“Yes, I am ready for the final step in my transformation into a modern man. Stella will not know what hit her.”
Neli rolls her eyes and mumbles, “It’ll take a hell of a lot more than a suit and a spray tan to make you into a modern man.”
“I am a fierce, deadly vampire. And last time I checked, being an alpha male never goes out of style.” This battle is as good as won. “And now for my victory suit!”
CHAPTER TEN
Boz
The moment I step inside the mall, my senses are assaulted by the tiny suns and a cacophony of sound. I stay close to the edges of the space, passing by a variety of food stands with scents of meat, bread, and something spicy.
“Fortunately, it’s a Thursday, so it’s not too crowded,” Neli says. “We should be in and out in no time. I’ll point out the men’s clothing stores, and if you like the outfits in the display window, we’ll go in.”
I follow her, uncertain of the right direction. How confusing this place is with the many paths and multiple floors. I stare at a moving staircase. There is definitely some witchcraft at play here. I will not be fooled so easily.
A few shops later, I find a store that is dim inside with pulsing music that reminds me of the delicious rhythm of a fresh vein.
“This is the place, Neli.” I step inside a shop that is split down the middle—men’s outfits on one side and women’s on the other. What a talented tailor to attempt both.
“This store is for teens,” Neli says under her breath.
I do not know who these teens are, and I do not care. This place is for me. I find it relaxing. A young man with blond hair that sticks up like a field of spikes approaches.
He stops in front of us, slouches, and shoves his hands in the pockets of worn light blue trousers with holes in several places. They must not pay the staff adequately here. “’Sup, can I help you?”
“I am Mr. Bozhidar, not a ‘sup.’ Please tell your tailor I will need an outfit in my size for this evening.”
He gives me a lopsided smile and slowly nods his head. Perhaps the village idiot has been employed for the distributing of outfits already made in the proper sizes. It seems a simple job. “Sure, man. You look like a large. What’s the occasion?”
I smile, pleased that I know all the modern lingo. “A date with a virgin.”
“Big man! High five!” He holds his hand in the air.
High what? I flick my finger at Neli. I cannot deal with the idiot any longer.
Neli steps forward. “He means a first date. So how about you get us some jeans for a six-foot guy, bring a measuring tape if you’ve got it for his waist, and I’ll help him with the shirts.”
He nods, smiling for no reason. “I got you.” He turns to me, still smiling widely. “There’s a sale on our button-downs and some polo shirts up front that could be good for a virgin date.” He chuckles and walks in a slow stroll toward the shelves in the back of the shop. His trousers are so ill-fitting I can see his underclothes with bright yellow faces sporting idiot smiles. Is this intentional to match his expression? His tailor boss has made a fool of him.
No matter. I turn and stride over to the shirts he indicated at the front of the shop. The buttons are only on top, and there is a formal collar. The sleeves are cut short. Perhaps these shirts are meant exclusively for strong men, like myself, to display our arms in a show of muscular prowess.
“I will take one of these in every color.” I turn to Neli standing nearby. “Did you bring sufficient gold coins to cover it?”
She leans close. “They don’t use gold coins anymore. It’s more convenient to use this.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small leather holder. From this she removes a slim black rectangle that shimmers in the dim space. I do not know what it is made of, but it is unlike anything I have ever seen before. “Here. I got one in your name. It’s called a credit card. Basically, it’s like an electronic banknote. You give it to the merchant and they use it to draft a note to the bank, who pays them on your behalf. You settle your account with the credit card company later.”
I take the item and notice that my name is imprinted on it along with the words American Express. “Very ingenious.” Sounds like something I would have invented. “Please bring my items to the money man,” I tell her. “Perhaps I will look for more of these shirts with short sleeves.” I peruse the wares of “Must Have Tees” and take a white tee in large. Just to be sure, I remove my SF hat and sweater to try it on.
The store idiot approaches with a stack of blue trousers. “These jeans are super popular right now. They keep selling out, but we got a new shipment in this morning.”
