I didn’t sleep. I stayed in Yelena’s bed all day thinking about last night with Vance. I feel like we made progress yet I don’t feel we’re further along. If Darcy were here, she’d probably tell me I’m overthinking everything.

  He was smiling when I opened the front door. His hair was perfectly messy. I made believe he knows how much I adore this look and that he spent a long time in front of the mirror styling it messy just for me. I smiled back and invited him in. He didn’t bring me flowers (which I don’t expect (but want wouldn’t mind ok want) and only mention because he sent flowers before), but he brought a bottle of red wine and that made me happy, not just because it was a gift, but because as gifts go, this is a gift for an adult. Immediately, I became hopeful that my dreams were coming true—someone was interested in me who didn’t see me as a child.

  I told him to make himself comfortable in the living room while I went to fetch wine glasses and a corkscrew. I returned, set the glasses down, and he held his hand out for the corkscrew and used it to open the bottle of wine. I liked that he insisted on opening it, not like some thoughtless, too casual kind of guy who didn’t care if he impressed me or not. He poured my glass first. As he lifted his glass, my soul was giddy with curiosity as to what he would toast to.

  “To your eternal happiness, Empress,” he said and smiled. I smiled back as we clinked glasses, but secretly I wish his toast had been about us instead of me and that he didn’t use the word eternal because it felt like another sign that his chief interest in me revolves around immortality—fascination with mine and/or the potential of his. On top of that, the wine he brought seemed very dark as red wines go—dark as blood. But these suspicions were fleeting as a mere glance into his syrupy eyes as we took our first sips made me forget all doubts and I was soon overruled by my heart which was all aflutter.

  “Should we watch something?” I asked. I totally didn’t have a plan like I planned, but at least we were sitting together.

  “I’m good either way.”

  “Let’s put on something we’ve both seen, so we don’t have to pay attention.”

  He suggested we say our favorite movies. Mine: The Princess Bride. His: The Hunger. Then our favorite TV shows. Mine: The Twilight Zone. His: True Blood. Of course it didn’t escape me that both his favorites were vampire-related. And actually, before I finally settled on The Princess Bride, I had struggled to come up with a single favorite film and listed off many films I loved, including Before Sunrise which I mentioned was also “my mom’s” favorite film and because of its title, Vance thought it was a vampire film, one that he hadn’t seen. (He did ask about my “mom” but I said I would tell him all about her when were closer.)

  We ended up playing Kill Bill and watched it for a little while until I finally asked, “How was San Francisco?”

  “It was good. I always have fun there.”

  Of course, I was hoping to find out if Vanessa had been with him. “Did you get everything done you needed to for the next ball?”

  “Pretty much. The venue’s big, but we’re gonna fill it, no problem. What about you? What have you been doing?”

  “You know, just hanging out. Do you get lonely traveling to all these different cities by yourself?”

  He answered that he doesn’t mind traveling alone but that he also has friends all over the world so he’s usually not alone. Of course, he didn’t say who those friends were, and I was too worried about sounding nosy or jealous to ask directly. But wasn’t I obvious enough? If he doesn’t know I’m asking about Vanessa specifically, can’t he at least figure out I’m trying to know if there are other women in the picture? I wondered: If he’s not that dense, does it mean he’s playing with me? I wondered: If he does have any interest in me, why isn’t he reassuring me?

  He wasn’t halfway through his glass of wine before I was ready for a refill, which I poured and then topped his drink off. I made the most of the refilling by moving closer beside him on the sofa when I settled back with my wine. We were now up against each other, our shoulders touching. When this had happened at the art gallery, when we were having our caricatures sketched, my hands had been on my lap and he reached over and placed his right hand on my left. That time, I had been sitting to his right. Tonight, I sat on his left. I purposely held my wine glass in my left hand, so that my free hand was the hand closer to him, ready for the holding. But he too held his wine glass in his left hand, and so it would’ve been awkward for him to reach over with his right, but he should’ve just changed hands holding his wineglass and taken my hand like he had in the gallery. I wondered: Had his feelings changed since then? Or had that all been for show while we were in public?

  On screen, Beatrix Kiddo is lying in the backseat of the Pussy Wagon trying to wiggle her big toe. From elsewhere in the house a faucet began running.

  “Is someone else here?”

  “That’s Rosanna. She lives here too. She’ll be going out soon though. She’s taking a bath and then she’ll leave.”

  “Is she a mortal or a vampire?”

  “Vampire. A very young vampire.” I want to say I don’t know why I said that—pointing out that Rosanna’s young. It kinda just came out, but I know why it did. I was telling him: She’s too young to turn you Vance. Keep your attentions on me.

  Even though I was wearing a dress, I slung my right leg over his left. If he wasn’t gonna hold my hand, he could at least place his hand on my knee, or better yet, my thigh. But he didn’t. He just sipped from his wineglass that he held in his left hand. But he also didn’t get up, slip out from under me, or do anything to remove my leg either. We stared at the television like nothing was happening, because nothing was. I thought of giving up for the night but recalled Yelena telling me I need to find out what his intentions are.

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  “Do you like me, Vance?” I asked and then felt something close to mortified with how directly and carelessly I spit that out. Since I met him, I’d been tiptoeing not to scare him off.

  “Honestly, I don’t know.”

  I didn’t love his answer, but I was glad he didn’t play dumb and say something like, “Like you like how? Like, like like you?”

  “Why? What’s holding you back?”

  “You know why.”

  “Because of the way I look. My apparent age.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Will you pour me another glass, please? Thank you. You know I’m old enough to drink this.”

  “I know. But that’s not the same thing.”

  “I know it’s not. But I’m telling you, I’m not what you see.”

