When I woke up, I realized the three of us had fallen asleep; I hadn't even finished my glass of wine. Lucius's hand was resting on my chest beneath my pajama top, while on my other side, Killian's heavy, warm hand gripped my inner thigh. I wanted to stay there forever, but dawn was breaking outside, and my phone wouldn't stop vibrating. I checked it and found a flood of messages from Úrsula—twenty or more.
In short, they said things like:
"You achieved in such a short time what I couldn't in decades, and it's not because you're prettier than me. Look, this is a photo from twenty years ago, when I was exactly your age. See? I could make a president sigh, but nothing ever happened between Mr. Longfield and me—except for that one time…"
In the photo, she looked stunning—young, happy, leaning against one of the cars in front of the mansion. She was certainly more beautiful than I am now: a better figure, taller, long thick hair in a braid, and a fuller chest. But didn't you hear me, my friend, when I read that part of the message? She wrote that there was a day when something did happen between her and Mr. Longfield. Still, the messages didn't stop there. She sent more that read:
"The TV won't stop talking about what they found in your garage and what that journalist uncovered at Mary Garden. I have to ask—how do you do it? I swear, Carmilla, I never thought I'd say these words to anyone, but I need your help. I'm certainly not getting any younger, and I've played my cards wrong. But you… everyone ends up loving you. I'll do whatever you say—just help me get Mr. Longfield to notice me."
I thought she was completely mistaken; I didn't think I had anything to teach her. I turned on the TV, and the screen was filled with a poll for the "World's Most Handsome Men." I looked to my left at the sleeping Killian, his strong arms refusing to let me go; to my right was Lucius. My breathing and his were perfectly in sync, and every so often he'd pull me a little closer when our rhythms threatened to drift apart.
I suppose modesty doesn't really apply here: the two men the TV was calling the sexiest in the world were right here in my bed—and in my heart. So I decided to accept the challenge. I figured it would be fun, like one of those movies where the popular girls help the shy one become loved by everyone. I never went to school, so I can't say for sure whether I'd be the popular girl or the ugly duckling. Either way, I told Úrsula she could count on me.
"Oh my God! No way!" I shouted, freezing in place.
Lucius jolted awake, taking a few seconds to understand what was going on. Killian opened his eyes too, gave me a kiss, and then groaned when he heard the TV presenter.
"No, Carmilla, that's a lie. Come on, that's not true! It also won the '55 championship."
I looked him straight in the eyes and asked honestly, almost pleading, "Are you insane? Tell me that's not true."
He smiled, shrugged, and murmured, "When I told you that you could auction it off and live comfortably for the rest of your life, I meant it. I wanted your life to be as easy as possible. I'm sorry."
If you don't know what I'm talking about, my friend, it's because I haven't told you what was on the news yet. It turns out that when Killian paid off my debts, he said that when I got home, I'd find a car parked in my garage. I didn't think he meant it literally; I never imagined he had actually gone and left a car there. But the journalists opened it and found a Mercedes W196 R—the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Next to the photo of the car was one of me, with the headline: "Carmilla Morris: The Perfect Car for a Heroine."
The girl everyone was talking about was now the owner of the Formula 1 car that won the 1954 World Championship (Killian clarified it also won in 1955).
But I kept staring, because the journalist added: "This Mercedes W196 R, number 16, was acquired by a private collector two years ago for 55 million dollars—and it's worth every penny. It was long suspected that a Longfield had bought it; no one ever imagined he would end up gifting it to a woman. Which of the two is so in love with Carmilla that he gave her the perfect car?"
I'm not lying, my friend—the face I made while looking at Killian was very different from the AI-generated image the TV was showing of me, where I wore a silver cape behind the wheel of that silver masterpiece. My jaw was on the floor, and all he said was:
"What? I wanted you to know how much I love you."
Lucius joked, "I'd punch you for trying to get ahead with money, but I know what that car means to you, so I'll keep quiet. Carmilla and I will enjoy it when we get married. Thanks, brother."
We all laughed, and a childish pillow fight broke out, though it couldn't quite hide the weight behind those words. Did he say he'd marry me? Yes—but I know that's impossible, with the whole situation with Sarah and…
A breaking news report interrupted me. Big George had been declared legally insane. He had an old bullet wound in his brain and was deemed incapable of understanding the criminal nature of his actions. He would be confined to a mental institution called Opendoor.