These “jeans” have holes in them, indicating that it is perhaps in fashion to not display one’s wealth. A silly idea, but fine. I am here because I wish to blend in. I remove my shoes and leather trousers.
“Dear God!” An older woman covers the eyes of a younger woman. She must be protecting her virgin eyes. Ah, see, this is why men and women usually go to different tailors—the tender eyes of young maidens. When you are as well-endowed as I am, underclothes cannot be worn with leather trousers.
“Whoa, dude,” says the idiot.
“Boz, no!” Neli exclaims, rushing toward me. “Put your trousers back on, please. There are dressing rooms for that.”
“A whole room to dress? Why didn’t you say so?” In my day, one simply stood in the middle of the tailor’s shop while he fitted you.
The young man holding the light blue trousers gestures toward the back, and I follow him. I can hear giggling from the women’s side of the store, and that only makes me stand taller. Maidenly virtue is one of the highest delights.
“What is taking you so long?” I demand irritably as we walk through the mall toward the doors leading outside. “We must get to Stella’s home within the hour.” Yes, I finally figured out how to tell time using their clocks. It makes sense that they abandoned the sundial since the peasants spend so little time outdoors.
“Some help would be nice,” Neli says from under a pile of bags hanging from her shoulders, wrists, and gathered against her chest.
“Yes, well, help cannot be found at the moment. I have not had time to procure another servant since I have just woken from a five-hundred-year nap.” Could I be more sarcastic? I chuckle to myself. Chandler has taught me well.
Neli does not laugh. I could order her to, but I am suddenly halted by the most wondrous sight. There, across the indoor courtyard, a shop with a large portrait of a man and woman embracing. They are about to kiss.
A moment later, I peer into the shop and find jewels displayed on black velvet. It is perfect. A gift for Stella.
I stride forward confidently with my American card and stop in front of an elderly crone wearing a gray dress. “Hello, I am Mr. Bozhidar. I would like your finest jewelry as a gift for my virgin date.”
“First date,” Neli chimes in from behind me.
The crone indicates a chair in the corner. “Miss, why don’t you have a seat and set your bags down?”
“Thank you,” Neli says and shuffles to the corner.
“Perhaps you would like a simple silver bracelet?” the crone asks.
I suppress a shudder. Silver and I do not get along. “I prefer gold.”
She points to a gold chain with a heart fastened on one end. “A sweetheart necklace could be good for a first date. Would you like to see it?”
I incline my head, and she pulls a key out from a drawer, unlocking the jewelry case. She removes the heart and opens it. “You can put a picture in there.”
It is very nice, but I do not have time to sit for a portrait. “Perhaps another piece with jewels might be better.”
“Wait, hold up,” Neli says, rising from her chair. “Can you give us a moment?” she says to the crone.
“Of course,” the crone says, stepping to the far side of the counter.
“What is it now?” I demand. “First you insist I wear these trousers that look worn by many
others, and then you insist on underclothes, which confine my very large—”
“Boz, please! We need to get going. You’re eager to see Stella, right?”
“Of course. But I must bring her a gift.”
“Okay, but you can’t bring her jewels on a first, uh, meeting.”
“Date,” I correct.
“Collaborative time together.”
I suppress a sinister smile. Soon, Stella, soon.
“Just go with something simple,” Neli says. “You know what modern girls like? These charm bracelets.” She indicates a display case. “You can go with the gold, and later she’ll enjoy adding charms to it.”
I can hypnotize Stella, so I do not see the need for charms, but I will defer to Neli’s knowledge of modern women. “Yes, I will go with this charmed bracelet.”
I snap my fingers at the crone. “A gold bracelet and all your best charms.”
Our time at the mall ends soon after that, and I am pleased with my purchases. After we are both seated in the Beemer, I begin to wonder if the bracelet will truly be enough. “Are you certain Stella would not want a pygmy finger monkey? Or a stable of albino horses?” I want her to know how beautiful she is, and what better way to show it than buying her exotic animals from faraway lands? Something to show off to her friends and make them envious.
