❧ dinner party ❧

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Amalie moved around the small kitchen of her new apartment, the hiss of a sizzling pan and the soft clink of plates breaking the quiet. Morning light spilled through the window, warming the countertops and turning the room into a soft glow of gold and amber. She cracked an egg into the pan, watching it bubble and curl at the edges.

Max perched on the counter behind her, arms crossed, his faint outline catching the sunlight but casting no shadow. His expression hovered between amusement and exasperation. He tilted his head, watching her with raised eyebrows.

"So, let me get this straight," he said, his voice edged with disbelief. "Elijah—an Original vampire—just...bought you this place? Like, no strings, no fine print? Just...'Here's the deed, congrats on your new life'?"

Amalie chuckled, flipping the egg onto a plate with practiced ease before putting bread into the toaster. "Yes, Max. For the fiftieth time, yes. And believe me, I tried arguing with him—I tried to pay half, even—but Elijah's idea of ​​compromise is smiling politely while refusing to budge. It's infuriating."

Max let out a low whistle, glancing around the apartment as if seeing it for the first time. "Wow. And here I thought chivalry was dead. Does he also, what, leave flowers on your doorstep? Open doors for you?"

She rolled her eyes, though a smile crept onto her face as she set down the plate and joined him. "I think chivalry is his default setting," she replied with a grin.

Max snorted, shifting his position on the counter as if trying to get comfortable. "And yet here we are. You, the girl who swore she'd never stick around this godforsaken town, now living rent-free courtesy of an Original. You don't see the irony?"

Amalie chuckled softly, setting the plate down and reaching for her coffee. "Oh, I see it. Believe me." She took a sip, savoring the warmth. "If you'd told me a year ago that I'd be soul -bound to the oldest vampires in history and receiving unsolicited real estate, I would've thought you were insane."

Max gave her a wry grin. "Right. Because nothing screams normal like ancient spells, soulmates, and Elijah as your personal realtor." His grind faded into something more thoughtful. "But seriously, Amalie—how does that even work? The whole soulmate thing. Is it, like, writing in some vampire prophecy or...?"

She shrugged, her movements slower now, more deliberate. "I wish I knew. Elijah explained bits and pieces, but it is mostly fate or whatever."

"Whatever," Max echoed, his tone teasing. "Yeah, that clears it right up."

Amalie shot him a playful glare but didn't reply. Max swung his legs back and forth from his spot on the countertop, tilting his head as he studied her.

"So...how's the whole 'no Mystic Falls drama' thing treating you? Quiet, peaceful, no vampires breathing down your neck—it's gotta be weird, right?"

Amalie paused mid-bite of her toast, glancing around the room as if seeing it anew. The apartment was still, untouched by the chaos of her life. "It is weird," she admitted, her voice soft. "But it's good. For the first time in a while, it feels like I can breathe. No Damon, no Stefan, no endless life-or-death nonsense. Just...quiet."

Max gave her a knowing smile. "Sounds like heaven." He hesitated, then added with a sly look, "Speaking of Stefan—what's the deal there? Last I checked, you wanted to strangle him."

She sighed, setting her coffee cup down with a soft clink. "It's...better. We've reached this kind of unspoken truce. We don't talk unless we have to, but we're not fighting either. So. ..neutral ground, I guess."

"Progress," Max said, though his tone was dubious. "And Damon? Don't tell me you've managed 'neutral ground' with him too."

Amalie let out a low groan, rubbing her temples. "Not even closer. Damon's...Damon. He doesn't trust me, and honestly? I don't trust him either. It's like walking on eggshells. One wrong word, one slip-up, and he'd use it to turn the whole town against me if it suited him."

Max winced. "Sounds like a barrel of fun," he sarcastically said. "Does he know about you and Elijah?"

"After yesterday? Oh, he knows." Her laughter was bitter, the sound hollow. "And he'll use it, I guarantee you. To Damon, my connection to Elijah is just proof I'm the enemy. Like I crossed some invisible line."

Max chuckled, leaning back on his elbows. "Well, you are soulmates with the guy trying to kill the woman Damon's obsessed with. That's gotta sting a little."

Amalie shook her head, laughing softly despite herself. "Yeah, because I chose that, right? Try explaining that to Damon. Everything's black and white with him—loyalty or betrayal. And I don't fit into either category."

