Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. I’d known there was no guarantee that my piece would be accepted, and of course I knew that most of the slots would likely go to people who were already established names in the art world. So, really, I had no idea why I was reacting like this.
But I was, all the same.
I turned and looked at the floor so David wouldn’t see me cry.
“I understand,” I mumbled.
“I’m sorry,” David said again, his hand still resting on mine. “We’re going to be doing another show next fall. You’re really talented, Cassie. I hope you’ll consider submitting something else when that request for submissions goes live.”
“Okay,” I said. I turned to smile at him, but his face was blurry. The tears were threatening to fall in earnest now.
Why I’d ever thought I’d be anything but a complete and total fuckup was beyond me. I would always just be Cassie—the quirky eccentric who couldn’t hold a job or even an apartment for more than a few months. The girl who would never achieve her dreams or amount to much of anything at all.
I glanced around the room. More guests had arrived. Sam and Scott were talking with a group of people I vaguely recognized as Sam’s law school classmates. One of them was laughing at something Sam had just said.
Frederick and Amelia were nowhere to be seen.
Even a centuries-old vampire had his shit more together than I did.
I had to get out of there.
“Excuse me,” I said to David in a watery voice, keeping my face turned away from him. “I . . . need to go check on something.”
Sniffling, I quickly made my way out of the room, heading straight for the bathroom.
I was on the cusp of a full-on pity party.
Nobody needed to see that.
* * *
I stared at my face in the bathroom mirror. For the first time in I couldn’t remember how long I’d decided to wear mascara, and I regretted that decision now. A raccoon’s face stared back at me from the mirror, eyes ringed with smears of black makeup and cheeks splotchy with tears.
It made me feel like an even bigger idiot than I had when I’d run in here to hide ten minutes earlier. Which was saying a lot.
A quiet knock on the bathroom door startled me out of my self-pity.
“Cassie? Are you in there?” Frederick’s voice. It was low and full of concern. A gentle, reassuring warmth flooded me at the sound of it.
“No.” Without thinking, I scrubbed away my tears with the back of my hand. It came away streaked with black.
“I just spoke with someone who said she saw you rush in here. I’m concerned. May I come in?”
“I said I’m not in here.”
A quiet huff of a laugh. “Clearly you are.”
I shut my eyes and leaned my forehead against the door separating us. The smooth wood felt refreshingly cool against my flushed skin. “I am such an idiot.”
“You are not.”
“You have to say that.” Fresh tears pricked behind my closed eyelids. “You don’t know how to ride the El by yourself and you’ll be stuck here at this party forever if you aren’t nice to me.”
Another quiet laugh, then more firmly, “Move away from the door, Cassie. I’m worried about you. I’d like to come in.”
His slightly authoritative tone flipped some sort of switch inside of me. “Okay,” I said, sniffling.
He stepped inside the small bathroom—all six feet two inches of him, broad-shouldered and beautiful—before quietly closing the door behind him. All of a sudden I was reminded of just how small this space really was.
He seemed to notice it the same instant I did, his eyes widening as they darted over the shower stall behind me, the toilet, the sink. But then he saw my face, and the mess I’d made of it—and then his attention was all on me.
“Who did this to you?” His voice was low, but urgent. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened.” I tried to turn away from him, but he grabbed hold of my arm, keeping me in place. I shivered, the chill from his touch burning its way through the fabric of my shirt and creating a stark contrast with the rush of warmth I suddenly felt everywhere else. “I’m a failure, is all.”
“You are not a failure,” he said firmly. “Anyone who made you feel like one will have me to deal with.”
I smiled a little at the idea of Frederick threatening anyone at all. He might be an undead creature of the night—but as undead creatures of the night went, he was a marshmallow.
I sniffled. “That person, unfortunately, is me.”