Chapter 42 The Escape from the Small Town Trope #2
It wasn’t Valentine’s fault for not providing my happily ever after.
It was my own. Valentine was a haven, a place where I could get myself together.
Everything had been telling me that, but I had been misreading the signs to fit my own romanticized idea of a happy ending.
I was such a dumb bitch. It had taken me three hundred years to learn what a 112-minute movie was trying to tell me.
If Sandra Bullock couldn’t be happy with Channing Tatum until after she figured out her own shit, who did I think I was to skip the hard parts?
A pair of headlights shone through my windshield. They slowed to a stop next to my car.
Wouldn’t you know, Tyrone emerged from the car doing his best impression of Prince Charming. If I hadn’t already realized I was my own Prince Charming, I might have been susceptible.
He knocked on my window and I rolled it down. “What are you doing out here?”
“What are you doing out here?”
“Looking for you. Vlad called. He didn’t have chains for his tires, but he knew I would.”
“Don’t joke. You were already driving around in your pickup trying out your new snow tires.”
“Well, that too.” He laughed. “You just validated all of my purchases, so thanks for that.” He stood back and assessed the situation. “I can just hook up the tow rope and pop you out in a jiff.”
I patted the passenger seat. “Before you rescue me, sit down. Let’s talk.” We were well past overdue for a real talk.
It might be weird to converse on the side of the road in a snowstorm, but Tyrone ducked inside, bringing a flurry of flakes with him. Cat mewled pathetically at the gust of cold wind.
There we were, just me and Tyrone, in the protective bubble of the hearse, the snow coming down on us.
“So, uh…the last few days have been weird,” I said, stating the obvious.
“Can’t say I’ve been bored,” he said.
“You know you didn’t kill Jeff, right?” I said.
He nodded, but his expression was still etched with tension. “I know. I should have fired him in the office, not while he was drunk on the ice.”
“But that’s where you were.”
With a laugh he said, “Vlad told me I was being arrogant, thinking I was responsible for Jeff’s fate and everyone else’s happiness. He’s right. Who do I think I am?”
“A man.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I still think it’s my fault.”
The dashboard light illuminated his face, his kind eyes and full lips. “If only all men were as honorable as you,” I said.
But Tyrone wasn’t for me, no matter how delicious he was.
Maybe I appeared to be up to my usual bullshit, but something had shifted inside me. I wasn’t Tiffany with a -y. I wasn’t a Hallmark movie heroine. I was Tiffenie Ruba, immortal vampire with quite a few insecurities, which is normal.
My true self and the person I was presenting to the world had aligned. No more fuzzy edges or uncertainty. I was filled with clarity. In my power.
It was time to glamour Tyrone, not into loving me or anything.
But someone needed to help this man with his finances.
He needed to stop giving money to Tiffany Amanda Blair, and I was now in a position to help him.
No more half-assed glamouring and messes Vlad had to clean up. I could do this on my own.
I focused all of my energy into a point and took his hands in mine. With disturbingly intense eye contact, I said, “Tyrone, you didn’t kill Jeff, so you need to stop sending money to your blackmailer.”
“Okay.” He nodded.
“Really? You’re cool with that?”
And it was a confirmed glamour! All that inner turmoil raging below Tyrone’s surface, the stormy sea of his soul, was calmer. His mind was nothing but puffy white clouds reflecting back peace and stillness.
I swelled with my success. Fuck a castle and a wedding. This was the feeling I wanted for the rest of my existence—self-acceptance, peace, power. I was Sandra Bullock at the end of the movie. No, I was me, a vampire who could do vampire things.
I didn’t bother informing Tyrone that I wasn’t a vampire. Why get into it? Plus, glamouring only works for one thing at a time.
“You deserve love and happiness,” I said, a little finishing salt on the work I’d done. He did. The man was the embodiment of Christmas. What was more perfect than that?
With the storm raging outside, I leaned in and gave him a sweet kiss. My soft lips pressed into his. He placed a hand alongside my cheek, soft and gentle but firm. Bringing me in for more.
If he’d really been a killer, maybe we could have worked out. But Vlad was right, I could never be with anyone as perfect as Tyrone. He might as well be a priest, and we all know how vampires and priests work. Not to mention that with his darkness gone, he wasn’t as hot.
My type: tall, dark, and tortured (emphasis on tortured).
I pulled away and said, “You’re too good for me, Tyrone. However, if you ever want to have an affair or sully your image, I’m here. Or if you kill someone for real, give me a call.”
He laughed.
“Oh, and call Jessica,” I said. “She still has a crush on you.”
“Really?” He gave me a stupid look, as if he hadn’t noticed. Men.
“Now take me home, would you?”
“I told you about getting snow tires. A set of Blizzaks would be a good idea.”
I nodded. I should have learned my lesson the first time, but some of us are more hardheaded than others.
As Tyrone and I pulled up to the house, Heaven opened the door. She poured two glasses of B positive before I’d even taken my coat off.
“Welcome home, Tiff,” she said.