How to Discipline Your Vampire(110)

            And then there was Harvey. He didn’t shake my hand—he took me into a warm embrace, rubbing my back like an old friend. “Oh, honey,” he said, pulling back and looking at me, “you have done so much for our boy.” He shot a devilish look at William, and returned his gaze to me. He was around forty years old and dressed to the laces. I had a feeling he had coached William with his denim selection on more than one occasion.

            “Harvey, you are destined for greatness,” I said, in awe of my new favorite designer. “Every single item of clothing William has given me has been absolutely stunning and unique. Do you have plans to open a store, or maybe start your own line?”

            He nodded. “Once I’m a vamp and don’t have to sleep, I’ll be cranking it out, sweetheart. Don’t worry, you can have first dibs on anything you like.”

            I chuckled. “Thanks.”

            We were originally going to be there for an hour, just so I could officially meet the family, but we ended up staying until two AM. When Harvey had passed out on the couch, we decided to finally leave.

            Now, pulling up to that place, I felt even more apprehensive than I had the first time I went. I wasn’t necessarily going to be welcomed. I was an ex. Hopefully, I would just be talking to William, but how would I be able to explain things to him if his niece was glaring at me for being a horrible girlfriend?

            I pulled in and noticed one car—William’s SUV. The four surrounding parking spots were completely empty. I inhaled deeply; it was go time.

            I had an elaborate display planned for William. To win back someone like him—a once-in-an-eternity kind of guy—it had to be a grand gesture.

            I stacked the planbooks together and tied them with a bow.

            Inside the bow, I tucked a book of matches. In my other hand was my recipe box, full of entries ready to be perused.

            The last item, which I tied on to a ribbon, was the key to my toy box. It was locked at home and there were no duplicates.

            I steeled myself and knocked confidently on his door.

            He appeared within a fraction of a second. At seeing his face again, my body nearly went slack with relief. It had been a long month of deprivation. My ears perked, desperate for the sound of his voice, and my hands twitched with the need for his touch.

            “Cerise,” he said simply. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” While his words were bland and straightforward, his expression looked relieved. Almost pleased, but not quite.

            “I have—” I stumbled, “I have some things for you.”

            “Come in,” he said, holding the door for me.

            I walked back into his home, stunned at the sight. It was barren.

            “Are you moving?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer. What if he was leaving New England?

            “No. I just have no need for . . . anything right now.” And there it was. His voice betrayed his loneliness, but I heard something else there that worried me. Hurt. He was wounded by the experience.

            “I have what you need.” I placed the items on his table and began to explain.

            He looked at me quizzically, but did not push. He simply listened.

            “Here are my planbooks, and that’s a book of matches. I want you to burn them.” I pointed toward his fireplace. “Would you like to do the honors?”

            “Cerise,” he sighed, “you don’t have to do that.”

            “I want to.” I stepped closer to him. “No, I need to.”