Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Holland: Tomorrow’s confirmed. Car will pick you up at 7 a.m. sharp.
I smile, and my pulse flutters inside my chest. Tomorrow, I’m going to New York to spend the evening with Damien Snow, a vampire elite who’s so interested in me he’s made expensive arrangements to see me before the final choosing ceremony.
I found all this out this afternoon when Holland met up with my mom and Bonnie and me while we were shopping. And he waxed poetic about Damien’s impressive penthouse in the middle of Manhattan. Apparently, it sits sixty stories up, and the view of Central Park is unreal.
I can only imagine what it looks like.
Looks like you’re about to find out.
Another text chimes in.
Holland: Make sure you pack for a few days. Just in case.
A few days? Last I heard, I was just flying out in the morning on Damien’s private jet and I’d be back by the evening. Frankly, I didn’t even know I could have a private meeting with one of the vampires before the Selection anyway, but with the way Holland explained it this morning, it’s a very rare occurrence and reserved for only the best candidates.
I type back.
Me: A few days?
Holland: It’s a good thing, Blair. Damien really wants to get to know you. More than any of the other women from the event last night.
He wants me more than all the other girls.
My cheeks warm at that, and my smile practically consumes my face. I can’t help it. To have a man who’s clearly so powerful, so important, want to get to know me feels unreal. It feels…amazing.
And Damien comes across as a reserved and careful kind of man. He’s in total control. And men like that aren’t impulsive. They choose carefully. They only want the best. And he wants me.
I glance down at the dress laid across my bed. It’s this pale lavender silk that hugs my curves perfectly but isn’t overtly obscene. It’s sophisticated but discreetly sexy at the same time. My mom insisted I buy it today and bring it with me tomorrow.
I already had a cute black cocktail dress in mind, but since Holland is now saying a few days, I guess my new dress makes sense…
And if this is serious, if this is moving toward Damien choosing me, wouldn’t it require more than one evening? It would be almost disrespectful to rush something so important.
My phone buzzes again.
Holland: Also, I need to update you on some rules. Damien is a very discreet man. His privacy and your privacy are incredibly important to him, so there will be limited contact while you’re there.
The warmth in my chest cools slightly, and my brow furrows at his words.
Me: Limited contact? What does that mean?
Holland: You’ll need to leave your phone at your house. I’m sure you can understand that it’s easier for both you and Damien if outside distractions are removed. Also, consider it a really good thing that he wants to be that focused on you. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him so…entranced. ;)
I swallow and glance toward the suitcase before moving my eyes back to the phone in my hands.
Me: So, I can’t bring my phone with me?
Holland: No, you cannot. But if you need to get in contact with anyone, Damien won’t hesitate to oblige.
Ever since I got a phone in middle school, I can’t remember a time I didn’t have it with me. It seems very first-world problems, I know, but I can’t deny my stomach pinches at the thought.
After Holland updated that Damien wanted to spend more time with me, my mom gushed. She’d never heard of private meetups like this before the Selection, but all that means is that it must be very rare and very exclusive. She was practically giddy over it all, to be honest.
Only important people know important things, Blair, she’d said. And this means you’re important.
I just never imagined I’d be unreachable.
I try to picture it—being in a penthouse in Manhattan, city lights glittering below, Damien standing beside me—and not being able to text Bonnie or call my mom or dad.
It feels…off. Strange, even.
Don’t be so freaking dramatic, I tell myself. It’s just because this is new. And new always feels a little unsettling at first.
I walk to my vanity, staring at my reflection.
“This is your legacy,” I whisper to my face in the mirror. “Your future. Your everything. This is the best thing that’s ever happened in your life.”
I open my phone again.
Me: Will my parents be able to check in?
The response is immediate this time.
Holland: Blair, you have nothing to worry about. Trust me. Everything will be handled.
Trust me.
I exhale slowly.
Of course my parents wouldn’t be cut off. That wouldn’t make sense. This is prestigious. This is sophistication and royalty and wealth. It isn’t some…disappearance.
It’s a selection. A choosing. That’s how we’ve always referred to it.