Neli stifles a smile. “Yes, I’m sure. The gift you got her will definitely be enough.”
I relax, removing my odd hat and black glasses. And now to seduce—no, I need to use modern lingo—to collaborate with my date for eternity.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Stella
I’ve been weirdly anxious today, watching the clock in anticipation of Neli and Mr. Bozhidar’s arrival tonight. Despite him being rude before, the thought of seeing him now sets off butterflies in my stomach.
What’s up with that? Must be because I’m so excited about their willingness to collaborate with us. A jointly produced wine! With the Castle Sangria Winery! How exciting! And doesn’t Castle Sangria sound like a party place already? Neli called to float the idea of a wine blend this morning, and I jumped on it, inviting them over to discuss the details. Nights work better for Mr. Bozhidar with his schedule and sensitivity to sunlight from his medication. (I wonder if he has Lyme disease. I’ve heard the antibiotics can make you sensitive to the sun. He otherwise seems to be the picture of health.) Anyway, I can be as flexible as they need if it means a solution to Stellariva’s problems.
The twins made fresh-baked bruschetta with tomatoes and mozzarella. Mr. Bozhidar doesn’t care for sweets.
My parents are settled on the sofa in the living room, but I’m too anxious to sit, so I pace the first floor, stopping to peek out the front window every ten seconds. Mabel and Eliza are hanging out in the kitchen, waiting to meet Boz for the first time. They’ll make themselves scarce for the business part of the evening. I smooth nonexistent wrinkles out of my white maxi dress with light blue floral toile print. I love this dress with its cascading capelet short sleeves. I paired it with white open-toed heels. My long dark brown hair is down to cover the red mosquito bites that appeared on my neck this morning. I hope I look okay. Oh, I can’t wait to see him.
Wait. I mean…I can’t wait to discuss this new wine! Yes, that’s what I meant. Because it would be silly to want to spend time with Mr. Bozhidar. He’s rudeness personified. A barbarian in the body of an ancient warlord.
That doesn’t make any sense either. But for some strange reason, every time I think of Bozhidar, I have a vision of him riding a dark stallion on a moonlit night, his black cape flapping in the wind. His eyes are intense, filled with fury and despair.
“Stella, you’re going to wear a hole in the hardwood,” my dad calls in a teasing voice, snapping me out of my weird thoughts.
I stop in the archway of the living room. “I’m too wound up.”
“Clearly,” says Mom, who is holding hands with my dad on the couch. I hope one day I can find the kind of love they have, but for the moment, I’ll take not seeing my family having to live in a cardboard box.
The doorbell rings, and I dart from the room, yelling over my shoulder, “I got it.”
I open the door and my breath hitches. My gaze locks on the glowing black eyes smoldering down at me. He looks different somehow. More unbearably handsome and sexier. How’s it possible? He’s the same contemptible man I met earlier this week.
But everything about him feels different now. Maybe it’s because I’m a huge sucker for unpretentious men with big hearts, and despite his impolite words about our wine, the fact he’s willing to help strangers—my family—in a time of crisis speaks volumes about who Mr. Bozhidar really is. He has nothing to gain from helping us. Nothing. If anything, he’s a very busy man, and we’re pulling him away from his important business. Bottom line: Actions speak louder than words. Actions and honesty. In fact, now that I’m thinking about it; how can I be upset over that whole horse-piss incident? It was his honest opinion. I should respect him for his candor. Especially since he offered to help us instead of walking away like most people would. There are no words for how grateful I’m feeling right now!
Sadie shuffles forward, her bloodhound nose sniffing madly. As soon as she reaches Mr. Bozhidar, she goes crazy sniffing him from crotch to toes. Her head jerks up, and she bares her teeth in a low growl.
My mom gets a hold of Sadie’s collar. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s come over her. She’s usually so docile. She’s getting old and senile.” She pulls Sadie away to the far side of the living room and makes her sit.
