Chapter 48

Tessa’s POV

I couldn’t stop thinking about my conversation with Jack, long after we parted ways. He seemed nice and genuine; I didn’t get any feeling that he was lying to me and I’m usually good at knowing when someone is truthful or not. It’s been a talent I’ve had since I was a little girl. Some have easier tells than others; like Ruby when she plays with her hair or my father when he scratches his chin. But Jack, overall, just seemed confused.

He saw Joseph as an actual old man, and it made me wonder if others saw him that way as well. It would explain why Joseph rarely leaves his house during the day and has all the help that he does.

I made it a mental note to ask him about it later; I had a feeling Joseph did something to Jack’s mind to make him see him as a helpless old man.

I decided for right now, to put that thought aside. Now that the sun was almost completely set, it wouldn’t be long before Joseph woke up.

I wanted to make another meal for him tonight.

I also wanted to show him the new decorations around the Villa. I gave his home a more comforting feel. Now it looks like somebody actually lives here comfortably, and not renting an Airbnb.

The house was still very quiet, so I assumed he was still sleeping. However, as soon as I walked into the kitchen, I was hit with the scent of garlic.

I froze when I saw that Joseph was in the kitchen, and he was cooking.

I rose my brows at him even though he had his back turned toward me and he was finishing chopping garlic for the sauce.

It was ironic that a vampire was cooking with garlic though. I knew their vulnerability against garlic was a long-ago myth. But I still had to stifle the laugh that emerged deep in my throat.

I walked over to him, and he turned to look at me only briefly before turning back to the hot pan in front of him.

He began sautéing the veggies for the sauce and it smelled delicious. My stomach was growling ferociously. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until that moment.

I guess I hadn’t really eaten much today. Every time I got the opportunity, something would happen that caused me to not be so hungry.

“I hope you like spaghetti and meatballs,” Joseph said as he continued cooking.

I nodded my head.

My father used to make incredible spaghetti and meatballs. I was excited to be able to eat that meal again, even if it wasn’t my father’s cooking. I didn’t even know Joseph knew how to cook.

He was full of surprises.

“I was going to cook for you,” I told him, leaning against the counter and peering up at him.

He frowned at my words.

“You cooked last night.”

“Yes, but I was going to cook again tonight,” I told him, still keeping my eyes on his.

“It’s my turn to show off my cooking skills,” Joseph said in return, giving me a side smile without even looking at me.

Something about that smile made my heart flutter.

“By the way, I like what you did to the place.”

My eyes widened.

“You already saw?!”

He nodded, a little amusement lingering on his face.

“Yes,” he answered. “It looks nice. I like subtle changes. Feels a little more comfortable in here.”

“That’s what I was going for,” I said, blushing at his words.

“You did well.”

“I’m glad you like it,” I said, brushing my fingers awkwardly through my hair.

“Can you add the pasta to the boiling water?” Joseph asked, nodding his head to the large pan across the kitchen on the stovetop.

I went over to the pasta and began dumping it into the boiling water, aiming to be careful not to burn myself. The kitchen smelled mouthwatering good, and I was excited about this meal. I was also exhausted after such a long day.

“I met your gardener,” I found myself saying as I made my way back to him.

“Oh, yeah?” He asked, seemingly unphased and uninterested.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “He told me something strange though.”

“What did he say?”

I was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how to work this; he glanced at me sideways but only for a moment.

“He told me that you are an old man,” I blurted. “That to him, you appeared to be in your 80s or 90s.”

He was quiet and his expression was unreadable.

“It’s true, isn’t it…” I breathed, staring at him with wide eyes. “You did something to his mind to make him see you that way.”

“Yes,” he answered simply. “It was the easiest solution at the time.”

“You can control minds…” it wasn’t a question.

“I simply alter his perception,” he answered.

“So, the way you look right now, is this how you look to everyone else?” I asked.

“This is my true form, yes. I stopped aging when I turned into a vampire,” he explained.

I was quiet for another moment; he turned back to cooking while I thought long and hard about what he had told me. I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I began to chew on my bottom lip, suddenly extremely nervous.

“Can you do it me?” I asked. “Alter my perception and control my mind?”

