Chapter Eight Amelia

EIGHT

Excerpt from R.C.’s bullet journal, written in alternating blue and red ink

Mission statement: To live each day with courage, compassion, and curiosity. To become a better version of myself each day and inspire others in my path to do the same. To live a life free of mission statements.

Feelings: Stressed he was right. “But you know your family better than I do, so the details should come from you. Even though making things up is one of my favorite hobbies.” He paused. “If it’s part of an elaborate practical joke, so much the better.”

“Why does this not surprise me about you?” I was smiling now, despite myself.

“Am I that obvious?”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me do it. “Yeah. Sort of.”

“I don’t know if you mean that as a compliment but I’ll take it as one.” He chuckled. “Jot down a few ideas and we’ll hash it out over email.”

“I can do that.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I could do this. The sudden spike of panic that hit me when I’d realized I’d missed something crucial to this plan’s success was slowly melting away. All at once it felt very much like the late hour it was. “On that note, I’m going back to sleep. Good night.”

“Wait.” His voice was suddenly urgent. “That’s not the only reason I called. Or even the most important thing we need to talk about.”

“What is it?”

A long pause. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

I waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, and the only sound coming from his end of the phone was something that sounded like a song I vaguely remembered from the Twilight soundtrack, I asked again, “What is it?”

“I…wasn’t totally honest with you earlier, at the coffee shop,” he said, haltingly. “I didn’t lie to you, per se. But I omitted some important facts.”

Alarm bells went off in my mind. “What did you omit?”

There was another long pause. Gracie, who’d been sleeping at the foot of the bed, lifted her head from where it had rested on her paws and looked at me, as though she were waiting for his answer, too.

“I…don’t know how to tell you this,” he admitted. “It might make you want to back out.”

Oh, fuck. “You’re seeing someone, aren’t you.” It wasn’t that hard to imagine someone finding Reggie weirdly charming enough to date. He certainly was handsome enough to convince someone to spend time with him.

A soft chuckle. “No, it’s not that. I’m not dating anyone.”

“You’re married ?”

“No,” he said emphatically. “I promise that in fake dating you, I’m not fake cheating on anybody else.”

“Then what is it?” My heart sped up in alarm. I thought back to the kinds of cryptic warnings Sam had been giving me lately. If Reggie had some kind of criminal record for violent behavior, that would be a deal-breaker. “Are you a violent felon?”

“A what?”

“Like, have you gone to jail for beating up women, or something?”

“Oh. No,” he said. “Nothing like that.”

“Are you a murderer?” And then, because it was the middle of the night and I was slightly delirious, that bizarro Comic Sans website from the vampire vigilante group popped into my mind. “I’ve got it. You’re a vampire fugitive, aren’t you.”

“I…” He cleared his throat. A nervous laugh. “How did you know?”

I snorted. When he’d told me he was a fan of practical jokes, he hadn’t been kidding. “Got it. You’re a vampire fugitive.” I flopped back down onto my pillow and threw an arm over my eyes. “Look. It’s late, and I don’t really care what your deal is. I just need to know you aren’t going to hurt me. Can you promise me that?”

“I swear that I would never hurt you,” he said, more earnestly than I’d ever heard him say anything.

“Excellent,” I said. “Then we’re good.” Whatever the real thing was that he was too nervous to tell me, if it didn’t implicate my physical safety, it didn’t matter. The only requirements for this fake boyfriend role were having a pulse, not being a serial killer, and willingness to go along with my plans.

It sounded like he fit the bill.

I’d never see him again after Gretchen’s wedding, anyway.

In the meantime, I needed to get back to sleep to have any hope of making it through work the next day.

“You’re really okay with this?” he asked, sounding incredulous. “It…doesn’t bother you?”

I yawned, snuggling back under my blankets. “Why would it bother me?”

He laughed, sounding so unhinged that I knew this had to be a giant practical joke. “It’s usually a lot for people to take in. Most people aren’t keen on bringing vampires as dates to weddings.”

I snorted, amused at his commitment to the bit. “ Fake dates to weddings,” I corrected.

“Fake dates to weddings,” he conceded. “Even still.”

I yawned, sleep beckoning. “What can I say? I’m very understanding.”

“ I’ll say,” he said, that earnest tone back in his voice. “Do you have any questions?”

I bit my lip, considering. This conversation would be amusing if it wasn’t the middle of the night. But it was the middle of the night. I was too tired to keep doing this.

“If I have questions later, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Okay,” he said at length. “Um. Well, I’m glad you’re okay with it. Though, of course, it’s important you don’t tell anyone about what I just told you. We’re big on secrecy, for reasons that are probably obvious.”

Whatever you say, big guy. “Fine,” I said. I was drifting off again.

I could all but hear him weighing whether to say something else. He must have gathered that I was falling asleep, though. “Good night, Amelia,” he said. “I’m sorry for waking you. Get some sleep.”

I closed my eyes and did just that.