Fanged Love - Kylie Gilmore Page 0,30

for Mr. Bozhidar with his schedule and sensitivity to sunlight from his medication. (I wonder if he has Lyme disease. I’ve heard the antibiotics can make you sensitive to the sun. He otherwise seems to be the picture of health.) Anyway, I can be as flexible as they need if it means a solution to Stellariva’s problems.

The twins made fresh-baked bruschetta with tomatoes and mozzarella. Mr. Bozhidar doesn’t care for sweets.

My parents are settled on the sofa in the living room, but I’m too anxious to sit, so I pace the first floor, stopping to peek out the front window every ten seconds. Mabel and Eliza are hanging out in the kitchen, waiting to meet Boz for the first time. They’ll make themselves scarce for the business part of the evening. I smooth nonexistent wrinkles out of my white maxi dress with light blue floral toile print. I love this dress with its cascading capelet short sleeves. I paired it with white open-toed heels. My long dark brown hair is down to cover the red mosquito bites that appeared on my neck this morning. I hope I look okay. Oh, I can’t wait to see him.

Wait. I mean…I can’t wait to discuss this new wine! Yes, that’s what I meant. Because it would be silly to want to spend time with Mr. Bozhidar. He’s rudeness personified. A barbarian in the body of an ancient warlord.

That doesn’t make any sense either. But for some strange reason, every time I think of Bozhidar, I have a vision of him riding a dark stallion on a moonlit night, his black cape flapping in the wind. His eyes are intense, filled with fury and despair.

“Stella, you’re going to wear a hole in the hardwood,” my dad calls in a teasing voice, snapping me out of my weird thoughts.

I stop in the archway of the living room. “I’m too wound up.”

“Clearly,” says Mom, who is holding hands with my dad on the couch. I hope one day I can find the kind of love they have, but for the moment, I’ll take not seeing my family having to live in a cardboard box.

The doorbell rings, and I dart from the room, yelling over my shoulder, “I got it.”

I open the door and my breath hitches. My gaze locks on the glowing black eyes smoldering down at me. He looks different somehow. More unbearably handsome and sexier. How’s it possible? He’s the same contemptible man I met earlier this week.

But everything about him feels different now. Maybe it’s because I’m a huge sucker for unpretentious men with big hearts, and despite his impolite words about our wine, the fact he’s willing to help strangers—my family—in a time of crisis speaks volumes about who Mr. Bozhidar really is. He has nothing to gain from helping us. Nothing. If anything, he’s a very busy man, and we’re pulling him away from his important business. Bottom line: Actions speak louder than words. Actions and honesty. In fact, now that I’m thinking about it; how can I be upset over that whole horse-piss incident? It was his honest opinion. I should respect him for his candor. Especially since he offered to help us instead of walking away like most people would. There are no words for how grateful I’m feeling right now!

Sadie shuffles forward, her bloodhound nose sniffing madly. As soon as she reaches Mr. Bozhidar, she goes crazy sniffing him from crotch to toes. Her head jerks up, and she bares her teeth in a low growl.

My mom gets a hold of Sadie’s collar. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s come over her. She’s usually so docile. She’s getting old and senile.” She pulls Sadie away to the far side of the living room and makes her sit.

Mr. Bozhidar looks down at me and flashes a smile that makes my knees weak. Have his lips always been this sensual and full? Maybe he got stung by a bee.

“Oh! You got a haircut,” I say, though that’s not quite it. My pulse is racing, and all of my nerve endings are tingling. “It looks good on you.”

“You also look lovely, sweet Stella.”

“Invite them in,” Dad says from behind me.

“Sorry. Yes, come in. Hi, Neli, good to see you too.” I was so taken with Mr. Bozhidar that I didn’t notice her standing there. My parents introduce themselves and my sisters to Mr. Bozhidar with no help from me. I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s wearing a black polo shirt