The waiter arrived and took their orders, two steak au poivres. Rare.
"Bloody." Mimi smiled, showing just a hint of her fangs so that the waiter did a double take.
"Raw," Bliss joked, handing back the menu, although she wasn't really kidding.
"Anyway," Mimi said, taking a sip of water and looking around the lively restaurant to see if anyone was looking at her. Yes. Several women--tourists, by the looks of their pastel cardigans and eighties-era scrunchies--seated in Siberia, were whispering and talking about her. "That's Mimi Force. You know, Force News? Her dad's that gazillionaire? There was a story about her in last week's Styles. She's like, the new Paris Hilton."
"As I was saying, it's not really about the dress. It's about a date," Mimi said.
"A date?" Bliss gagged. "I didn't know we had to find dates for this thing."
Mimi laughed. "Of course you need a date, silly. It's a ball."
"So who are you taking?"
"Jack, of course," Mimi replied promptly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Your brother?" Bliss asked, shocked. "Um, like, ew?"
"It's a family thing," Mimi huffed. "Twins always go as each other's dates. And besides, it's not like..."
"It's not like?" Bliss prodded.
Mimi had been meaning to say, It's not like he's really my brother, but this was neither the time nor place to explain their complicated and immortal romantic history and the bond between them. Bliss wouldn't understand. She didn't have full control of her memories yet and would not be coming out at the ball until next year.
"Nothing," Mimi said, as their entrees were set before them. "Ooh. I think this one is still breathing." She smiled as she cut into her steak, releasing a river of red blood on the immaculate white plate.
A date, Bliss thought. A date for the Four Hundred Ball. Bliss knew there was only one guy in the world she wanted as an escort.
"So what about you? Maybe you can take Jaime Kip," Mimi suggested. "He's totally hot and so available." Actually, Jaime Kip had a girlfriend, but since she was a Red Blood, in Mimi's mind she didn't count.
"Listen, Mimi, I need to tell you something," Bliss whispered. She hadn't meant to confide in Mimi, but she couldn't keep her thoughts and hopes to herself any longer. Especially since they were talking about boys.
Mimi raised an eyebrow "Go on."
"I think Dylan is alive," Bliss said, explaining in an almost incoherent rush how she had found herself half drowned in the Central Park lake, only to be rescued by a boy a boy whose face she never saw, but whose voice had been only too familiar.
Mimi looked pityingly on her friend. Through her father, Mimi had heard what had happened. Dylan had been attacked and killed by a Silver Blood. There had been no hope for his survival. They had never found his body, but Bliss's testimony to The Committee about the tragic evening had spelled out his fate loud and clear.
"Bliss, darling, I think that's really sweet how you think this guy, your so-called `savior,' was Dylan. But there's no way. You know as well as I do that..."
"That what?" Bliss asked defensively.
"That Dylan's dead."
The words hung in the air between them.
"And he's never coming back, Bliss. Ever." Mimi sighed and put down her knife and fork. "So let's get serious. Do you want me to set you up? I think Jaime Kip is such a hottie."
;
It was a jewel box of a room, high up on the highest floor of one of the tallest skyscrapers in midtown Manhattan, a building made of glass and chrome, and as Mimi looked out over the magnificent New York skyline, she caught her reflection in the plate glass window and smiled.
She was wearing a dress. But not just any dress. This was a couture confection of thousands of chiffon rosettes hand-stitched together to create an ethereal, cloudlike elegance. The strapless bodice hugged her tiny twenty-two-inch waist, and her lustrous gold locks spilled over her creamy shoulders and toned lower back. It was a six- figure dress, a one-of-a-kind showstopper that only John Galliano could create. And it was hers, at least for one night.
She was in the celebrity dressing department at Christian Dior. An exclusive showroom that was by invitation only. All around the racks that surrounded Mimi were dresses flown straight from the Paris runways--samples that only models and model-thin socialites could ever dream of wearing.