eyes. Aurelia. The staircase. The windows. Valeria. Eight impossible hours. Friday. Eight o'clock. She opened her eyes. “Mom, I had the best night of my life.” Susan looked at her daughter's face and believed her. Sarah started toward the house. Slowly. Kelly stayed beside her. After three steps Sarah stopped. Kelly looked at her. “What?” Sarah stared at the front entrance. “There are stairs.” Kelly stared. Sarah began laughing. “No.” “Yes.” “Seriously?” Sarah nodded helplessly. Kelly wrapped one arm around her waist. “Come on.” They started forward together. Kelly leaned closer. “So... are you going to see her again?” Sarah looked at her. The smile came back instantly. “Friday.” Kelly stopped. “Friday?” “Danielle is picking me up around eight.” Kelly’s eyes widened. “For another date?” Sarah lowered her voice. “For the whole weekend.” Kelly nearly shouted. Sarah grabbed her arm. “Shhh!” Kelly stared at her. “Until Sunday?” Sarah nodded, laughing again. “Until Sunday.” Kelly just stared at her. “I leave you alone for one night.” Sarah laughed. “Apparently that was enough.” They reached the front steps. Sarah looked at them. Then at Kelly. “You are not letting go of me.” “Absolutely not.” Kelly tightened her arm around Sarah’s waist and helped her up. Halfway to the door, Sarah noticed the expression on her face. “What?” Kelly looked innocent. Too innocent. “Nothing.” Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Kelly.” “Get inside before your legs stop working completely.” Sarah laughed and let herself be guided toward the door. She never noticed the phone in Kelly’s other hand. Never saw the black-and-burgundy VamFem.com page still open. Never saw the confirmation. Because shortly after Sarah’s limousine had disappeared the night before, Kelly had sat down on those same stairs, opened VamFem.com ... and applied.