A moment later, my parents and I are standing in the foyer alone. I slip the bracelet on, admiring it.
“What’s that?” Mom asks.
I return to myself with a start. “It’s from Mr. Bozhidar. A gift.”
“He must really want to work with us,” she chirps. “A promising beginning.”
“I didn’t like the way he was looking at Stella with a hungry look in his eyes,” Dad says, scowling. “And he gave her jewelry!”
“Oh, you,” Mom says. “It’s not like it’s a ring. Overprotective dad, step down. So maybe he admired Stella. Any man would. Our daughter is beautiful.” She strokes my hair back over my shoulder, smiling.
“Something is off with that guy,” Dad grumbles. “Sadie went crazy. I haven’t heard her howl like that in a long time.”
I stiffen, suddenly feeling defensive. “He might be a little eccentric, but that’s only worked in his favor. We can’t turn our backs on this opportunity. This could be the answer to all of our problems. We might even win an award with a mixed varietal under our label. That could open doors everywhere.”
“She’s right,” Mom says.
My dad crosses his arms and glares at the door our guests just exited. “I still don’t like it. I think we need to be sure Stella’s not alone with him.”
“Dad! I’m not a kid anymore.”
He shakes his head. “I’m telling you, Stella, something’s not right with that man.”
“Well, too bad,” I say, “because he’s our way out of this financial situation, and I’m not going to mess it up by insulting him.”
My dad gives me a stern look. “I’m going to bring Sadie downstairs. Let’s see if she’s still acting strange about our eccentric visitor.”
The moment Sadie returns, she follows her nose, sniffing everywhere Boz has been, all the way up to my charm bracelet. She growls low in her throat.
“See?” Dad says.
“She’s just confused. Mom says she’s getting senile in her old age.”
My mom tilts her head, watching Sadie return to where Boz was sitting, sniffing again.
Maybe something about Boz is off, but the strange thing is, it doesn’t scare me. To the contrary, I’m excited by him. Maybe more than I should be. I need to remember my priorities, and nothing is more important than saving my family’s winery.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Boz
“Well, I’d say that went rather well other than that lowly bloodhound sniffing around.” I remove my black polo shirt—so soft, it’s annoying, or maybe it’s the golden dye coating my skin?—and toss it on the couch in the parlor. Now gloriously shirtless, I pour myself a glass of red wine. I rarely drink it, blood is my thing, but after inhaling horse piss and pretending to drink it, I need something to cleanse my palate so I can mentally savor my victory.
“Oh no. Don’t you dare, Boz.” Neli marches into the parlor behind me. “You do not get to toast yourself after that—that—”
“What?” I say, inhaling the fragrant glass of our vineyard’s finest in my hand.
“You gave her the whammy.” Neli glares with her green eyes.
“Whatever do you mean, girl?”
“I saw the way she was looking at you.”
“So?” I shrug.
“So…that wasn’t just a reaction to your haircut and clothes.”
“Ah.” I point my index finger toward the ceiling. “But the tan.”
Neli marches over, steals my glass, throws it back, and then stares up at me. “Cut the crap. You went to her room, hypnotized her, and now she’s all into you.”
I ignore my wench, because she has no understanding of what it is like to live hundreds of years, life growing stale and redundant with every passing day. I have seen the glimmer of a fading sunset and the spark of a new day, but the sunlight itself has eluded me for eight hundred years. “When you’ve lived as long as I, give me a call on your tiny phell cone.”
“Cell phone. And I have lived as long as you, Boz. Longer, actually, because you were asleep for the last five hundred years, which means I’ve technically lived about two centuries more.”
I pivot and hiss. “How dare you? Everyone knows that vampire years are like dog years. My one year equals your seven.”
“Uh, where the hell did you hear that?”
“On the internet. I hear she is quite reliable.”
Neli rolls her eyes.
“Do that again, and I shall pluck one of your eyeballs from your skull and wear it as my codpiece.” I grab my discarded shirt and march upstairs to my dressing chamber to change.
“About the right size too,” she mumbles at my back.
“I heard that! And we both know I am hung like an elephant. Many o’ woman has run screaming from my bedchamber for fear of being impaled.”
Neli follows me. “That was because you showed them your fangs.”
“Perhaps, but do not discount the intimidating nature of my large phallus.” I chuck my dirty shirt in a large white plastic bin that Neli calls a “hamper.” You simply put the soiled clothes inside, and they magically reappear a few days later neatly folded and stored in their proper place. Modern marvels truly are impressive.