  “I know you’re not. I get it. But even if I closed my eyes…”

  “Yeah. I want you to understand me enough that you’ll feel the truth too.”

  “I think I do understand you. But I just don’t know if it’s possible.”

  I didn’t know what to say next and it didn’t feel like Vance had much more he needed to say, so it didn’t feel like an interruption when Rosanna entered on her way out for the night. It might have been too subtle for mortal eyes, but Rosanna’s expression exhibited the slightest bit of surprise to see me sitting on the sofa in a dress with my legs open as one was still slung over Vance’s leg. Quite quickly, she smiled it off, and I didn’t remove my leg. I wanted to keep it where it was because I was hoping Vance and I could continue our talk beyond where we had gotten stuck after she left.

  “Please, don’t get up,” Rosanna said, but it was too late. Vance rose and in doing so, my leg slipped off of his.

  “Vance, this is Rosanna. Rosanna, this is Vance.”

  “It’s nice to meet you finally, Vance.”

  “The pleasure’s all mine.”

  “Oh, Kill Bill. I love this film.”

  “Say hi to Corinne.”

  “I will. I hope you both have a good night.”

  “Goodnight, Rosanna,” he said.

  After she went out the door, Vance sat back down beside me, just as close. The timbre of our conversation had been soft, serious, and maybe wistful. I wanted to recapture that, but I could tell, even though it wasn’t plain across his face, inside Vance was smiling, savoring beauty that had just come and gone. Rosanna turns many heads in her wake.

  The last of the wine filled my glass halfway and I drank it with a single tilt of my head. I got up and went into the kitchen and returned with champagne flutes and a leftover bottle from last night. I popped the cork and began to pour. Vance asked for just a little. I poured him half and sat back down. We clinked glasses, but didn’t toast to anything. For whatever reason, after taking our first sips, we both set our glasses down.

  Trying again to recapture the sentiment that had only recently escaped, I inched closer to Vance on the sofa. Again, we were touching, but the moment we had had was now out of reach. I wondered if he was still thinking about Rosanna. I needed to pull him back to me.

  “Do you want to be a vampire?”

  “Very much.”

  Again, I appreciated his honesty. That he didn’t answer stupidly with something like, “Why do you ask?”

  “Is that why you’re here? With me?”

  “I could see why you’d think that, but no. The two things…not things…desires, or, I don’t know…they’re separate.”

  “So you do desire me?”

  He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just caught off guard. I didn’t expect you to ask about this tonight. Maybe that wasn’t the right word. I don’t know what word I should use.”

  But I knew he knew he at least meant “desire” when thinking about becoming a vampire.

  “Have you asked Vanessa to turn you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s not old enough.”

  Then I sighed. “It’s so frustrating, Vance.”

  “What is?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? That for this, I’m old enough.”

  “Sorry. I’m so obtuse. I should’ve known what you meant.” He then put his hand on my knee. I didn’t know how to interpret it. Was it part of the apology? Or was it a compromise? That under this circumstance I’m touchable? If the moment didn’t feel hopeless, or had it happened earlier in the evening, I would’ve been excited about him touching me without it being polluted by thoughts of ulterior motives. “I don’t want you to think I’m using you to turn me. I can find someone else.”

  I probably felt him removing his hand from my bare knee before he even knew he was pulling away, and I put my hand down, over his, keeping it where it was. “You’ll find someone else? Yeah, if they don’t kill you first! Vance, the game you’re playing, making friends with vampires is more dangerous than you think. Generally speaking, vampires don’t give two shits about mortals and will bleed you to death just as easily as they would follow you on Instagram.”

  “I know. But despite that I’ve made real friends among them.”

  “Is this why you started your Carmilla Society? To find someone to turn you?”

  “Maybe that was always a hope, but that wasn’t all there was to it.”

  And then it happened. I climbed on his lap and straddled him in my dress. I’m still surprised by my boldness. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it’s because I’m empress. The answer is somewhere between those two points. He was definitely not expecting it. “Kiss me, Vance.”

  His uncertain gaze went from my eyes to my lips then back to my eyes. He was thinking about it. I think some part of him wanted to, but I also think this was in the advancement toward his goal and had nothing to do with mine. I climbed off and sat back, again beside him, again still touching. I felt embarrassed at the rejection of such an open invitation. I again felt frustrated. But I didn’t feel angry because I knew I had little faith he’d go for it.

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  “No. I wanted you to stay the night with me.”

  “I don’t think I can do that yet.”

  I’m not sure he meant to say it. I think it’s very possible we processed the implication of the word “yet” together. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was all by design, a Hail Mary to keep me on the hook. At any rate, I said, “Well, don’t leave now. Let’s just make the night fun again. We could go swimming. Or take the champagne to the jacuzzi.” I think it’s very possible we processed the implication of these suggestions together as well: both would involve getting at least partially undressed.

  “Let’s finish watching the movie.”

  “I don’t think there’s much left.”

  “Luckily there’s a second part,” he said and took my hand and held it until the end of Volume 1. And he held it again after I got another bottle of champagne for me and we made popcorn for him. And again as we watched Volume 2 all the way through. Bill took his final five steps. The Bride cried. And the credits rolled.

  With all that hand holding, it probably sounds like we’re further along than I alluded to at the beginning of this entry. But the reason it doesn’t feel that way is because I had made a sexual advance and the hand holding, while intimate, was in no way sexual. Before he left, he hugged me longer than the other time we hugged, but a hug without a kiss feels more friendly than amorous. Yet, I know we’re more than friends. And there’s that word again: Yet.

  Yes, Darcy would definitely tell me I’m overthinking everything.

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