Chapter 22. Lorena
lorena
“How dare Darcy interfere with Jane and Mr. Bingley?” I demand when the reading period ends and discussion time begins.
William and I haven’t spoken all day—not at breakfast nor at lunch. I feel like I’ve been holding in my ire until this moment.
“What kind of friend would Darcy be if he did not protect Bingley?” It’s the first time today the vampire’s addressing me, but he faces forward in his seat, so I can’t see him. “He cannot be expected to know what is in Jane’s heart if she guards it so viciously.”
“But he made assumptions before getting to know her character! He thinks he knows everything—”
“He knows more than Elizabeth!” William cuts in. “She was as blind about Darcy as she was about Wickham.”
“The question was,” says Director Minaro with a heavy sigh, “what are your thoughts on Charlotte Lucas and Mr. Collins?”
A few minutes later, class is finally over.
“Lorena, William?” says Minaro. “Can you hang back a second?”
My spine stiffens in fear that we’re in trouble, and even Salma looks at me with wide uh-oh eyes. William and I stand in front of the director’s desk, and as soon as the last student exits, I say, “I’m sorry for going off-topic—”
“Actually, I am sorry,” she says. “Please, sit.”
We each take a seat in the front row.
“I know I have not been making time to meet with you for Shakespeare club. Knowing how quickly the two of you read, I am certain you have finished the play by now. Next month, I would like you to make your presentation in class. You will each perform as one of the two main characters, and you will act out a scene of your choosing. Then—since you both seem to have a penchant for literary criticism—you will provide your analysis of the play in a nonconfrontational manner.”
She picks up a few folders from her desk. “Now I will leave you here to discuss.”
Once we’re alone, an ear-thrumming silence resounds in the room.
“What scene do you want to do?” I ask when I can’t take it anymore, keeping my voice dull so he knows I’m still ticked off.
“Not the balcony scene,” he says with what sounds like a scoff.
“That’s the last scene I would ever want to perform with you,” I assure him.
We’re both facing forward, and we still haven’t made eye contact since last night—when he pinned me to the wall and came close to forcing his fangs into my throat. Just like our first meeting.
“Not the masquerade ball, either,” he says.
“Believe me, I have no interest in letting you kiss me. Nor do I plan to act out the wedding night.”
It seemed like things had been getting better between us these past eight weeks. I even thought the fact that he stuck to my deadline meant he was starting to respect my boundaries. But it turns out I’m still nothing more than a portable blood bank to him.
“What should we do then?” he asks.
But something was different last night—he didn’t drink from me. Unlike our first meeting, he let me go.
“The death scene.”
He glares at me like I’ve said something offensive. It’s the first time our eyes have locked, and a new shade of purple has surfaced in his gaze that’s the color of a bruise.
He looks … hurt.
In the evening, he doesn’t show up to the dining hall.
“Where’s Will?” asks Zach.
I shrug and stuff my mouth with fettuccine Alfredo to avoid having to talk.
After dinner, the five of us head to the manor’s foyer—or the grand hall—and scope out everything the staff laid out.
They set up a kind of costume shop where we can pick from an assortment of clothes and accessories.
There are various stations for sewing, dyeing fabrics, making beaded jewelry, styling wigs, crafting props, and so on.
Rather than the prepackaged costumes we’d find in a store, the hangers feature articles of clothing—shirts, pants, dresses—in different shades, fabrics, cuts. There are belts, shoes, masks, headpieces, jewelry, iron-on patches, and colorful rolls of lace, silk, and fishnet.
“What costumes can we come up with?” muses Salma as she and I split off from the others to riffle through the racks of dresses.
“Sal … can I ask you something?” I say in a low voice.
“I haven’t noticed any more symptoms,” she answers before I’ve even asked, and I exhale in relief. “Maybe you were right, and I was worrying for nothing.”
“Any ideas yet?” Tiffany crashes our private conversation.
“Nope,” says Salma, examining a shiny black dress with a square neckline that ends at mid-thigh. “Do we want to go with something modern or vintage?”
“As in, Euphoria versus Clueless?” asks Tiffany, rummaging through a basket of shawls and boas.
“That is the question,” says Salma. “What do you think, Lore?”
“I’m going … with William.”
I know she hears how flat my voice sounds. Even if the vampire doesn’t show, I plan to keep my end of the bargain. I’ll meet him at the ball, and if he joins me, he can feed.
If not … I’ll think about that later.
