Chapter 4
Blair
Saturday morning feels like champagne.
Not the literal kind—though last night’s bubbles are still fizzing somewhere in the back of my throat—but the sensation of it. I feel light and effervescent and like my whole body is freaking sparkling with something bigger than anything I’ve ever experienced.
I wake up slowly, stretching my arms and legs beneath my cream silk sheets and marshmallow-soft white comforter. I still live at my parents’ house. After I graduated from Boston University, I moved back home because, well, being a career woman is not my fate.
My fate will be filled with something far bigger and better than that.
Eeep. I can’t wait.
Last night, I felt like I was floating on a freaking cloud. I’ve never been in a room with that many vampire elites. I can’t deny it was a little intimidating at times, but they’re, like, some of the most important men in the world. I mean, how could anyone not be a little intimidated by that?
And soon, one of them will be my husband.
Holy hell. I flip over onto my belly and practically squeal into my pillow.
I can’t believe it’s finally happening.
I sit up and press my palm to my chest as if I can physically hold the feeling in place. The excitement and anticipation are downright intoxicating, and I fear if I let myself breathe too hard, it’ll float away.
Or, goodness, maybe I’ll float away.
Three soft knocks sound at my door. “Blair, honey? You awake?” My mother’s voice fills my ears.
“Yeah. You can come in.”
Devney Windsor is the kind of woman that can enter a room with such poised calm you’d think it’s impossible for her ever to be nervous. It’s still morning and she’s wearing her silk robe, but her hair is perfect, her makeup already intact, and she has a cup of coffee in her hand.
Her eyes are bright as she walks toward my bed.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
I smile. I can’t help it. “Like it’s finally happening.”
“Oh, my girl. I was hoping you’d say something like that.” A small, satisfied smile touches her mouth. “Tell me everything.”
“It was exactly like you said it would be.” I swing my legs out of bed. “The mansion was insanely beautiful. The event was beyond extravagant. Everything was just…perfect.”
“And you held yourself well? Good posture, good smile, and no rambling or asking too many questions?”
“I did everything you said I needed to do,” I answer. “I didn’t drink too much. I didn’t talk too much. I didn’t…chase. I let them come to me.”
“That’s my girl.” Her smile consumes her whole face. “And did you meet anyone…interesting?”
I grin. “I met a lot of interesting men.”
“Oh Blair, I can’t deny I’m a little jealous. I’ve never gotten to experience any of this firsthand, and I just…” She pauses and lets out a dreamy little sigh. “I just can’t imagine how incredible it is.”
She’s not a Windsor by blood; she’s a Windsor by marriage.
Since she’s not one of the blood of the three like Bonnie and me, my mother has never been a part of something like this.
She’s never attended a preview event or the Selection.
She only knows about it from what she’s been told by Grandma Windsor and other women on my father’s side.
When I don’t say anything, she reaches out to tap my knee playfully. “Blair, don’t leave me hanging, sweetheart! Tell me everything!”
“Okay! Okay!” I laugh. “Well, this man named Damien spoke to me quite a bit,” I say, unable to keep the thrill from my voice.
“He talked to me longer than anyone else. More than any other girl in the room. I don’t know what he does or anything, but I could tell by the way the other men were acting around him he’s very important. ”
“And what’s he like?”
“He’s…reserved,” I say with a shrug. “A little closed off. But I think that’s just his style. Like he doesn’t use words unless they matter.”
“That’s usually how powerful men are,” my mom hums.
I grin. My thoughts exactly.
The door swings open without another knock, and my sister Bonnie strolls in like she owns the whole estate—which, in her mind, she does. Fifteen years old and already armed with a teenage smirk that could make a grown man flinch.
“Hey, loser! How did the meat market go last night?” She snags something off one of my shelves and flops onto the end of my bed, holding whatever is in her hands against her chest.
But it only takes a moment for me to realize what she’s holding.
My doll. My favorite vampire doll my parents gave me when I was a little girl. It’s the one with the blond hair and the sharp jaw and the green eyes that almost look purple if you tilt his head under the light.
“Put that back.”
Bonnie ignores me and pretends to make the vampire doll dance around my bed. “Spill the beans, Blair. Did you meet your future fangy husband last night?”
I sit up straighter. “I said, put it back.”
Bonnie’s brows shoot up. “What?”
“That doll. Put it back,” I repeat, my voice clipped.
“Geez.” She holds it higher, inspecting it like it’s suddenly fascinating. “What crawled up your ass?”
“Nothing crawled up my ass.”
“Sure.” Bonnie snorts. “Because you’re always so possessive over your creepy vampire doll.”
“It’s not creepy,” I snap.
Bonnie’s grin widens. “Oh my God. You’re being so weird.”
I reach for it. She pulls it away.
“Bonnie,” Mom says sharply. “Stop messing with your sister.”
“Fine.” Bonnie rolls her eyes and tosses the doll toward me, then flops back against my pillows. “Keep your creepy doll.”
“Blair, honey, let’s focus on the important things, shall we?” my mom requests as she sets her coffee down on my nightstand. This is her way of saying, Don’t even think about arguing with your sister right now. “We need to make sure you’re ready.”
She’s not wrong. The Selection and accompanying Bonding are coming up incredibly soon. The date won’t be revealed until forty-eight hours prior, but once it’s announced, I need to be ready to head to New York almost immediately.
“You want to go shopping with us, Bonbon?” my mom asks, and Bonnie groans.
“Do I have to?”
“It’d be nice to support your sister,” my mom says, using guilt as her tactic of choice. “This is really important for her.”
“Can’t Blair just find a husband the good old-fashioned way?” Bonnie sighs. “I mean, it’s all a little strange that she has to do these weird events to find a man. I don’t get it. Are the men losers or something? Why can’t they date like normal people?”
