“Miss…?” Jameson asked.
“Lauren.”
“Miss Lauren,” he began in a soft and velvety Romanian accent, “I am so delighted that you will be helping us. I can tell you have impeccable taste.”
Lauren was immediately captured by the Creepy Man’s compliment. “Thank you,” she gushed.
“And, Miss Lauren, we need to have these delivered quickly,” Jameson told her.
“If it’s in stock, we can have it delivered the next day.”
“Then lead me to those items,” he said.
Lauren guided us around the store like a docent in a fine arts museum.
We picked out a few rugs, a desk and hutch, and furniture covers. She showed us a dozen lamps and pushed one long hanging rug after another until Jameson found one he liked.
I had a blast shopping with the Creepy Man. My mom usually took ages to decide between two varieties of the same item, then, after deciding on the most perfect one, went to another store, only to finally come back to the original and buy it, while Jameson instantaneously picked out furniture, rugs, and accessories.
Lauren rang up our purchases and Jameson handed over his credit card and signed his name.
We left the store with oversized shopping bags like any other normal Dullsvillian.
Now all we needed was a cleaning company.
Alexander wouldn’t let me inside until the Mansion’s makeover was complete. I heard bustling and tried to peek into the window, but the dirt blocked my view.
I was seated on the stoop when I received a text.
Hey Hottie, What are you doing?
The sender was from an unavailable number. I dismissed the call, and as I waited on the stoop, the Mansion’s door finally creaked open.
Alexander stood as I’d never seen him before. He was wearing pressed jeans and an oxford shirt, a brown leather belt and shiny loafers. He was unbearably handsome.
“Where is Alexander?” I asked.
“What do you think?” he asked, nervous about my response.
“You are gorgeous! I’d never imagined you as an ‘insider,’” I said, checking him out. “You look like you belong in a prep school.”
“Good, that’s the look we’re going for.”
The Mansion had been transformed into a spread from Homes & Gardens. Everything seemed completely wrong. With the new slipcovers, the couches appeared brand new and the room clean, sweet-smelling, and free of any unwanted eight-legged insects. Hurricane lamps and framed flowers lined the mantel. Bright yellow and white pillows popped out against white linen-covered chairs.
“It looks like someone else lives here,” I said.
“You think so?” Sebastian asked, pleased with the results. “Alexander will be like any other person living in town—only he’ll have a butler instead of a few parents. That will accentuate his trust-fund status,” he said, thinking out loud.
“You’ve covered all your bases,” I said, noticing that a floor-length candelabra had been replaced with a silver floor lamp. “Giles Lunken won’t have anything to say, except ‘He’s one of our own.’”
“And,” Sebastian began, “it gets better. Now there’s no need for a photographer.”
I followed Sebastian into a room—formerly the parlor, now a studio with desk, computer, and easel.
“It’s almost finished. I just have to print it out,” he said.
Sebastian went to the printer tray and handed me a glossy photo. I held it in my hand.
It was a picture of Alexander!
“This will be his artist’s headshot,” Sebastian boasted.
I was amazed. For the first time in my life, I held a picture of my vampire boyfriend. “I love it! It looks exactly like you!”
“I used one of my image-enhancement software programs,” Sebastian proudly said, “and played around with some photographs I found online. I used Johnny Depp and made a few tweaks to bone structure and added pale skin, and voilà! Alexander.”
“It looks like a real photograph. And it looks like you! Can I keep it?”
“We have to give it to Mr. Lunken for the article. But I can print you another one.”
“Print a hundred!” I ordered.
I was so distracted by finally possessing a photograph of Alexander, I almost forgot that the preppy guy standing in front of me was him.
My boyfriend tugged at the collar of his shirt and fiddled with his shoes. I watched him as he uncomfortably tried to adapt to his new image. He was trying his best to fool even himself.
We returned to the living room, where he put a log in the fireplace.
“You hate it, don’t you,” I said.
“This house is beautiful—don’t get me wrong,” he lamented. “And the clothes look great on a guy in a magazine…. But…”
“What?”
“I don’t want to let you down.”
“Me?” I said. “I’ve spent my whole life not conforming. Why would I judge you if you don’t feel comfortable in an image that isn’t your own?”
“Because if I don’t do it—if that reporter snoops around or it slips out that I sleep in a coffin…that I drink blood for breakfast…” Alexander’s voice rose. “It is dangerous not only for me, but for you.”
“I understand.” I, too, was afraid Mr. Lunken would find out and reveal Alexander’s true identity. But mostly for Alexander’s sake.
“I’m not sure you do…. Is this the life you really want, Raven? The one you’ve desired all your life? Or is it just about the fantasy of it?”
“What do you mean?” I asked. Being a vampire had always fascinated me. I knew there were drawbacks, but weren’t there drawbacks to being mortal?