Lucius tilted his head. "Are we done with it?"
"Yes."
I pulled into a parking spot. "How about mirrors? When you try on clothes, will you be able to see yourself in a mirror?"
Lucius rubbed his temples. "Have you taken basic science at Woodrow Wilson High School? Do you know the principles behind reflectivity?"
"Of course I do. I'm the one who actually believes in science, remember? I was just joking." I yanked the keys out of the ignition. "So let's recap. You can't change into a bat, you don't dissolve in sunlight, and you're visible in mirrors. What can vampires do? Why's it so awesome to be one, then?"
"What would be so wonderful about dissolving in sunlight? Or not being able to look in a mirror and judge if you've dressed yourself properly?"
"You know what I mean. You keep saying vampires are so great. I just want to know why."
Lucius's head dropped back against the seat. He stared at the shag carpet on the ceiling of the van as though begging for patience or guidance. "We are only the most powerful race of superhumans. We are physically gifted with grace and strength. We are a people of ritual and tradition. We have heightened mental powers: the ability to communicate without speech when necessary. We rule the dark side of nature. Is that 'awesome' enough for you?"
I grabbed the door latch. "So why drink blood?"
Lucius sighed deeply, opening his own door. "Why is everyone so obsessed with the blood? There's so much more."
I dropped the subject. I'd sort of became distracted, anyhow, now that we were about to go shopping. "So where do you want to go first?"
Lucius came around the front of the van and placed his hands on my shoulders, pointing me toward the Levi's outlet. I here.
Five stores and about five hundred dollars later, Lucius Vladescu looked almost like an American teenager. And, I had to admit, a hot American teenager. He wore a pair of 501s even better than his black pants. And when he put on a loose white untucked oxford shirt—having decided that a T-shirt would be a bit too Real World/Road Rules Challenge for Romanian royalty—well, the effect was pretty nice. It didn't seem embarrassing to be with him. Not at all. Mindy would probably pass out, literally, when she saw him.
"So how about getting rid of the velvet coat?" I asked.
"Never," he replied.
So much for not being embarrassing.
We were walking toward the car, juggling all our shopping bags, when Lucius stopped short and grabbed my arm, dropping a bag.
I turned. "What?"
He was looking in the window of a store called Boulevard St. Michel, an upscale boutique with very, very expensive clothes. The kind of clothes that rich women wear to cocktail parties. I'd never been inside. For one thing, my dad didn't believe in dry cleaning, because of the "perc emissions" that messed up the environment. And for another, I couldn't afford one shoe from Boulevard St. Michel, even at outlet prices. Not even after a whole summer slinging burgers at the diner.
"What are you doing?" I followed his gaze.
Lucius kept staring at the window. "That dress—the one with the flowers scattered across the bodice—"
"Did you just say 'bodice'?"
"Yes, and skirt—"
"The dress with the V-neck?"
"Yes. That one. You would look lovely in something like that."
Lucius had officially fallen off his already cracked rocker. Not only did he think he was a vampire, but now he believed I was some sort of thirty-year-old cocktail-party attendee. I laughed out loud. "You really are crazy. That's designed—and priced—for women who do things like go to, I don't know, symphonies or something."
He shot me a look. "What's wrong with the symphony?"
"Nothing. Except that I don't go. I mean, can you see me in that at 4-H? I bet it costs a mint, too."
"Try the dress on."
I pulled back. "No way. I am one hundred percent sure that they don't like teenagers in there."
Lucius scoffed. "They like anyone with enough money."
"Then they won't like me. I don't have enough money even to look."
"I do."
"Lucius . . ." But I'll admit, I was kind of intrigued. It was a beautiful dress. I'd never even tried on anything like it. It was so . . . sophisticated. It was the color of fresh cream, with tiny, black, embroidered flowers scattered here and there across the whole thing, not really in any kind of pattern, but that only made it prettier somehow. It reminded me of chaos theory: random but beautiful in its simplicity. The neckline was more daring than anything I'd ever worn. You could see the swell of the mannequin's plastic breasts peeking out above the fabric. The expensive fabric. I tugged Lucius's arm. "Come on. Let's go."
Lucius pulled back, and of course he was stronger. "Just look. Every woman needs beautiful things."
"I don't need that."
"Of course you do. You could wear it to, say, this 'carnival' you're attending with Squatty Boy. It would be perfectly suitable for affairs like that."
"He's not squatty."
"Try on the dress."
"I have plenty of clothes," I insisted.
"Yes. And you should throw them all out. Especially the T-shirt with the white horse, the heart, and the letter I on the front. What is the purpose?"
"To show that I love Arabians," I said.
"I love rare steak, but I don't sport the image of raw beef on my chest."
"I already picked out an outfit."
Lucius scowled. "Something shiny from 'the mall,' I suppose?"
I flushed. I hated when Lucius was right.
"Believe me," he said. "If you wear that dress, you won't regret it. That was made for you."