“Bonnie, when you’re older, you’ll understand why this is so important,” Mom says. “And why it’s actually a huge privilege that Blair gets to do this.”
“Doubt it,” Bonnie mutters. “And honestly, I’m just happy it’s not me.”
Happy it’s not her? Obviously, my sister has no idea what she’s talking about.
“But if it were you, Bonnie,” Mom answers, despite the fact that she should just ignore her “then you wouldn’t have a choice.”
“Yeah, I would.” Bonnie laughs. “I wouldn’t go. No matter how much you tried to make me.”
“You know what, Bonbon?” Mom sighs and pointedly uses her index finger to lift the skin on her forehead to prevent eleven lines.
“I think now is the exact perfect time for you to get dressed and ready to go shopping with us. Otherwise, I’ll end up needing an additional bottle of Botox at my next appointment. ”
“Speaking of creepy, Botox is, like, really bad for you, Mom. It’s—”
“Bonnie!” Mom cuts her off and points toward my bedroom door. “Go get ready.”
“Gawd.” Bonnie flops off my bed dramatically. “This feels like oppression.”
My mom ignores her this time and smiles over at me. “You think you can be ready in about an hour, Blair?”
I smile. “Definitely.”
When they leave, the room goes quiet again, and I sit on the edge of my bed, picking the vampire doll back up and turning him around in my hands. The eyes catch the light and shift—green deepening into dark violet.
And instantly, my mind flashes back to last night.
To the man with the blond hair and green eyes who was watching me from across the room. I spent a lot of the night hoping he’d come and talk to me, but he never did.
Something uncomfortable rolls in my stomach, but I ignore it and shove out of bed, heading into the bathroom to turn on the shower.
But before I can hop in, my phone chimes on my nightstand with a text message.
Holland Thorne: Morning, Blair. Hope you’re feeling as incredible as you looked last night. Did you have a good time?
A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it. Holland Thorne is someone my parents have known for a few years. He’s a vampire and holds an important position as a lawyer in the entertainment industry. He’s only a few years older than me, and most of his clients are elites.
He’s kind of a middleman for the elites, so to speak.
Holland: Everyone loved you. And Damien? He couldn’t stop talking about you.
I smile as I type quickly.
Me: He talked about me?
I’m so tempted to ask more details about Damien, but I know that’s not appropriate. That’s not how these things are done. It’s all very hush-hush.
Holland: He noticed you, for sure. And, trust me, that’s not something he does casually.
Damien is reserved—yes—but that just means when he chooses, it’s significant. And if he spent most of last night talking to me and he even talked to Holland about me…that has to be a good thing.
Still, my fingers hover over the screen, and I find myself sending him another message.
Me: Were there…others? Any other men asking about me?
The reply comes fast.
Holland: Quite a few. You made an impression, Blair. So many men have you at the top of their list.
My heart does a silly little dance inside my ribs, and I glance down at the doll in my hand before I start typing another message.
There was a man with green eyes and blond hair last night. He was wearing a black suit. Do you happen to know him?
But just before I can hit send, I delete the whole thing. It would be overstepping a serious line if I inquired about a specific elite vampire like that.
Don’t be stupid, Blair, I tell myself, setting down my phone and forcing myself into motion instead.
Shower, makeup, hair, I get myself ready for the day.
By the time I come downstairs and walk out our front door, Bonnie is already sprawled across the back seat of the Bentley like a bored cat while Mom scrolls through emails on her phone beside her.
Our driver Loomis shuts my door with his usual quiet efficiency and pulls away from the house.
Bonnie makes my outfit the topic of discussion the second we pull onto the highway. “Wow. Nice dress,” she says flatly. “You sure you don’t want to save that outfit for the big sacrifice?”
Mom doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Bonnie.”
“What?” Bonnie shrugs, completely unrepentant. “That’s what it is, right? A very glamorous sacrifice.”
“If it were a sacrifice, that would involve death,” I retort, rolling my eyes. “This involves marriage.”
“And having a vampire’s baby,” Bonnie adds. “Sounds like a pretty big sacrifice to me.”
Mom finally looks up then, giving Bonnie the same warning look she’s been giving her since she turned into a teenage smartass.
Bonnie huffs out an annoyed sigh but sinks back into the leather seat. “Relax,” she mutters. “I’m just saying I’m thrilled the vampire dating show isn’t my problem.”
An hour later, we’re walking through the most expensive shopping district in Boston, the kind of fashion street where there are zero depressing-as-hell department stores and the sales associates greet my mother by name.
Of course, Devney Windsor is in her element here.
She moves through racks of designer labels like she’s my actual stylist.
And my smartass little sister trails behind us, offering running commentary that no one asked for.
“That dress looks like a tablecloth.”
“That one looks like a curtain.”
“That one probably costs more than my future therapy bill.”
“Bonnie.” I shoot her a look. “You’re supposed to be helping.”
“I am helping,” she says cheerfully. “I’m eliminating the bad options.”
Somewhere between the third store and the fourth, a strange feeling starts to overcome me every time we walk out of a shop. It’s just this faint pressure between my shoulder blades and reminds me of when someone’s standing too close behind you.
I try to ignore it, but it doesn’t go away.
If anything, it gets stronger.
I glance over my shoulder as we step out onto the sidewalk again, letting my gaze drift casually through the crowd.
But all I see are other shoppers, the occasional tourist, and businessmen with phones pressed to their ears, hurrying across the pavement.
Still… My pulse ticks up, and goose bumps pepper my arms and neck.
Bonnie bumps my arm as we walk. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I lie, even though the feeling—an odd, prickling awareness—is still there.
I have no idea who or what or why it would be, though.