Chapter 6
Blair
My suitcase sits open on the bench at the foot of my bed, and I smooth my hands over a Hermes silk blouse before folding it carefully.
Normally, I would’ve had our housekeeper pack my bags—my mom had even insisted on that—but I don’t know, this trip feels too special to leave it up to anyone else.
I need to make sure everything is perfect. I need to make sure I don’t let my mom down.
I set the blouse gently atop a pair of jeans, but before I can grab the next shirt, my phone buzzes on my nightstand.
Holland: Tomorrow’s confirmed. Car will pick you up at 7 a.m. sharp.
I smile, and my pulse flutters inside my chest. Tomorrow, I’m going to New York to spend the evening with Damien Snow, a vampire elite who’s so interested in me he’s made expensive arrangements to see me before the final choosing ceremony.
I found all this out this afternoon when Holland met up with my mom and Bonnie and me while we were shopping. And he waxed poetic about Damien’s impressive penthouse in the middle of Manhattan. Apparently, it sits sixty stories up, and the view of Central Park is unreal.
I can only imagine what it looks like.
Looks like you’re about to find out.
Another text chimes in.
Holland: Make sure you pack for a few days. Just in case.
A few days? Last I heard, I was just flying out in the morning on Damien’s private jet and I’d be back by the evening.
Frankly, I didn’t even know I could have a private meeting with one of the vampires before the Selection anyway, but with the way Holland explained it this morning, it’s a very rare occurrence and reserved for only the best candidates.
I type back.
Me: A few days?
Holland: It’s a good thing, Blair. Damien really wants to get to know you. More than any of the other women from the event last night.
He wants me more than all the other girls.
My cheeks warm at that, and my smile practically consumes my face. I can’t help it. To have a man who’s clearly so powerful, so important, want to get to know me feels unreal. It feels…amazing.
And Damien comes across as a reserved and careful kind of man. He’s in total control. And men like that aren’t impulsive. They choose carefully. They only want the best. And he wants me.
I glance down at the dress laid across my bed. It’s this pale lavender silk that hugs my curves perfectly but isn’t overtly obscene. It’s sophisticated but discreetly sexy at the same time. My mom insisted I buy it today and bring it with me tomorrow.
I already had a cute black cocktail dress in mind, but since Holland is now saying a few days, I guess my new dress makes sense…
And if this is serious, if this is moving toward Damien choosing me, wouldn’t it require more than one evening? It would be almost disrespectful to rush something so important.
My phone buzzes again.
Holland: Also, I need to update you on some rules. Damien is a very discreet man. His privacy and your privacy are incredibly important to him, so there will be limited contact while you’re there.
The warmth in my chest cools slightly, and my brow furrows at his words.
Me: Limited contact? What does that mean?
Holland: You’ll need to leave your phone at your house. I’m sure you can understand that it’s easier for both you and Damien if outside distractions are removed. Also, consider it a really good thing that he wants to be that focused on you. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him so…entranced. ;)
I swallow and glance toward the suitcase before moving my eyes back to the phone in my hands.
Me: So, I can’t bring my phone with me?
Holland: No, you cannot. But if you need to get in contact with anyone, Damien won’t hesitate to oblige.
Ever since I got a phone in middle school, I can’t remember a time I didn’t have it with me. It seems very first-world problems, I know, but I can’t deny my stomach pinches at the thought.
After Holland updated that Damien wanted to spend more time with me, my mom gushed. She’d never heard of private meetups like this before the Selection, but all that means is that it must be very rare and very exclusive. She was practically giddy over it all, to be honest.
Only important people know important things, Blair, she’d said. And this means you’re important.
I just never imagined I’d be unreachable.
I try to picture it—being in a penthouse in Manhattan, city lights glittering below, Damien standing beside me—and not being able to text Bonnie or call my mom or dad.
It feels…off. Strange, even.
Don’t be so freaking dramatic, I tell myself. It’s just because this is new. And new always feels a little unsettling at first.
I walk to my vanity, staring at my reflection.
“This is your legacy,” I whisper to my face in the mirror. “Your future. Your everything. This is the best thing that’s ever happened in your life.”
I open my phone again.
Me: Will my parents be able to check in?
The response is immediate this time.
Holland: Blair, you have nothing to worry about. Trust me. Everything will be handled.
Trust me.
I exhale slowly.
Of course my parents wouldn’t be cut off. That wouldn’t make sense. This is prestigious. This is sophistication and royalty and wealth. It isn’t some…disappearance.