I narrowed my eyes. "How do you know about dressing girls?"
"I don't know about dressing girls. I know about dressing women." Lucius smiled archly. "Now come along. Indulge me."
Lucius led the way into the store, and I had to follow. As I'd predicted, the sales lady looked less than thrilled to see two high school students in her showroom. But Lucius was oblivious. "That dress in the window, with the embroidery." He pointed to me. "She'd like to try that." Crossing his arms and leaning back slightly, he mentally measured my body, head to toe. "Size eight?"
"Ten," I mumbled.
"The ten is in the window on the mannequin," the saleswoman noted. She jammed her skinny, red-fingernailed hands on her hips. "It's very troublesome to bring it down. If you're not serious about it. . ."
Uh-oh. There wasn't much that I understood about Lucius Vladescu, but I knew for a fact that the saleslady's tone would not sit well with him.
Lucius arched an eyebrow. "Did I not sound serious?" He leaned forward, reading the woman's name tag. "Leigh Ann?"
"Come on, Lucius ..." I started for the door.
"We're in rather a hurry, so if you could get it now, please," Lucius said, holding his ground. It was suddenly very easy to imagine him ordering around servants in a castle.
The saleswoman narrowed her eyes, assessing Lucius. Apparently she sniffed at least a hint of money in his cologne, heard it in his accent, or saw it in his swagger. "Fine," she huffed. "If you insist." She crawled up into the window and came back out a few minutes later with the dress. "Here," she said, draping it across my arms. "The dressing rooms are in the rear.
"Thank you," Lucius said.
"Whatever." Leigh Ann moved behind the counter, proceeding to ignore us.
Lucius followed me back toward the dressing rooms. I stopped him at the entrance with a firm hand on the chest. "You wait here."
"Let me see, though."
In the privacy of the dressing room, I kicked off my Chucks, wriggled out of my jeans and T-shirt, and slipped on the dress, wishing I was wearing a nicer bra. A bra that would do the dress justice.
Although it looked delicate, the fabric was heavier and softer than anything I'd ever owned. I zipped up the back as far as I could, the dress fell into place around me, and suddenly all the places I hated most on
my body transformed into my best assets. My breasts filled out the bodice even better than the mannequins angular, skimpy little peaks. Looking at myself in the mirror, I remembered what Lucius had said about "pointy" girls and the benefits of having curves. In that dress, I understood what he meant. The hem swirled around my knees, and I twirled a little, staring at my front. My back. The fabric swept close to my full hips and draped perfectly across my butt. Lucius had been right. I looked good. It was like a magic dress.
"Well?" Lucius called from outside the dressing room. "How is it?"
"It's pretty," I admitted, understating how I really felt. Which was beautiful
"Come out, then."
"Oh, I don't know ..." I was kind of embarrassed to show him. I glanced down at my chest. Skin usually covered by shirts was peeking out. The swell of my breasts—breasts I usually tried to de-emphasize—was visible for the world to see. For Lucius to see. It wasn't obscene, by any standard. But it was revealing for me.
"Jessica, you promised."
"Oh . . . okay." I tried to pull up the bodice a little but to no avail. My curves refused to hide. "Don't laugh or anything. Or stare."
"I will not laugh," Lucius promised. "There will be no reason to laugh. But I might stare."
Taking a deep breath, I shoved aside the curtain.
Lucius was lounging in the chair set out for bored husbands, his long legs stretched in front of him. But when he saw me, he shot straight up. Like I'd jolted him. And I swore I saw appreciation in his black eyes.
"Well?" I resisted the urge to cross my arms over my chest as I spun to look in the mirror. "What do you think?"
"You—you look amazing." Lucius stood, coming up behind me, never taking his eyes off me.
“Really?"
"Beautiful, Antanasia," he murmured. "Beautiful."
Before I could remind him not to call me by that name, Lucius stepped even closer to me, slipped his hand under my long, unruly hair, and pulled the zipper all the way up. "Women always need help with the last few inches."
I swallowed hard. How experienced was he? "Urn, thank you.
"My pleasure." Then, to my intense surprise, Lucius snaked his fingers into my curls and gathered them up into a big, loose twist on top of my head. Suddenly, my neck looked very long. "Now that's how a Romanian princess should look," he said, drawing down to whisper in my ear. "Don't ever again say that you are not 'valuable,' Antanasia. Or not beautiful. Or, for god's sake, 'fat.' When you get the urge to indulge in such ridiculous, misplaced self-criticism, remember yourself at this moment."
No one had ever paid me a compliment like that.
For a minute, we stood there admiring me. I met Lucius's eyes in the mirror. In that split second, I could almost picture us . . . together.
Then he released my hair. It tumbled down my back, and the spell was broken. I glanced down at the price tag. "Oh my gosh. I have got to take this off. Right now. Before I sweat on it or something."
Lucius rolled his eyes. "If you must refer to 'sweat' in reference to yourself—and I strongly discourage it—use the word perspire."
