What am I about to do, my friend? Or better yet: what am I going to let her do to me?
Evangelina parts her lips slightly, never taking those glowing sky-blue eyes off mine. She starts giving me tiny, nipping bites on the inside of my thighs, working her way up. Her canines are just a fraction longer than the rest of her perfect teeth, and all I can think about is screaming—begging her to leave a permanent mark so that fifty years from now I can look back and remember this: that a perfect creature desired me like this...
Then we both jump at the sound of a scream.
The shock forces us apart instantly. Killian is in the middle of a nightmare. I pull myself together and rush to his side. His massive frame is tense, and he screams again, waking Annia this time. I soothe his distress, stroking his chest and whispering, "Killian, baby, it was just a dream."
He lifts his head and looks at me, dazed and confused. Then he pulls me into an intense embrace, his brutal strength nearly overwhelming me until my voice goes high and I have to ask him to let go. He releases me immediately, looking distraught.
"I dreamed about you," he said, his voice thick with anguish. "You were in the arms of another man—someone impossible to beat, who was pulling you away from us. Lucius was there too, and neither of us could reach you. That bastard was leading you down a dark alley full of stairs, and when he heard us shouting your name, he turned around. He had the face of a demon with pitch-black eyes, and he smiled at us. He said, 'It's too late. You missed your chance. I'm going to break Carmilla until there's nothing left of her but a shadow.'"
I kissed him to calm him down. "Hey, it was just a nightmare. I love you. People have tried to break me before, and here I am—stronger than ever, more certain of you. Go to sleep. You're flying us to Paris in a few hours."
He took my face in his hands, smiled, and gave me a long, tender kiss. Then he rolled over and closed his eyes again. Annia's voice, annoyed at the late-night drama, rang out.
"Why can't you two dream about gold, real estate, and lingerie models like normal billionaires and let the rest of us sleep?"
We all laughed. Back on the sofa, Evangelina and I held each other, ready to get some rest before the trip. And in that moment, I realized that for the first time since I'd met her, she was nervous. She took my hand and whispered, "When you mentioned Paris, I remembered I'm seeing my cousin Bruce tomorrow. I need to mentally prepare myself. He does this to me… he always does."
I watched, worried, as she rubbed her chest over her heart with her other hand. I wondered what the hell her cousin had done to make her react like this. I was the last to fall asleep. My phone didn't have the usual message from Lucius. I thought I wouldn't miss that "Little girl, come here," but it wasn't true. We were all meeting in Paris, and the truth is—and I have to tell you, my friend—the truth is, I miss him.
Back on the majestic Longfield jet. I say that because as I was heading out with my luggage—or rather, dragging my heavy bags out of the mansion—I ran smack into the three cloned blondes and their viper stares. One of them spoke up suggestively.
"Another trip? Some people have all the luck… or maybe you're just paying for the tickets in a different way?"
Just like that. The other two made faces of pure disgust, but karma is a beautiful thing sometimes. Killian came down the stairs, walking right past them in his pilot's uniform, looking like a god of the skies. Like a true gentleman, he hoisted my suitcase effortlessly and offered me his arm. I gave a small curtsy that accentuated the flow of my new pink dress, then turned my head to look back at them.
"Bye, girls. I'll send you a postcard from Paris," I whispered.
I didn't even stick around to see their faces, but I celebrated it like the final line of a movie—the one where the princess finally beats her wicked stepsisters and drives off in a carriage to her own palace. Okay, maybe I exaggerated a little, but God, I enjoyed it.
On the plane, we chatted with Annia. Every so often, we'd hear Killian's voice from the cockpit giving absurd instructions like, "Everyone take your seats—we're about to hit some turbulence. And stay away from Carmilla—she's mine."
The only one not laughing was Evangelina. She stared out the window, sighing. I made faces at her from my seat so I wouldn't have to interrogate her in front of her girlfriend. She kept pressing her hand to her chest, right over her heart, so I'd understand it was about the meeting with her cousin Bruce. She was still incredibly tense.
I stepped into the cockpit for a moment and told Killian about the apartment in Paris, but I didn't mention that I also have the private elevator card in my purse that leads straight to his brother's penthouse. Not that it mattered; he was already aware of everything. He just respected my decision not to tell one or the other anything that wasn't strictly necessary, at least until I made a choice. But seeing him so confident at the controls, handling the ten thousand instruments that made me dizzy just looking at them, I knew: inviting him along was a decision in itself, and he perceived it that way.
"When we get to your new place, you're going to point at everything you don't like, and we'll change whatever you want," he told me. "The only thing staying tonight is the bed. I'm going to make love to you until we have to replace it."
I flushed with pure desire and had to leave because Killian was insisting I strip for him right then and there.