It’s a selection. A choosing. That’s how we’ve always referred to it.
My parents trust these people. It’s the inner circle they’ve been a part of my whole life. And it’s just a couple of freaking days. It’s not as if I’m being shipped off to Siberia, never to be heard from again.
My fingers hover over the screen. I almost send my mom a text message, asking her if she feels like it’s okay, but I don’t.
I’m an adult woman, for goodness’ sake. This is my life. This is my future. I’ve totally got this.
I return to my suitcase and add another dress. Then heels. Then lingerie I bought months ago and pretended I wasn’t buying for whatever vampire legend I ended up with.
Damien is a legend; Holland’s made that clear.
And a few days is a good freaking thing. It’s giving “he’s serious about me” vibes.
I set my phone facedown on my nightstand, and I sit on the edge of my bed and try to summon the champagne feeling from this morning.
The floating. The certainty. It’s there. Mostly.
On a whim, I grab my vampire doll from his spot on my shelf and tuck it into the side of my suitcase underneath some of my clothes. I know it’s a little childish to bring a doll to a dalliance with a vampire, but he’s always brought me comfort—and if I hide him well enough, no one has to know.
A soft knock taps against my door before it creaks open.
Bonnie slips inside without waiting for permission, wearing one of my oversized sweaters and fuzzy socks.
I almost startle, but with a wildly beating heart and every molecule of willpower, I stop myself. It'll only lead to questions I don’t want to answer about my green-and-violet-eyed stowaway.
She leans against the doorframe and folds her arms. “So,” she says.
“So…?” I ask.
“You’re really going tomorrow.”
I roll my eyes. “Bonnie. Not this again.” Ever since she heard about my trip tomorrow, she’s been telling me not to go.
“No, I mean it.” She pushes off the door and wanders farther into the room. “You’re flying to New York to spend the day with some mysterious man named Damien, and everyone’s acting like it’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened.”
“Well…it kind of is.”
She walks over to my bed and looks inside my suitcase. “Doesn’t this feel weird to you?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“It feels exciting, Bon.”
She makes a face. “It feels like a very classy version of an arranged marriage.”
“It’s not arranged.”
“Blair,” she says dryly, “you’ve been raised your whole life knowing some vampire was eventually going to pick you. You’re a twenty-three-year-old virgin because you’re literally saving yourself for the big bonding night that Mom’s talked about for years.”
“What does my virginity have to do with anything?” I question, but then my eyes go wide when realization hits me. “Bonnie, you are only fifteen years old. I swear on everything, if you let that prick boyfriend of yours take your virginity, I will murder him.”
“Relax.” She snorts. “I wouldn’t let someone named Josh get my V-card. I’m saving myself for Harry Styles, and anyway, this conversation isn’t about me, Blair. It’s about you and your soon-to-be arranged marriage. Which is weird. Like, really weird.”
“It’s tradition, Bon.” I laugh despite myself.
“Tradition,” she mocks immediately. “The generational skips are the best thing that’s ever happened to my future. I don’t want to be married off to Count Dracula.”
I shake my head and fold another shirt. “You say that now.”
“No,” she says. “I mean it. You get the fancy vampire husband and the mysterious elite life. I get to marry a normal human who eats pizza and doesn’t drink my blood.”
“Dang, sis. Dramatic much?”
Her sarcasm fades a little as she watches me toss another shirt into my suitcase. “You’re not nervous?”
“A little,” I admit. “But that’s normal.”
“I guess.” She shrugs, but the edge of concern lingers in her voice. “I just don’t love the idea of you flying off to meet some man none of us actually knows.”
“He’s part of the inner circle,” I remind her.
“That’s the part that makes it weird.”
I walk over and bump my shoulder into hers. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“You better be.”
“I will.”
“Well, I guess I’ll let you get back to packing, then.” She turns to leave but hesitates in my doorway. “Blair?”
“Yeah?”
“If he turns out to be creepy, just text me and I’ll come to New York and drag you home myself.”
I grin. “Thanks, Bon, but I’m certain everything is going to be good.”
“Whatever you say.” She rolls her eyes at my confidence but smiles a little before disappearing down the hall.
Once I finish packing my suitcase and get ready for bed, I lie back against my pillows and stare at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, I will be one step closer to being chosen.
And that’s a privilege…right?
Right. Yes. Of course, it’s a freaking privilege.
I’ve been waiting my whole life for this.