58. Bertram
Bertram
Friendly Helena was a stressful Helena.
She was constantly touching him, smiling at him in a way that made him want to knock everything from his worktable and take her then and there, enrichment building be damned.
Even the way she took off her snow coat was seductive to him, despite the fact that she was wearing both a long-sleeved shirt underneath and a T-shirt over that.
He needed to get his mind out of the gutter and focus on work.
Embarrassing that such a clearly non-sexual action still read as sexual to him.
But it was hard—in more ways than one—when Helena was so near all the time, so smiley, so . . . touching him.
There were moments when he thought she might be longing for him as much as he longed for her.
But she never kissed him, even when he thought she might.
Bertram was a gentleman; he would never make a move on Helena under these circumstances. They were alone on a remote mountain. She had nowhere else to go. His mother was essentially her boss.
If Helena and Bertram were to get together, it would have to be because Helena told him she wanted to. Letting her take the lead in these circumstances was the only ethical thing to do, even though Bertram sometimes feared he would go insane with longing.
The past few days especially, Bertram had started to hope that maybe, just maybe, Helena was as infatuated with him as he was with her.
But since he was turned on just by her removing her snow coat, his sense of what was supposed to be flirtatious was clearly fucked, and he still was not.
And then Helena sent him off on a date with Diana, proving that his theories about her pining for him too were wishful thinking. It was the nail in the coffin, which technically his vampire side should be very comfortable with, but his orc side protested.
At first, Bertram thought he wouldn’t go. That he would cancel on Diana. He didn’t want to be on a date with Diana. He wanted to be with Helena.
But if Helena didn’t want to be with him, there was nothing he could do about that.
Besides, did he really want to be with Helena?
He spent years convincing himself—mind, body, and soul—that he did not. He had gotten her out of his system. It was better to not let her back in. Helena broke his heart once; she could do it again.
This date with Diana was exactly what he needed. He was very excited about it. That was his mantra as he and Diana headed out to the bar.
I’m very excited about this date. I’m very excited about this date.
Somewhere in the back of his mind was an awareness that when People were excited about dates, they didn’t have to repeat “I’m very excited about this date” to themselves over and over again.
He did his best to ignore this inconvenient fact.
Besides, Diana promised to show him a really wild time, and after all the hard work he had put into hatching and raising Lovatch these past few months, he deserved to let loose.
“Welcome to ‘A Really Wild Thyme,’ ” Diana said as they entered the bar.
She pointed to the sign above the door, beside which hung a bundle of dried herbs with little purple flowers.
The bar had a nice ambience—not too crowded, nor uncomfortably sparse.
The music was just the right volume—present, but not so loud they would have to yell to be heard.
That was one of Helena’s least favorite things, having to scream over music at bars, so he always tried to make sure they went somewhere with vibes exactly like this—
No, it didn’t matter where he went with Helena. He was here with Diana.
And he was very excited about that!
The theme of A Really Wild Thyme was “purple,” as far as Bertram could tell.
The walls were a deep plum, and bouquets in varying shades of purples and lavenders sat in crystal vases.
Bundles of dried herbs hung from the walls, along with a multitude of clocks.
There were modern digital clocks that looked like they had been stolen from a particularly boring human office, intricately hand-carved cuckoo clocks seemingly hundreds of years old, and everything in between.
None of them told the same time.
“They’re just for show,” Diana said, when she noticed Bertram looking at the clock collection. “Part of having a really wild time is not knowing what time it is at all, don’t you think?”
“I think it’s crazy that there’s a bar closer to the mountains than a grocery store or gas station or anything,” Bertram said.
“Right? Really tells you a lot about human nature.” Diana smiled. “Or pixie nature. Or vampire nature, as the case may be.”
Diana gestured up to a garland of greens hung up toward the top of the wall, right under the ceiling, beside a square clock with very art-deco coloration. “That’s woodbine.”
“Oh, really?” Bertram asked.
“Mhm. And that bouquet there—honeysuckle, oxlip, musk rose, sweet briar, thistle . . .”
“I didn’t realize you were such a botanist,” Bertram said.
“I’m not, really.” Diana smiled. “I’m somewhat of an amateur herbalist, I suppose. Mostly I’m just here often enough I know the décor. Those white-and-purple pansies everywhere? Those are called love-in-idleness. Can you think of anything worse?”
Bertram raised an eyebrow. “Than pansies? Yes. Dysentery, for example.”