It took him a second to answer; he turned to me, fully facing me this time and took in my every appearance.

“No,” he answered. “I can’t.”

“Why?” I asked, feeling my face warm, but I oddly felt lighter, more relieved.

“I’m not sure,” he said, and I could see the honesty in his eyes. “It might have something to do with your blood. You’re special Tessa. My abitlies don’t work on you.”

“But you tried?” I asked.

He nodded.

“That night you were attacked, and I saved you. I tried to make you forget,” he told me earnestly. “But I couldn’t.”

“I don’t remember you trying that…” I said, shaking my head and trying to think back to that night.

“I don’t need to speak for my abilities to work; I just need to think it and it usually works. But for you… it didn’t.”

I was dumbfounded.

He looked at me for a moment longer before turning back to finish cooking.

Once dinner was ready, we made a couple of plates and went into the dining room to eat. Joseph grabbed a bottle of wine and poured us a couple of glasses before taking his seat in front of me.

“What were you doing in the garden anyways?” He asked as he took a bite of his food.

He didn’t sound displeased that I was wandering around in the gardens, just genuinely curious.

“I was writing,” I admitted.

“Fantasy?”

“No, journal writing,” I told him, glancing at the diary that I had placed on the table earlier. It still sat at the end of the table, waiting for me to take it upstairs and hide it under my pillow as I often did where I lived. “It’s just something I like doing at night.”

“I too have a journal I enjoy writing in once in a while,” Joseph said without even looking at me. But I couldn’t keep my eyes off him.

I certainly didn’t take Joseph for someone who would write in a journal.

“I know that sometimes emotions and feelings can feel like they are a little bit too much. The best way to get them out is to write them down,” Joseph continued.

He must have felt me staring at him, dumbfounded, because he paused mid-bite to look at me.

“Yeah, exactly…” I said softly, keeping my eyes on him.

“Have you thought about posting your journal entries to your blog?”

I almost choked on wine as I took a sip.

“No,” I answered, narrowing my eyes at him. “I haven’t. Why would I?”

“Sometimes it’s the personal stuff that attracts the attention. Your readers want to see the real you and not just the sugar-coated stuff.”

“I thought you said that I should stick to the fantasy niche and theme for my blog if I want to be a fantasy writer,” I said with a little cockiness.

“I also you should pick a niche and a theme to stick with so it’s not confusing as to what your blog is about. You post a lot more nonfiction than anything else on your blog so maybe you should post more emotional stuff and get rid of the fantasy.”

“Give up fantasy writing?”

My heart weighed heavily in my chest, and I felt a jab of disappointment.

“Definitely not. Just on your blog. At least until you build your audience and then you can find out what they want to see. But posting raw emotions is a good way to start. You’re already posting poetry. Journal entries aren’t much different.”

I thought a lot about what Joseph had said, posting raw and emotional stuff to my blog. Later in the evening, after Joseph and I cleaned up from dinner, I went to my room and sat in front of my laptop. I had my blog opened and the number of followers I had was the same as I had yesterday.

I stared at my journal that lay before me on the desk and I felt a sense of nervousness. I had never shared these personal thoughts and feelings before, and I wasn’t sure if it was something I was ready to do.

These journal entries were important to me, and they kept me from losing my mind. If I shared them with the world, I wouldn’t have a safe place to share these thoughts and feelings. It would feel like I’m doing it for an audience and not myself.

But Joseph was so certain that this was the way to gain new followers and get some engagement. But did I really want people to comment on my journal entries?

Maybe one entry wouldn’t hurt. Just to see if it does anything different.

I skimmed through my journal and picked out an entry that didn’t include anyone in my current life like Brian or Ruby.

The last thing I needed was a backlash from them.

The entry was about my feelings towards my mother’s death and how I didn’t really remember her. The only thing I really knew about her was the stories my father told me.

I continued to share how my father and I would go to her grave every year on her birthday and read fictional stories that my father had written. I also expressed my guilt for not going to the cemetery these last couple of years.

I stared at the entry for a long while. My hands growing clammy and my heart beating rapidly against my chest.

This was it.

I was about to publicize something so deeply personal.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath as my fingers traced my keyboard.

This better pay off, I thought to myself as I pressed “Post.”