The Donor to a Vampire (Donor #1)

Chapter 13: Forging Acquaintances

Being dressed up as the dog's dinner only went so far in helping me with ever-growing anxiety. Even if I had my war paint on (known as makeup), a helmet made of lovely product-enhanced natural curls, and footwear that could impale enemies with its' high heels, I still felt out of my element. It had been nearly a decade since the last time I had to make small talk and forge friendships at an outing. I needn't Angelica to divulge with a sneer that this might look casual; nevertheless, it was an opportunity to make connections for the Varshawsky line.

Humming filled my ears, and only after seconds I realised it belonged to me. It was the same melody my mom sang whenever I was sad or tense, and still, it eased me after all these years. Unfortunately, I remained ignorant of the song's name, and its' lyrics evaded me, and only the melody remained. 

With shoulders drawn back and my back straightened with determination, I extended my palm to knock at the door— when a shiver slivered from the back of my neck down my spine as though a claw scraped on the skin. The hairs on my arms stood up, gooseflesh erupting. Danger, danger! My mind shouted with alarm. By now, I learned that my senses have been correct on more than a few occasions these past months when sensing danger. I casually glanced around to see if someone was lurking around. I instinctively stepped toward it, noticing something shifting in the darkness at the end of the hall— only to jump when two arms hugged me around the waist, and a squeal made my eardrums consider bursting.

"You look lovely, Cheri!" Renée broke her grasp and circled me, eyeing me intently like a predator would a bleeding fish in shark-infested waters. "I knew that this dress would suit you beautifully. Ouí, ouí I did you justice." She grabbed my hand and then pulled me into her apartment.

I was only beginning to relax when my eyes stared at her apparel. "You are wearing sweatpants?"

She patted the aubergine-coloured fabric, "Ouí, I'm keeping it casual."

"Isn't that something you should mention?"

"Non, I don't believe so," she replied, eyes devoid of their usual warmth and slightly crinkled upwards. "Now come, we 'ave some introductions zo make."

Renée had a spacious living room that served as a charming parlour. It boasted elegant marble floors and plush carpeting, creating a cosy atmosphere for everyone gathered around the ornate fireplace. The room was alive with music emanating from the speakers, and the coffee table was adorned with an array of finger foods and alcoholic beverages. Renée possessed a keen eye for both interior design and fashion. The predominant colours of the room were white and grey. Still, she injected vibrant pops of colour through decorative pillows, a magnificent tower of macarons in every imaginable hue, and various small details like flowers, vases, and miniature statues.

The group consisted of three boys seated on the thick carpet, engaged in conversation, while two girls reclined leisurely on the sofa. They exuded an air of relaxed contentment, sipping champagne and playfully tossing macarons into each other's open mouths. Although I had encountered some group members individually at Camaraderie's fountain, witnessing them socializing together was a sight. It felt as though I had stumbled upon a clandestine club where the constraints of social classes were absent, unlike at the opulent baroque masterpiece that stood at the heart of the Camaraderie.

Renée dragged me away from the front door, grabbed a flute of champagne and thrust me into the crowd like I was bait for the fish. "Everyone, zis is zhe infamous Dess."

Silence settled over the group as five pairs of eyes turned in my direction while I groaned internally as I spotted their casual clothes.

Blush warmed my neck and cheeks, "I wouldn't say I'm infamous, Renée."