“You don’t sound too sure about that,” says Sal, her gaze now on me instead of the clothing. “And what was up in class today? I know it’s your favorite book, but you don’t really expect me to think you were arguing about Pride and Prejudice, do you?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, pretending to be interested in a long, flowy skirt. “Shakespeare club issues.”
“Man, that Shakespeare is some kind of drug,” she says after a stretch of silence, and I can’t help but smirk.
“What about you and Trevor?” I noticed they haven’t been interacting with each other as much today, either.
It didn’t seem like the vampire was compelling Trevor last night, so I don’t understand why he’s pulling away from Salma. If anything, I would think that William telling him not to ask her to the dance would motivate him to do it.
Sal shrugs. “It was just a kiss. We agreed to keep things casual.”
The words sound like her, but what’s new is the longing way she looks at Trevor as he tries on some hats with Zach, Brooke, and Cat. Sal’s not usually friends with the guys she crushes on, but with him, there’s an emotional connection, too. Maybe that makes this different for her.
“Besides,” she goes on, “all this friction between you and William is just a reminder that dating could fuck up the group dynamic.” She turns to Tiffany. “No offense, if you and Zach are thinking of— I mean, I’m sure it wouldn’t be like that with him. He’s sweet.”
“I told you already, we’re just friends,” says Tiffany, and the way she doesn’t look at us makes me suspect there’s more to it.
Everyone seems to be keeping secrets these days.
I amble away from them to continue searching through the clothes racks, not sure I’ll find anything I like. I have no clue what to dress up as, or why I’m pretending that the vampire and I are going as a duo. He’s already told me he’s not going to show.
A flash of gold catches my eye.
A box has been left open on the floor, like someone forgot to unpack it. Golden fabric is spilling out, and when I hold it up, a gown unfolds that looks like it could be from William’s time.
I feel a flash of inspiration, and I know exactly what to do.
TODAY IS Halloween, and tonight is the dance.
I’m with Salma and Tiffany in the grand hall, adding the final touches to our outfits. As I’m applying some rhinestones to my mask, Salma says, “I haven’t seen Will work on his costume all weekend.”
“He said he found something that doesn’t need adjustments, just like my dress.” By which I mean that today at lunch, I told him if he decides to show up, he should wear his suit from the 1700s.
“Is it just me, or are all the guys being weird?” asks Salma. “Will’s barely around, and Trevor and Zach have only been hanging out with us at meals.”
I follow her gaze to the other side of the room, where Trevor and Zach are working on their costumes while once again surrounded by girls.
“Maybe Trevor does want something more serious,” I say, “but he thinks you’d turn him down.”
Salma frowns at me. “He and I both said we’re not the relationship kind.”
“What if he’s changed his mind but was too afraid to mess things up?” I hate that I can’t just tell her the truth: He wanted to ask you, but William told him not to, and for some reason, Trevor listened.
“Why haven’t you asked him?” Tiffany chimes in.
I don’t say so, but it’s a good question.
Salma just shrugs. “I guess I’m not sure how he’d take it.”
“There you go, so he probably feels the same way,” says Tiffany.
“If we want to beat the bathroom rush, we should go now,” I say, since the ball starts in two hours.
“Good idea,” says Salma.
“I’ll meet you there,” I say, peeling away from them to drop off William’s mask for tonight.
Yet as I head down the hallway, I’m not sure where I’m going. I’m not going to show up at his room unannounced, and I can’t go to the LUB during the day, since someone could see me.
My feet seem to be moving of their own accord, and as I stride past the doors of our classrooms, I realize where I’m going. I climb to the third floor to visit the library and keep ascending levels until I reach the computer wing, and that’s where I leave William’s mask.
If he’s still spying on me, he’ll find it.
And if he doesn’t … not my problem.
I DASH into the penthouse to grab my toiletries, expecting the room to be empty.
“Hey.”
Tiffany greets me as soon as I walk inside, standing in her white terry cloth robe, hair in her pink bonnet, and holding her toiletry bag. It looks like she’s been waiting for me.
“Where’s Salma?”
“Showering. I wanted to know if you ever bothered asking her what’s wrong, or if you’re still too busy to be her friend?”
“What the fuck is your problem?”
The question flies out of my mouth because I’m beyond finished with her shitty attitude and cutting remarks. “Whatever else it is you need to say to me, spit it out already so we can move on—”
“Finally,” says Tiffany, setting down the toiletry bag. “It was getting old, letting Salma fight your battles for you.”
“I don’t see her here now, so are you going to answer?”