Page 15 of Vampires of Eden
That’s the thing about Eden. Our cities are beautiful and clean, because appearances mean more than anything. Appearances and capital.
InsideThe Wanderer, teardrop light bulbs are fixed inside of metal birdcages that hang from the ceiling in bronze, gold and copper. The lights bounce and shine through the metal bars, creating whimsical patterns of shadows against the high ceiling and elegant walls. Tables and chairs are fashioned in the darkest wood. Plush booths upholstered in a dark green fabric line the perimeter of the space in inviting half-circles.
Hanging against the eclectic black-and-white paisley wallpaper are large, grayscale photos of famous sites from around theworld. The Taj Mahal beneath a steely sky. Stonehenge, Sydney Opera House, Mount Fuji and the Eiffel Tower.
How many times have I fantasized about bringing Oliver here? After the ceremony and once we were finally emancipated from the strict rules governing our engagement. I had all these plans for us. For him. He loves photography and travel, so I thought he’d appreciate this cafe. That it would make him happy.
ThatIcould make him happy.
I pictured us here, having drinks in a booth and easing into our arrangement. He’d finally smile at me, sincerely, beneath the shadowy lights and with those gorgeous blue eyes. We’d laugh and talk in whispered confidence. Maybe hold hands under the table, like how Roland and Kathryn did when I went to visit them. An easy, comfortable affection.
None of that will ever happen for me. But occasionally, these images are resurrected in my mind. The alluring, romantic echo of scenes that never existed.
Pathetic.
In all my fantasies about this café, never once did I envision myself trapped in a private room with Lord Cherrington and his creepy youngish manservant whose name I can never remember—I call him Smeed in my head. But here I am with Lord Cherrington sitting uncomfortably close. His hand not-so-subtly inching toward my thigh.
God, this creature makes me so fucking uncomfortable. Like I’d crawl out of my own skin to get away from him.
“You bested me at the meeting last week, your highness—shot my proposal down with a blazing flourish.” Lord Cherrington sits on the velvet green love seat beside me with his leg folded toward my body. One palm rests on the tufted material between us while the other casually cradles his golden flecked wine tumbler.
Bested him? “We’re not in competition with each other as board members. We work together for the greater prosperity of Eden. And the proposal that you submitted was… flawed.”
It was terrible. Disgusting and short-sighted.
“Mm, I find it interesting that you’re not at all hesitant to speak your mind, given the circumstance you find yourself in. You’re quite bold, Prince Alexander.”
“Am I?”
“You are. We’ve attended countless events and meetings together through the years, but we haven’t talked much until now, have we? You’ve always been so unapproachable. Preoccupied.”
I say nothing, but feel his eyes boring into the side of my face like hot lasers as I stare forward, holding my wine glass in the gap of my thighs with both hands. Not drinking at all.
Given his financial status and my current “circumstance”, the rules of Eden dictate that I should be flirtatious and encouraging of his advances. Publicly, it would look great if I were quickly swept up by a wealthy and established mate. I know the rules, but I can’t play along right now. The recently hardened space inside of my being strictly prevents it.
This is why I chose someone who was my age for my mating arrangement, because I desperately wanted to avoid these weird power dynamics. They exist everywhere in Eden—between clans over money and status, between the young and the old, between genders, between purebreds and ranked vampires.
It's draining. I get sick of dealing with it day in and day out. All my life, I’ve dreamt of a nest where none of that matters. A kind of refuge from the rigid customs and fake manners that are required while navigating our aristocracy. I can manage it, but I needbalance.
I chose Oliver because on paper, everything made perfect sense. We’re both purebred, male, the same age and from families that are at least partially native to Eden. I thought it’d be easy for us to establish a well-adjusted nest where we could be ourselves. Where we wouldn’t have to play these stupid games all day, every day, for the rest of our lives.
Anyway, that dream is dead now.
The private room we’re occupying features a roaringfire, more trendy bird cages sparkling with light and a large picture window with a view to the back patio and garden. It’s dusk and snowing. Wet, heavy flakes gather like a determined mob on the bushes, empty benches and tree branches.
I do not want to be here.
Not with him.
“I wonder…” His hand slides closer and I can feel the tip of his pointer finger against my thigh, stroking in a playful up and down motion. “If I offer a generous dowry to your family, will you finally give me your full attention, your highness? Will you be truly focused on me?”
I sigh, glancing at him from the corners of my eyes. “You mean, if you pay the right price?”
This amuses him, because Lord Cherrington lifts his chin in a boisterous laugh. “That’s a very crude way to put it, my darling.”
“Do not call medarling. And it’s the truth.”
“Is it?” he counters. “Or is it simply the way we conduct our affairs? The natural law of Eden, so to speak. Forgive me for alluding to the potential hypocrisy, but did you not try to purchase your ex-fiancé? Young Oliver Blakeley?”
