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I decide to keep playing but to acknowledge his presence when he comes over.
He takes his coat off and boots and comes to join me at the piano. I try with all my might not to trip up in my playing. I don't want to give him the pleasure of knowing how upset I am, and I realize I am upset.
And I am so upset, despite all my best intentions. I breathe deeply when he approaches to calm my beating heart. He stands at the side of the piano watching as I play. When I come to the end of the piece I stop and just sit there.
He says nothing, and so finally I look directly at him. He looks haggard, if a vampire can look tired. He's dressed in something a bit more formal, black pants, a black jacket and a white shirt open at the collar, the tie undone. He's so attractive that my heart does a flip-flop and I hate myself.
He smiles, his eyes hooded.
"You've been practicing like a good girl."
"I'm not a girl. Besides, I want to play it better – for myself."
"Why don't you put something pretty on? We're going out for dinner."
A shock goes through me at that. He's just going to act as if nothing happened?
"We are? What about security?"
"Don't worry about that," Julien says. "All taken care of. I'm hungry and I'd bet a thousand that you’ve barely eaten anything but rabbit food today."
"You go ahead. I'm not really hungry." I touch the keys. I play the beginning of Ballade again. I feel as if I couldn't swallow a morsel.
"That's fine. You don't have to eat. I want company. Just go," he says and waves his hand towards the bathroom, "and put something pretty on. My eyes are hungry, too."
I stand and comply without a word. I wonder what game he's playing – is he just reinforcing how he's in control and I have no choice but to comply?
Does it really give him that much pleasure?
Of course it does. I'm such a fool. Give up your silly romantic fantasy world. He's a vampire and a killer. A monster, as even he admitted – he'd kill me if he felt it was justified. Yeah, he'd have sex with me and enjoy it. But he'd kill me, too.
Period.
I sort through my clothes, unsure what to wear. I don't have a lot of pretty things, as most of my money during college went to rent and expenses. The only piece of clothing I have other than Luke’s gift that is the least bit pretty is a black dress I wore last Christmas for the party for students in the pre-med program. It's a bit too dressy, knee-length, with a sleeveless wrap bodice made out of black lace with a deep cut neckline and fitted skirt.
Whatever. I put it on, glance at myself in the mirror. I decide to put my hair up, clipping it up in back with a barrette.
Damn him. I'm his hostage even if I've been with him. That's Stockholm Syndrome. I've been totally dependent on him and am at his mercy.
I walk back out to the living area and wait while Julien finishes speaking on his cell. When he looks up, he tilts his head to one side as if appraising my choice. He comes to me and takes my hand, then turns me around in a pirouette. He whistles softly.
"You look lovely."
My cheeks burn and I have to glance away.
"But I think your hair should be down." With that, he pulls the clip out of my hair and my hair falls down around my shoulders and down my back. "Look how nice it is against the black lace. It looks like silk."
Julien helps me into my coat. Damn him – why is he being such a gentleman when I want him to be a jerk so I can hate him?
Dinner is a quiet affair, with Julien eating as if he's ravenous, his focus on his meal, while I content myself with nibbling on a salad and drinking a glass of white wine.
The wine does me good, for it relaxes me a bit, warms me up. He pours me another glass from the bottle he ordered, and I drink it down as well while he works on his food, and now, I’m beginning to enjoy the buzz I get from the wine. I've never been a drinker except on the rare occasion when I was with a man and sex was involved. I found that two or three glasses was about all I could handle before becoming a giggling drunk so I stop, covering my glass when he tries to pour more.
"No, really," I say, "I can't drink any more."
"Why? You've only had two glasses. Live a little."
I sigh as he pours yet another glass, but I'm determined not to drink it. I'll just pretend. I don't want to get drunk and lose control for fear I say something I'll regret.