Mr. Bozhidar looks down at me and flashes a smile that makes my knees weak. Have his lips always been this sensual and full? Maybe he got stung by a bee.
“Oh! You got a haircut,” I say, though that’s not quite it. My pulse is racing, and all of my nerve endings are tingling. “It looks good on you.”
“You also look lovely, sweet Stella.”
“Invite them in,” Dad says from behind me.
“Sorry. Yes, come in. Hi, Neli, good to see you too.” I was so taken with Mr. Bozhidar that I didn’t notice her standing there. My parents introduce themselves and my sisters to Mr. Bozhidar with no help from me. I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s wearing a black polo shirt with faded jeans that cling to his muscular thighs. He doesn’t look goth anymore. Maybe that’s what has me so enthralled. Before he covered himself in a strange costume, and the full beauty of his face was hidden by his long raven hair. But now he’s showing off every breathtaking, virile, manly inch. It reminds me exactly what lies beneath those formfitting clothes. I can barely think straight with the lust coursing through my veins.
And then Sadie stands up and howls. Mr. Bozhidar grimaces. So strange.
“Must be a full moon tonight,” Dad says jovially. “I’ll put her in our room.” He guides Sadie up the stairs to their bedroom, where she normally sleeps.
“Stella,” my mom snaps, drawing my attention, “everyone’s going to the living room for drinks. Could you help me bring the bruschetta in?”
“Yes, of course,” I mumble. The twins must’ve left.
I follow her, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. I stop and slowly turn my head to find Mr. Bozhidar standing in the archway of the living room, his legs shoulder width apart. He looks powerful, confident, and his gaze is eating me up. I flush hot and quickly turn away, heading into the kitchen.
I wonder what it would be like to feel those powerful-looking shoulders and chest—ow! I knocked into a kitchen stool.
“Are you okay?” Mom asks. “Did you have enough to eat today? You seem really out of it.”
I stare at the counter, not really seeing it. Everything’s a blur, like I’m swimming in a fog. “I’m fine. Maybe I’ll have some coffee. I’m a little unfocused.”
“You’re working too hard.” She gives my arm a squeeze. “I think things are going to start turning around for us now that we have a working relationship with Castle Sangria Vineyards. Knock wood
.” She knocks on her head.
I smile. “Okay, let’s do this.”
A short while later, we’re all settled in the living room with sparkling water and a platter of bruschetta. The twins too, who apparently didn’t leave, instead settling in the living room to not so casually check out Mr. Bozhidar. Our living room is a cozy space with a fireplace, built-in bookcases behind glass doors, and ornate crown molding typical of old Victorian homes. I’m on the plush blue sofa with my parents, the twins are perched on the arms of the sofa, and Neli and Mr. Bozhidar are on the adjacent light blue upholstered armchairs. Neli has been explaining about the process of mixing different varietals, but I can barely focus. My gaze is drawn again and again to Mr. Bozhidar sitting in his chair like he’s the king. This is not a man who slouches. He owns the space. He hasn’t taken a single sip of sparkling water or eaten a bite of bruschetta. For some reason it bothers me. Like maybe he thinks our food and drink are substandard just like he said about our wine.
Horse piss mixed with putrid fish entrails.
Such a rude person. Wait. No. He’s an honest man. Which explains why I’m suddenly finding him so attractive. I despise lying men. Learned that the hard way. And I haven’t met any guys who appealed in a long while, and here’s this gorgeous muscled manly perfection right here in my living room, who lives across the street.
His eye catches mine, his lips twitching, and I turn away, blushing. That’s the second time he caught me ogling him. I need to get a hold of myself. It’s just that his new haircut really brings out his unusual eyes and the strong lines of his jaw and sensual mouth. And his formfitting clothes—
“Stella, honey.”
I blink, glancing up in surprise at my mom, who’s standing next to me. “Huh?”
“We’re going outside to the storeroom now. Do you want to lie down? You don’t look so good.” She puts the back of her hand on my forehead. “And you feel a little warm.”
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