Max was quiet for a moment, his expression softening. "You've yourself in one hell of a mess, Amalie," he said finally, his voice low. "But...at least you've got a nice kitchen?"

Amalie couldn't help it—she laughed, the sound light and real this time. "Yeah. A ghost-approved kitchen."

"Damn straight," Max said, grinning as he tapped the counter with his knuckles. His hand passed right through, of course, but he ignored it, his grin widening. "And hey, you've got me. Eternal sarcasm, free of charge."

She raised her coffee mug in a mock toast. "To sarcasm and unsolicited real estate."

"To bad decisions and ancient vampire drama," Max countered, raising an imaginary glass.

They laughed, the sound filling the warm, sunlit kitchen as the rest of the world faded away—for now.

###

Amalie's day had been uncharacteristically relaxing—a rare reprieve she welcomed with open arms. She'd spent the morning at her apartment, her legs curled beneath her on the couch, a novel in one hand and coffee in the other. For the first time in what felt like years—decades, even—she allowed herself to be just her. By the afternoon, she was running errands, relishing the mundane simplicity of it all. For a fleeting moment, she almost felt like a normal person.

Her last stop was the Mystic Grill. She stood at the bar, tapping her fingers lightly on the counter as she waited for her takeout order. The hum of quiet conversation and the clink of glasses filled the air, weaving a cocoon of calm. She let herself relax into it, soaking in the ordinariness of the scene. But then, a subtle shift—a prickle at the edge of her awareness—broke the spell.

Amalie froze, the sensation unmistakable. She didn't need to look to know who had just walked through the door. Elijah was here.

She turned, her gaze drawn instinctively to the entrance. Sure enough, Elijah stepped inside, composed and elegant as always. A smile tugged at her lips—small, involuntary. But her eyes widened slightly at the sight of who accompanied him: Jenna.

Of course. Jenna had mentioned she'd be showing Elijah around the town's historical landmarks. And here they were, side by side, Jenna chatting animatedly while Elijah wore the faintest trace of a polite smile.

He looked up, almost as if sensing her gaze, and their eyes locked. The room seemed to fall away for a moment, everything else blurring into the background. There was something in the way his gaze softened that made her chest tighten. But before Elijah could approach her, Jenna tugged his arm, steering him toward a booth. Amalie's attention shifted, catching sight of Damon, Alaric, and Andie seated there, clearly waiting for them. Damon, predictably, looked less than thrilled by Elijah's presence, his simmering disdain practically radiating off him.

Amalie sighed, shaking her head as she turned back toward the bar. Whatever Damon was scheming today, she wanted no part of it. She had more than enough on her plate without adding his paranoia into the mix. Just as the bartender handed over her takeout bag, a familiar voice broke through her thoughts.

"Are you going to be there tonight?"

Amalie turned her head to find Jenna standing beside her, bright-eyed and smiling. Elijah loomed just behind her, silent but watchful. His presence felt steady, grounding, and yet charged all at once.

"Be where?" Amalie asked, arching a brow as her eyes flicked briefly to Elijah, catching his gaze for just a beat before focusing back on Jenna.

"Damon's hosting a dinner party tonight," Jenna said with a grin. "I figured you'd be there since, you know, you live there."

Amalie chuckled, shaking her head. "Not anymore. Got sick of Damon and Stefan pretty quickly. Thought it was time for a change."

Jenna laughed, clearly delighted by her response, but before she could reply, Elijah spoke up, his tone soft but insistent.

"The evening would undoubtedly be more pleasant with your company, Amalie."

The words were simple, but the way he said them made her pause. His gaze met hers, calm yet unyielding. There was no push, no demand, only the faintest hint of hope. It made something inside her waver.

She hesitated, glancing down at the bag in her hands as if it held the answer. She knew Damon had planned. The dagger. He'd been itching for an opportunity to use it, and she didn't doubt tonight's little soirée was designed to provide just that.

"You should come," Jenna chimed in again, nudging her lightly.

Amalie let out a soft laugh despite herself, feeling some of her wariness melt under Jenna's hopeful smile and Elijah's unwavering presence. "Alright," she said finally, looking back at him. "I'll be there."

