Option 2: “This vacation is tasty”
— really? Nope
Option 3: “Sometimes you have to get lost in a meal to find yourself”
— I’m not lost, I’m having an existential crisis because my fake boyfriend is a 257-year-old vampire
I close the app without posting.
This has never happened before. Throughout my years of influence, I’ve always known what to say. I’ve posted through breakups, family drama, a minor car accident, and one very unfortunately timed sickness that I somehow turned into a “wellness journey” narrative.
But how do you caption “Found out supernatural creatures are real, and I’m falling for one. Now I’m enjoying breakfast while we plan how to deal with an evil vampire dude who wants to hurt me.”?
You don’t. That’s how.
Before I can put my phone away, it buzzes again. This time it’s Violet.
VIOLET: Poolside bridesmaid hangout at 12! Bring sunscreen and gossip!
VIOLET: Girls only… No hot boyfriends watching us day drink
VIOLET: And I don’t want to be responsible for my bridesmaids drowning because they’re too busy staring
I show the message to Julian. “Duty calls.”
His expression closes off. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Julian, I can’t hide in this suite until the wedding. Violet needs me. I need to be normal for a few hours.”
“Define ‘normal.’”
“Champagne. Gossip. Pretending my life isn’t a supernatural thriller.”
He doesn’t respond. I can see him calculating—weighing the risk against my need for some semblance of a regular life.
“She won’t be alone,” Elena says. “Sofia and I will accompany her. Discreetly.”
“You’ll what!?!” I nearly do a spit-take.
“Blend in. Watch from a distance.” Elena examines her nails. “I’ve been meaning to catch up on my reading anyway.”
“And I could use a yoga session,” Sofia adds. “Flexibility is important.”
I stare at them. “Great, I’m going to have vampire bodyguards at my sister’s bachelorette pool party.”
“Is that a problem?” Julian asks.
“It’s the most 2026 sentence I’ve ever said out loud.”
Nathaniel laughs and looks at Julian. “I really do like her.”
An hour later, I’m gathering my sunscreen and flip-flops for the pool, while Julian watches me with an expression caught somewhere between protective and pained.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “I’ll have two ancient killers watching my every move. What could go wrong?”
“Many things.”
“That was rhetorical.”