I had to turn off the TV. Lucius said his father wanted to see him and left the room, giving me a beautiful kiss on the lips.
"I'll see you when I get back from work. I expect dinner to be ready."
I blushed; I loved that little game with him.
The moment the door closed, Killian took my face in both hands and kissed me too. Then he pulled me against his chest, and I said, "I still can't get the image of Annia out of my head."
He replied, "Replace it with the look in Marian Pierce's eyes when she reunited with her parents—how she looked at us and said 'thank you.' That's what I do, at least. It makes me feel like it was all worth it."
I had a message from Evangelina on my phone: "I miss you so much. Bruce and I are planning to get away for a few days. The empire's stock has skyrocketed, but we've already shot down fifty news drones trying to get live footage of the mansion. Isn't this all crazy?"
I replied, "It would be wonderful to have you here," and I sent her a photo of me in bed so she could see my hair was back to its original color.
She replied instantly with one of her own; she was in the tub, her chest just above the water. The text read: "It looks beautiful on you. Come see me soon." In the reflection of a distant mirror, I could see Bruce with a towel wrapped around his waist. I circled him and replied: "Well done, gorgeous!"
She sent back smiling faces, a heart, and a message that read: "The perks of being 'the Queen.' I'll tell you all about it later."
Lucius came back in a few minutes later, holding his head.
"We have serious, serious problems," he said. "Who the hell sends handwritten letters these days? They're arriving in huge numbers, and there are about two thousand people at the main gates of the estate."
Amused, I said, "I want to read them! I'm going to answer them one by one—only the nice ones."
But he said, "You don't understand. I'm talking about nearly 150,000 letters. Dad wants to see the three of us right now."
Half an hour later, wearing a short black dress and a delicate pearl necklace that once belonged to Carol, I opened the door to head to Mr. Longfield's residence. An employee arrived with a cart full of letters—at least a few hundred—and told me:
"These are the ones we've screened. They're safe for you to open—no toxins."
I thanked him for the odd warning. As he brought them inside, I noticed an envelope with a perfect drawing of my face on it, wearing the exact same pearl necklace I had on.
I opened it immediately. The brief note read:
"Everything is still the same for you. Don't choose one, or the other dies. You're doing well—be careful. By the way, happy holidays. Don't forget sunscreen."
Signed: Clara, the Seer.
I slipped the letter into my purse. Killian and Lucius were waiting for me. Mr. Longfield greeted them warmly and gave me a hug.
"The business is growing like never before," he said. "Everyone is talking about our merger with Evangelina Bance's new empire. That could mean smaller competitors might try something desperate as a last resort. The best thing we can do is appear normal while you three stay out of sight."
Killian said, "I was thinking the same thing. Let's give the press a photo of the four of us to keep them calm—you know, eating and relaxing so everything looks perfect. Then we'll head somewhere safe."
But Mr. Longfield said, "I agree, except for that last part. You're the most famous people in the world right now; wherever you go, they'll follow. However, I have a small island in the North Atlantic: a landing strip, two houses, and minimal staff. I want the three of you to go there for at least a week. We'll release some images to the press so they can see you're just enjoying life like any young people. It will keep them calm; we've done it before."
"Why is the press so important?" I asked.
Lucius replied, "If you don't give them material, they'll make it up. They love us now, but they could hate us tomorrow—it changes in an instant. It's better to disappear and let them think we're just on vacation. We'd rather have them talking about romance and drama—harmless things."
Mr. Longfield said, "Then it's settled. The four of us will have dinner, and afterward, you'll leave immediately."
I suggested casually, "Could Úrsula join us for dinner? I mean, the photo might look strange with just me and three men. With her at the table, it'll look more natural—more normal."
The three of them agreed. We would dress casually, but I added:
"And I don't want to overstep, Mr. Longfield, but if we have dinner in the gardens, among the flowers, it might also put an end to those rumors that you never go outside."
To my surprise, he said, "Yes, I think I can do that."
As soon as I left, I went straight to Úrsula, took her hands, and said, "Operation Seduction starts now. You have a date with your man tonight."
She smiled in disbelief. Inside, I thought, I think I'm going to pull this off. Tonight, she's going to kiss him.