Page 83 of Vampires of Eden: Oliver
But now that I’m paying closer attention, something in his manner feels… sort of genuine, maybe? He’s good at navigating social situations and vampires’ expectations of him. Much better than me, anyway.
In my quiet moments at night and when I’m alone, I think about Alexander’s cousin, Leoni. From what I can understand about her situation, she isn’t entirely free now. The figurative chains still grip her ankles, but the links stretch much farther out than they did before.
Alexander did some digging and told me that she lives in a cottage on the edge of eastern Eden with a servant. She has no direct master and no forced mate—no pressing duties or vapid responsibilities.
It isn’t exactly the life I want, but it’s a step in the right direction, isn’t it? I don’t care about my title, inheritance or public image. I just want my own life and the freedom to make it up as I go along.
On our final night at the Kendrick estate, Alexander’s family throws a splashy and glitzy ball. The villa where the party is held sits back from the main house and is flanked by majestic spruce, pine and fir trees that reach high into the deep blue overhead like skyscrapers.
Where my family’s ballroom is predominately composed of marble floors and dramatic chandeliers, the space here matches the modernity of the main estate. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a full view of the surrounding forest. The hardwood floors gleam underneath an incredible instillation across the entire ceiling that looks like glowing white icicles. Like illuminated stalactites spanning a glamorous cave.
In the back corner of the room, there’s a lifted stage with a grand piano. Alexander is there, sitting silently on the bench with his hands resting in his lap. His eyes are focused on the keys. The twinkling ceiling lights have been turned down low and it feels as if everyone in the room is holding their breath. Watching and waiting.
Alexander lifts his hands and rests them atop the keys. There’s a brief moment of pause before a soft but full melody swells from the impressive instrument. It fills the space. Elegant and calming, but… beneath the composition’s layers, there’s something else. He plays and the music is weighted with emotion—romance and reflection. Wonder and sadness. Heartbreak.
As I listen, something in my chest tightens. I can’t explain why, but it moves me. It’s palpable and can’t be ignored.
When Alexander lifts his hands and the final note echoes through the room, there’s another distinct moment of pause. Someone interrupts the silence with applause, then the rest of us join in. The spell is broken but the sentiment lingers. Alexander stands, smiling in his camera-ready way as he bows. When he steps off the stage, he tries to make his way toward me but is swallowed up by a small crowd of vampires showering him with accolades.
“Did you recognize the piece?”
I turn, and Raphael, Alexander’s primary manservant, is standing beside me. He’s young, but older than Alexander and me by a decade, I think. His maroon-colored eyes are sharp. The lights in the hall brighten, highlighting the gingery warmth of his short hair.
“I didn’t,” I admit. “I’m not very good with recognizing classical pieces. Which one was it?”
“Rêverie, by Debussy,” Raphael says, lifting an eyebrow. “That wasn’t the piece he originally chose for tonight.”
“Really? I had no idea.” I wasn’t even expecting him to play the piano this evening.
“What made him switch to something so melancholy?” Raphael asks. “He was supposed to give a dedication before playing the piece, but he didn’t. Why has he drastically altered the program? This is a celebration, isn’t it?”
Nervous, I twist my hands and see Alexander making his way toward us. “I… don’t know, but it was beautiful. I haven’t heard him play since we were kids. He’s drastically improved since then.”
“He has,” Raphael says. Maybe I’m paranoid, but his gaze feels intense as he scrutinizes me. Disapproving. “He’s been practicing for a very long time because he wanted to surprise you. Specifically, for tonight, to celebrate your wedding.”
“Hey.” Alexander approaches us with his forehead crinkled. “Is everything alright? What are you saying to him?”
Raphael shrugs, suddenly indifferent. The gesture reminds me of a naughty child with a stolen toy behind their back. “I’m not saying anything. Don’t get your undies in a bunch.” Raphael shifts his attention toward me, then offers a shallow nod. He walks away, disappearing into the crowd and leaving the two of us alone.
“What did he say to you?” Alexander asks. His eyes are filled with panic. “What were you talking about?”
“We were just talking about your performance. It was wonderful. I didn’t know you’d gotten this good at playing the piano.” I’m always surprised at how casual Alexander’s relationship is with his manservant—another thing I find enviable about his estate versus my own. Lord Blakeley would never accept this kind of informal behavior.
Alexander shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. Well…it was supposed to be a surprise, but—I told my father I didn’t want to do the performance anymore, and that it might make you uncomfortable. He wouldn’t listen and… whatever. It’s nothing.”
A quick-tempo song cuts into the awkwardness of our conversation. Alexander takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “Anyway, will you dance with me, please?”
“Yes, sure.” Taking hold of my hand, he guides me onto the main dance floor. The vampires here aren’t moving in the same clockwork, uniform rhythm that I’m accustomed to. Everyone does their own thing. It’s nice.
Alexander steps in front of me. “Will you lead?”
I chuckle. “Again? I’ve been leading all night. If you’re trying to make a point, it’s been made.”
“I’m not,” he asserts, smiling. “There’s no hidden objective. It’s just more fun when you lead—you’regood. You like to do it, right?” He opens his palms between us, offering them to me.
“I do. Alright.” I take his hands and guide him into the flow of movement.
Leading gives me an inkling of control. Not control over Alexander, but influence over a brief circumstance when I usually have none. For a few minutes—the span of a sprightly dance—I can choose whether to move left or right. To turn or remain linear. How fast we move or how slowly. Whatever I decide, it just happens. No questions asked.
