Trixie thought more about James. She was so confused: They had Frenched last night, and it had been very sexy, but she was in love with Xavier, who had a mustache. To think, just one week ago, she was afraid that she would never fall in love again because of how her one true love Andy Alistair had died or something of tuberculosis or being lost at sea, and yet now here she was, in love with two men at the same time – one dangerous and erratic but with a mustache and the other kind and nurturing but a bit boring but also handsome and good at Frenching. What was she to do?
She sank deeper into her bubblebath, the bubbles bubbling around her like the stormy chaos of her newly awakened passion. Why couldn’t love be like it was like in the storybooks? She had always believed that love would be a nice thing, like swimming with dolphins, but this was a darker feeling, more primal somehow, as if the dolphins (in this particular metaphor) were sharks, or, like, still dolphins but with shark teeth: sholphins. Darks. Dolpharks. Playful but sharp. But so anyway, then she fell asleep and she had this dream that Xavier was a vampire and that he tried to bite her but then James saved her and his shirt got ripped so that pecs again, but how maybe she had actually wanted to get bitten by the vampire and part of her – a part of her she never knew existed – was maybe just a little bit angry with James for rescuing her. What was that all about? Was she going crazy? So weird.