"I'm serious, Lucius. I'm about to start perspiring over the price."
Lucius bent to read the number on the tag and shrugged.
I hurried back to the dressing room, yanking on my jeans and lacing up my battered Chucks. The princess effect was definitely gone. Reluctantly, I handed the dress to the saleslady, who was waiting, holding a beautiful black cashmere wrap. "I'll box these up for you."
I glanced around for Lucius and found him standing at the sales counter, tapping a credit card against the glass countertop.
"It's too much," I whispered, hurrying over.
"Consider it a thank-you for your shopping guidance today. My gift for your gala."
I searched for irony or sarcasm in his eyes, saw none. What does that mean? That Lucius Vladescu was giving up his courtship of me? Doubtful. Maybe? "Thanks," I said uncertainly.
Leigh Ann carefully packaged the dress and the wrap in two boxes and handed them to me. "Enjoy." She had warmed considerably after the credit card had been approved.
"Have a nice day, Leigh Ann." Lucius placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me out of the store.
"I really don't know what to say," I stammered when we were outside. "It's such a huge gift. The dress alone cost a fortune, and the wrap is cashmere."
"It will no doubt be cool at night, and you can't wear a 'jean jacket' with that dress."
"Well, thank you."
"I told you. Every woman deserves beautiful things," Lucius said. "I just hope Squatty Boy appreciates you in this." He paused outside, scanning the storefronts. "Couldn't you go for a Strawberry Julius about now?"
Chapter 17
"SO, JAKE, HOW WAS the hay crop this year?" Dad asked, trying to make conversation.
"Good, I guess." Jake seemed uncertain about even that simple answer, probably because he was on the spot, under inspection by my parents.
"I'd be happy to show you some of the chemical-free pest control methods we use, if you're interested—"
"Dad," I interrupted. "You promised. No environmental lectures."
Why had my parents been so intent on having dinner with Jake, anyway? They were all about personal space and learning autonomy—until it came to me actually going out with a guy. Then suddenly they'd gone all Seventh Heaven on me, insisting that Jake have dinner with us—even though he'd grown up just down the road and delivered hay to our house every few weeks. It was totally awkward. And the fact that Lucius was in a nasty mood wasn't helping.
"More soy milk?" Mom offered.
Jake held up a hand, a little too quickly. "No thanks."
"It's kind of an acquired taste," I sympathized.
"Uh, yeah. I guess I'm used to the regular kind of milk."
"Which exploits cows," Dad added, jabbing a fork in Jake's general direction. "Poor animals, lined up in a row, their teats attached to cold metal—"
Teats? "Dad, please. Don't say that word—"
"What?" My dad tossed up his hands, all innocence. "Jake lives on a farm. I'm sure he is familiar with a cow's teats."
Every drop of blood in my body rushed to my face. Leave it to Dad to bring up a cow's personal anatomy during my first dinner with Jake and then accuse him of being "familiar" with the bovine equivalent of breasts. Like Jake went to second base with livestock or something. I glanced at Lucius, expecting him to smirk, but he simply picked at his salad, examining one of Dad's prized cherry tomatoes like it was a mucus-filled alien life-form that had somehow become stuck on the end of his fork.
"Ned," Mom intervened. "Perhaps we could change the topic." I experienced one brief moment of relief, until my mom turned to Jake and noted, "I understand you're reading Moby Dick in your literature class."
"Urn. Yeah."
"I loved that book when I was your age," Mom said. "The whole idea of adventure at sea. And so thought provoking. What are we to make of the white whale? What, ultimately, does it symbolize?" she mused, still addressing Jake. "God, nature, evil—or is it simply a symbol of Ahab's very straightforward, very human pride?"
There was a moment of silence while poor Jake tried to think of a response to my mom's question, which, from the look on his face, was about as digestible as the soy milk. "Um ... all of those things?" he finally ventured.
"We're only reading the abridged version," I pointed out stupidly. I was used to living with a professor—there was usually some sort of quiz at dinner—but did Mom have to torment Jake? "Maybe they cut out some of the metaphors—"
"The whale represents the hidden forces of destruction that long to break through the surface of a complacent world," Lucius broke in, speaking for the first time, causing all heads to swivel in his direction.
"Huh?" Jake blurted out, clearly baffled. Then he caught himself and shot me a sheepish glance.
"I like the whale," Lucius added glumly, still staring at his plate. "A
nd Ahab. They understood persistence. They understood how to bide their time." He lifted his black eyes and gave me a look as pointed as his "fangs." "And they accepted their mutual destiny, however grim."
No. My stomach clenched. If Lucius starts talking about the betrothal, Jake will run for the hills. And why is Lucius referring to a destiny with me as "grim," anyway? Is he implying that being married to me would be as bad as being strapped to a dying whale?
Beth_Fantaskey-Jessicas guide to dating the dark side. Page 9