Jenna grinned triumphantly, clapping her hands together. "Perfect! I'll see you later." She waved at both of them before heading out of the Grill, her cheerful energy lingering even after she was gone.

The moment Jenna was out of earshot, Amalie turned to Elijah, her voice low. "You know Damon's got that dagger, don't you?"

Elijah's expression barely shifted, save for the faint curve of his lips—a hint of amusement that sent a faint chill down her spine. "I'm aware," he said, his tone measured. "But it will take far more than that to catch me off guard."

"Alright, then," she said softly, shifting the takeout bag in her hands. "I'll see you tonight."

###

Amalie's apartment hummed with quiet energy as she rummaged through her closet, sifting through a chaotic of silk blouses, dark dresses, and jeans that hadn't been worn in months.

Max stood near the window, practically bouncing with uncontainable excitement. Ana, on the other hand, was sprawled dramatically on the bed, her ghostly figure pressing no weight into the comforter but exuding an air of exaggerated ennui.

"Oh, this is going to be so good," Max chirped, clapping his hands together. "Alaric and Jenna? Relationship drama central. And don't even get me started on Damon and Elijah." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"You act like you're attending a reality TV show," Amalie muttered, pulling a dark blue dress from the hangar and holding it against her frame. She tilted her head, examining her reflection in the floor-length mirror.

Ana sighed heavily, propping herself up on her elbows. "Oh, come on, Amalie. Let us come. We'll be good. You won't even know we're there."

"That's a lie," Amalie said, dropping the dress onto a chair and picking up a sleek black jumpsuit instead. She caught Max rifling through her jewelry box in the corner and shot him a sharp look. "Max, what are you doing? "

"Helping!" He replied innocently, holding up a pair of dangling silver earrings. "These would look great with that dress you just rejected. You're welcome."

Amalie rolled her eyes. "You know ghosts can't accessorize, right? Stop pretending you have a sense of style."

Max put a hand over his heart as though wounded. "I'm deeply offended. I have impeccable taste."

"You have the taste of a kid in a Halloween costume," Ana snorted. She stood up from the bed and walked toward Amalie, tilting her head as if inspecting her outfit. "The black jumpsuit's better, by the way. Understated, chic , and it says, 'I didn't dress specifically for this, but yes, I know I look good.'"

Amalie bit back a smile, holding the jumpsuit against herself again. "Noted. And for the last time, you two aren't coming."

Max groaned, throwing himself dramatically onto her armchair. "Why not? We could add so much to the evening. Who doesn't like a little commentary?"

"Because I don't trust you guys to not distract me when I'm supposed to be acting like you don't exist," Amalie said flatly. She zipped up the jumpsuit and slipped on a pair of nice shoes. "You two are staying here. I'll fill you in on all the details when I get back."

Max folded his arms, pouting like a sulking child. "This is discrimination against the incorporeal."

Amalie smirked at him through the mirror. "If you wear something nice, maybe I'd reconsider."

"That's just cruel," Max muttered, but he was grinning. "Fine. We'll stay. But only because I'm pretty sure you'll forget something important, and you'll need me to remind you later."

"I'll take my chances," Amalie said, sliding on her earrings. She gave herself one last once-over in the mirror before grabbing her purse. "And don't go through my stuff while I'm gone."

"No promises!" Max called after her as she walked out the door.

As it clicked shut behind her, Amalie could already hear Ana laughing and Max muttering about how she was "absolutely going to regret this."

And Amalie suspected he might be right.

###

The Salvatore Boarding House loomed ahead of Amalie, its gothic charm amplified in the twilight glow. The crunch of gravel under her boots announced her arrival as she approached the door. Taking a deep breath, she knocked firmly, the sound echoing faintly through the air.

The door swung open almost immediately, revealing Damon, leaning lazily against the doorframe with his signature chuckle already firmly in place. His dark eyes raked over her outfit.

"Amalie," Damon greeted, his voice dripping with amusement. "To what do I owe the honor? On, wait, you were invited. Pity. I was hoping for a surprise ambush."

Amalie crossed her arms, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "Hello to you too, Damon. Are you going to let me in, or do I have to deal with you all night?"

Damon stepped back with an exaggerated flourish. "By all means, come in. Mi casa es su casa."

Amalie rolled her eyes as she stepped over the threshold. The familiar, faint scent of aged wood and bourbon wrapped around her like an old cloak.

