Stakes & Stilettos ib-4 Page 6

  I got out of the car and felt the cold winter breeze on my face. A few flakes of snow were falling. "No idea. But I promise it won't take long. We go in. I introduce you. They will be suitably impressed by your charm and good looks. I down a glass of wine and we are out of there in ten minutes."

  He raised an eyebrow as he looked skeptically at all the cars. "Ten minutes?"

  "Fifteen at the very most. We don't have that much time before we have to be at the reunion, anyhow." I eyed the front lawn and the collection of winter decorations that included a family of reindeer that lit up at night and a big inflatable snowman. "And no mention of my staking. I don't think my mother would take too well to knowing that I almost died. Especially after what happened to my apartment."

  Since my parents didn't know about the vampire thing, I'd blamed the explosion on a gas leak and that I was staying with a friend until I found somewhere more permanent. My parents had freaked out, of course, and insisted I move back home with them until I could piece my life back together.

  I was still piecing. But I wasn't planning on moving back into my old bedroom, still decorated with Madonna and Bon Jovi posters. Not going to happen.

  Thierry hadn't asked me to move in with him yet. Despite everything going rather well between us lately, it did make me feel a little uneasy about the future.

  No dwelling. Dwelling would be bad.

  "Why would I tell her you were staked when she doesn't know that you are a vampire?" he asked as we walked toward the front door, decorated with a big-ass wreath.

  "Semantics," I said. I reached for the doorbell, but Thierry stopped me with a hand on my arm.

  "Sarah, I know you are weary of my mentioning this, but every time we leave Toronto and go outside of our comfort zones we are putting ourselves in grave danger. Even here."

  "I know." More than ever, I knew that. My chest still hurt like a stake-shaped elephant had sat on it. It hurt a little to breathe. Even vampires enjoyed breathing regularly, so it was a bit annoying. But I was there, I was going to make the most of it, and everything would be just fine. Or else.

  I reached for the doorbell, but the door swung open before I got to it.

  "Sweetie!" My mother's arms were open she gave me a big, warm hug. "I'm so glad to see you!"

  "You too, Mom." I smiled. She smelled like freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. "So who's here?"

  She looked vaguely guilty. "Well, honey, you visit so rarely that I thought I should make the most of this opportunity. A few of your aunts, uncles, cousins. I tried not to make a big to-do out of it."

  A family reunion. In ten minutes?

  "Great," I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.

  Thierry stood next to me silently. I disengaged from my mother and glanced at him.

  "Mom, I'd like you to meet Thierry."

  Her gaze traveled politely up his six-foot-tall frame to a face that would make any woman—no matter her age—feel a bit weak in the knees. He had that effect. As evidenced by Amy's newfound crush, that his cool and stoic temperament might rub some people the wrong way didn't mean he was hard on the eyes.

  "A pleasure," he said.

  "What is your last name, Thierry?" she asked.

  "It is… de Bennicoeur."

  "Goodness, that's quite a mouthful isn't it? What is that, French? Italian?"

  "It's French."

  "French Canadian? Are you from Quebec?"

  "No."

  She blinked and smoothed her dark hair in place on the side of her head. I recognized it as a nervous habit. "You don't have an accent."

  "I came to North America a very long time ago."

  "But you speak French?"

  "Yes, I speak several languages."

  "Yes, well." She shuffled back a few steps. "Please, leave your shoes right there"—she nodded at a large pile of muddy and snowy footwear—"and come in and join the rest of us. Care for a glass of wine?"

  "Yum," I said halfheartedly. Why had that greeting felt like the most awkward thing I'd ever witnessed? And mostly on Thierry's part.

  He didn't feel comfortable here. It was obvious.

  "We can leave," I whispered to him as we moved along the short hallway to the family room.

  He shook his head and squeezed my hand in his. "It's fine. It's an honor to meet your family, Sarah."

  He was so earning the brownie points today.

  In the family room we were both given a nice large glass of Baby Duck sparkling wine—a

  Dearly family favorite—and Thierry was introduced to every relative of mine who lived within a hundred-mile radius. Three uncles, five aunts, seven cousins… including my cousin Missy, who made a beeline toward me at first sight.

  "Sarah!" She gave me a huge, smothering hug. "Oh, my God, it is so great to see you."

  "You, too." I gave her a close-mouthed smile. "How's married life treating you?"

  "Fantastic… or should I say fangtastic? Could not be better."