When I stepped out, I saw the flight attendant talking to Evangelina, twirling her hair like she was completely starstruck. Annia stood up and whispered something in her ear, and the woman hurried back to her station with her head down.
When I sat back down, Annia leaned in and confessed, "I'm not the jealous type with Evangelina, but it bugs me when people look at her like they can't help themselves."
Like an idiot, I let an "oops" slip out loud by accident. Annia started laughing and hugged me. "I'll never be jealous of you, you dork. We love you."
Deep down, I thought: thank God. Because if it hadn't been for Killian's nightmare, I'd be feeling pretty guilty right now.
When we landed, security cars whisked us away to my apartment in Paris. If I tried to describe every detail, every luxury, I'd never finish. I told Killian I wouldn't change a thing; I didn't even know that much elegance and modernity could exist at the same time. There was even an original painting by a French artist with a plaque underneath that read "Girl with Heterochromia." I could still smell the vegetable oils and the linseed—it was fresh. Lucius had commissioned it for me. The girls stayed on the floor above, and Evangelina left to meet her cousin.
As for me, after admiring the Seine and the Eiffel Tower from my windows and crying a river of tears because Paris smells like lavender, musk, and baked bread, I immediately had to report to Lucius. He'd sent me a very professional text that read: "As soon as you're settled, come up to see me. We'll head to the office together and start working on that new fragrance."
Killian kissed me before I got on the elevator. I asked him to come with me, making it sound casual, just to say hi to his brother. But he just smiled and shook his head.
"I can't be your lover and your jealous bodyguard at the same time. Go make the most memorable perfume in history! Say hi to Lucius for me."
The elevator went up and opened directly into his living room—no doorbell, no doors to open. It was a wide, warm space filled with enchanting scents, pastel colors, and fine art. I stepped in timidly toward a dining area with sofas and several giant screens showing news from around the world.
His scent reaches me; it's coming from above. There's a staircase, and I hear footsteps approaching, coming down those antique steps one by one. I fix my hair with my hands and try to look calm, but I can't. My throat feels tight.
He appears before me in a light blue shirt and a black tie hanging unknotted around his neck. He's perfectly shaven, but there's a bandage on his right hand.
When he saw me, he checked his watch and said, "Damn it, I hate being late."
Not even a "Hi, Carmilla." Nothing.
I just stammered, "The apartment is beautiful. You did a great job, and I want to thank you…"
But he stepped in front of a mirror, his sky-blue eyes eclipsing the light as he tried to tie his tie quickly, wincing from the pain in his hand.
"Can I?" I asked.
I helped him. I felt so pleased that I got it right on the first try; I loved Carol in that moment for teaching me how to tie a tie back when we did costume Fridays at Mary Garden. But he wouldn't even look me in the eye.
Past his reflection, I saw a window—broken and splintered. I looked at his hand. "Have you been hitting something?"
As if it were nothing, he stepped forward to put on his jacket and answered as he passed me, "A logical and expected reaction. Any man in my position would do the same. I didn't appreciate finding out yesterday that the woman I desire invited my brother, ruining my plans for a perfect week in Paris."
"My name is Carmilla. Don't say 'the woman I desire,' because this is between you and me. I felt like it was for the best. I didn't want to be away from Killian. I'm sorry—I didn't want you to get hurt or damage your knuckles. Please, I'm begging you, just give me a smile. Don't make me feel this guilty."
He didn't even answer. He just marched toward the elevator in a rush and said, "Come on, little girl. Come here."
I stepped forward like a fool and fell right into his trap. He grabbed my hand and kissed me, completely shattering my heart, gripping one of my breasts so firmly it felt like it belonged only to him—like it was created just for him to feed and please him.
But he let go the second the door closed and said, "I knew the day would come when I'd say 'little girl, come here' and you'd obey and walk right to me."
I couldn't help it; I gave him a light shove and pointed a finger at him. "You cheated! Please, I'm begging you, let me live and breathe for a second without missing you so much."
I slapped both hands over my mouth. My friend, I was not supposed to say that out loud. I stood there thinking, Stupid, stupid, what did you just confess? But he didn't respond or show any reaction. For a second, I thought—relieved—that he hadn't heard me.
But then he pulled his gold card from his pocket and, jaw clenched, swiped it through the elevator controls. He flipped a cover and pulled a lever, locking the elevator mid-floor. The interior lights flickered and dimmed.
He leaned back against the sealed door and finally pinned his steel eyes on me. He held out his bandaged hand—proof of his passion—and ordered:
"Little girl, get over here right now and end my torment, or I'm going to have to come get you. And when I take you, I'm going to be very, very bad to you."
There I am, standing in front of him, drowning in desire and not knowing what to do. As if destiny wanted to give me a sign, the left strap of my beautiful pink dress slips off my shoulder...