Diana laughed. “Not pansies. Is there anything worse than love-in-idleness? Requited love is the best sort of love, naturally. Unrequited love you can at least move on from. But idle love, love that is there and not acted upon love-in-idleness—”
“—is still not as bad as dysentery,” Bertram finished.
“Depends on your perspective, I guess.” Diana shrugged. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I think I should be getting you a drink,” Bertram said.
“Pffft. Gender role nonsense.” Diana waved her hand. “I’m the one who asked you out. Besides, they won’t charge me. I’m a regular. What do you like?”
“Whatever the regular recommends,” Bertram said.
Diana smiled brightly and trounced over to the bar with a twirl as she went.
“Weland, my angel, my love!” Diana called as she seated herself on a barstool with a charming leap.
Diana reached her arms toward a human bartender wearing a shirt—if one could call it that—made of crisscrossing leafy garlands.
“My North Star! My lark! My nightingale! My robin!” The bartender, presumably Weland, leaned forward and kissed her on both cheeks, twice. “What can I get you, robin?”
“I have a new friend with me tonight—I think it has to be the Vibrant Violet, right?”
Weland smiled. “It is our signature.”
Diana turned back to Bertram. “Do you like sweet drinks, my sweet?”
“I love sweet drinks.” He wasn’t even sure if it was true or not—it had been a while since he’d had a cocktail of any sort, but it was easy to say things to keep Diana beaming like that.
She really was adorable. And gorgeous. And bringing over two bright purple drinks with sugar on the rim and candied violets floating at the surface.
“Cheers.” Diana raised her glass. “To new friendship. And to love that does not stay idle.”
For Bertram, the new friendship part was easy to drink to with full enthusiasm.
The love that does not stay idle . . . he wasn’t sure if Diana was taking a jab at his affection and inaction re: Helena (was it obvious enough for Diana to notice?) or if she was angling for her own love with Bertram to progress swiftly.
If so, he hoped she meant love as in “love, make” not “love with, fall desperately in.”
Diana was fun to be with.
She was beautiful.
She wasn’t Helena.
And that was the number one thing he was looking for in a sexual partner, he reminded himself. His number one most sought-after quality: not being Helena.
Diana was a good conversationalist, he found, and the drinks were good—both elements were good enough, in fact, that Diana ordered a second round of drinks, and then a third, and not once did their conversation lag. Nor was it ever difficult to hear.
Helena really would love the ambience of this bar, Bertram thought, and then wished he hadn’t thought about her.
Bertram laughed at a joke Diana told. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but it had the cadence of a joke, and as a general rule Diana was very funny.
“Glad you liked that one,” Diana said with a smile.
Bertram was relieved that he had guessed correctly.
“You’re funny, too,” Diana said. “And brave. It takes a lot for a man to live in isolation on a remote mountain riddled with rumors of owl-bears and dragons.”
“Dragons?” Bertram said.
“Rumors of dragons,” Diana corrected. “The Folio Mountains were supposedly home to all kinds of magifauna—owl-bears, dragons, pegasi. I think it came from human explorers who figured if they saw one flying magical creature, then all of them must live there, you know?”
“Pegapodes,” Bertram said.
“What?” said Diana.
“Pegapodes. I think the word has a Greek root, not Latin. So, it would go to ‘pode,’ I think. Helena explained it to me, and I”—Bertram swallowed—“I guess I shouldn’t really be talking about other women while I’m at a bar with a beautiful lady.”
Diana laughed her high, pretty laugh. “The good news is it looks like both of our drinks are gone. So, if you wanted to, you could be leaving the bar with a beautiful lady.”
Bertram considered this.
Helena was the one who told him to go out with Diana, so she wouldn’t be upset if he went home with her.
There was really no reason in the world not to go home with Diana.
Also, she hadn’t even technically invited him to her home, just said they could leave the bar—and even if they did go home together, that didn’t mean anything would happen…
Bertram had yet to decide how he wanted the rest of the night to play out, but he knew one thing for sure: before anything else happened, he needed to be direct.
“Forgive me,” Bertram said, “I don’t want to imply that you were implying anything, but I just want to be clear, again, that I’m really not looking for anything serious right now. And if that’s what you want—”
“Actually . . . what I really want . . .” Diana leaned forward and whispered something in his ear so filthy that Bertram blushed a deep green.
Oh, fuck, was he in trouble.