"So, where's home sweet home these days?" Damon asked casually, closing the door behind her.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Amalie quipped, her lips curving into a sly smile before she turned on her heel and disappeared into the hall without giving him a chance to press further.

"Actually, I would !" He called after her, his voice trailing behind her as she disappeared.

The scent of roasted vegetables and fresh herbs led her toward the kitchen, where she found Jenna bustling about, putting the finishing touches on dinner. The counters were scattered with neatly chopped ingredients, and the oven let out a soft hum.

"Can I help?" Amalie asked, her tone light.

Jenna glanced up, her face breaking into a warm smile. "It's basically done," she said, sliding a platter aside. "Glad you could make it."

Jenna crossed the room for a casual hug, which Amalie returned without hesitation. The warmth of the gesture momentarily soothed the nerves that had been bubbling under her calm exterior.

"So," she said casually, her eyes flicking to Amalie with a mischievous glint. "What's going on with you and Elijah?"

"I mean...he's nice," Amalie said carefully, keeping her tone light. "Charming, very polite. Honestly, he's like the only real gentleman in this town. And—well, that's pretty refreshing, all things considered."

Jenna leaned in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "And...?" She prompted with a grin, not letting Amalie off the hook. "Don't hold back on me, Amalie. Is he just 'nice,' or is there a little something more?"

Amalie bit her lip, hiding a smile as she turned her attention back to the stove. She couldn't exactly give Jenna the whole story—mentioning "soulmates" would require a whole lot more explanation than Jenna was ready for. But Jenna's enthusiasm was contagious, and she felt herself giving in a little. "I mean, he's...he always knows what to say, you know? Like he's actually paying attention. I'm not used to that."

"A gentleman who's attentive?" She raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like the bare minimum. But it's Elijah, so I'm guessing he goes above and beyond. He seems like the 'above and beyond' type. And, I bet he's a great kisser."

Amalie smirked, leaning in with a mock-serious look. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Jenna laughed, nudging her again. "Oh, come on! Just give me one hint—just a crumb, Amalie! I'm your very best friend in the world."

Amalie chuckled, her gaze playful. "Well, if I did know anything about his kissing skills, I would definitely tell you."

"God, you're killing me over here," she said, shaking her head. "If I were you, I'd have married him yesterday."

"Only yesterday?" Amalie teased, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you'd say 'the first day we met.'"

"Touche," Jenna laughed, slicing the last of the vegetables and handing the cutting board back to Amalie. "If he treats you even half as well as he sounds, I'd say he's a keeper."

"Thanks, Jen," Amalie said sincerely, choosing her words carefully. "And if anything happens, you'll be the first to know."

"Oh, I better be," Jenna replied, her tone playful as she grabbed her wineglass. "And when that day comes, I want the whole story. Start to finish."

"You'll get every detail I'm legally allowed to give," Amalie joked. "Alright, enough about me. What's going on with you and Alaric?"

Jenna's smile faltered for a split second, but she quickly recovered, her gaze dropping to the countertop. "I don't know," she admitted softly, carefully arranging the plates. "I really like him. It's more than like." A small, wistful smile appeared on her face, and Amalie couldn't help but smile along with her. Jenna and Alaric seemed like such a good match, but if he kept lying about the supernatural world, then he wasn't good enough for her. Jenna was an incredible person who deserved nothing less than the truth.

Jenna's face fell slightly as she continued. "And I want it to work, but I can't help but feel that he's hiding something from me. And then I've got John whispering things in my ear about him."

"Like what?" Amalie asked. She had never met John, but from the way people described him, she wanted to keep it that way.

Jenna bit her lip, pausing as though choosing her words carefully. "Things I don't want to believe." She hesitated, then added, "Things I don't believe, not if they're coming from John's mouth."

"Can I give you some advice?" Amalie asked gently, setting the spatula in her hand down and meeting Jenna's gaze. When Jenna nodded, she continued. "If there's even a small part of you wondering if what John says could be true, then there's probably a reason. I know he's...unpleasant," she said, choosing her words tactfully, "but if Alaric's giving you signs that he's keeping something from you. Even if John's a dick, that doesn't necessarily mean he's wrong."

Jenna sighed, her expression conflicted. "I know. And I hate that he