  I glanced over in the corner to see her new husband, Richard, in a heated discussion with my uncle Charlie. I assumed it had something to do with fishing, since that was Uncle

  Charlie's favorite subject. Richard wearily raised a glass in my direction and flashed a quick smile at me that revealed his small fangs.

  My very human cousin Missy had married a vampire. He was also an accountant. I'd been at their wedding—one of the bridesmaids, in fact—when I realized that Richard and I had more in common than simply knowing Missy. That's when I realized that vampires, while keeping their existences secret, were more prevalent in everyday society that I'd ever imagined. That was also when Missy discovered my little secret—and she'd been more than okay with the discovery that I was a vampire than I was.

  I shuddered slightly at the memory of that fateful wedding. Bad, bad dress.

  "Who's the hunk?" Missy asked, nodding at Thierry.

  I told her. As briefly as I could. She seemed suitably impressed that I'd landed a master vampire. I didn't share with her the fact he had already been previously landed by another woman.

  "Listen," she said. "I wanted to tell you and I'm hoping it doesn't mean anything whatsoever, but it's about the reunion."

  "What about it?"

  "I consulted a psychic about the decorations."

  Missy, although a few years older than me and not attending the reunion tonight, was on the reunion organizing committee. It was a yearly thing and it kept her busy.

  "You consulted a psychic about the reunion decorations?" I repeated it to make sure I'd heard her right.

  "It's hard to make a gymnasium look like a fairy-tale castle. A little help goes a long way."

  "I'm sure that it does." I took a sip of my wine. "And what did she have to say?"

  "She said that a beautiful varnish wouldn't change the darkness that lurks inside" She swallowed hard. "I have no idea what she meant by that. Her eyes went all white and weird and then she snapped back to normal and didn't even remember what she said at all."

  "White eyeballs? That is weird."

  She chewed her bottom lip. "Do me a favor and be careful tonight. Madame Chiquita is apparently extremely accurate."

  "I promise to be on the lookout for any dark, lurking varnish." Great. White-eyeballed psychics were giving unpleasant predictions about the reunion. Or maybe Missy was just paranoid.

  That made two of us.

  "Missy!" Richard called. "Uncle Charlie wants to plan a fishing trip with me. Can you come over here, please?"

  She grinned at me. "Duty calls."

  I turned away, wondering how much money Missy had been charged by her reunion psychic, and realized my father was standing directly behind me.

  "Hey, Dad." I smiled without showing my fangs and gave him a hug. "Great to see you."

  My chest gave out a weak twinge of pain and I had a quick and unexpected flashback of the stake being in my chest.

  Just relax, I told myself. Act normal You're normal. Everything is fine.

&nb
sp; My father eyed Thierry, who, across the room, seemed to be having an awkward conversation following a rather tight hug from my aunt Mildred.

  "Who is this fellow, anyhow?" he asked. "You've never mentioned him before. What happened to George? I thought you two were engaged?"

  Long story. A case of mistaken identity at Missy's wedding. Hilarity ensued. Ancient history.

  I cleared my throat. "I'm with Thierry now. I'm sure you'll love him."

  "He doesn't seem your type."

  "Oh, he is my type. Trust me."

  "Where's he from?"

  "Toronto mostly."

  "What does he do for a living?"

  "Uh… he owns a nightclub."

  He gave me a look that informed me that he didn't consider that a worthy or respectable occupation. Until five years ago when he retired, my father was on the Abottsville police force. He was well known for his excellent interrogation skills.

  "How old is he?"

  I swallowed. "He's thirty-six. Just turned."

  "Eight years older than you? That is a significant age difference, Sarah."

  Right. If only he knew the truth. "It doesn't make a difference to me."

  "He's wearing a very expensive suit. He has money?"

  "Sure." I gulped another mouthful of wine.

  "Have you gotten another full-time job yet?"

  "Um, no, not yet."

  "So are you saying that this new rich boyfriend of yours is supporting you?"

  "More wine, please!" I hollered. My mother came by and topped off my glass.

  My father's expression softened a bit and he put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry if it seems that I'm being judgmental, but I only care about what's best for my little girl." His eyes narrowed and he took another look at the suspect in question. "I get a strange vibe from him. Like there's something off. But you say you're happy with him?"

  "Ecstatically so."

  He looked at me sternly. "What is the rule about sarcasm in this house?"

  "Only on Saturdays?"

  "Sarah—"

  "Look, Dad, what do you want me to say? I'm in love with Thierry. I wanted you and

  Mom to meet him. He's really great."

  He nodded and watched my mother tentatively approach Thierry and a couple of aunts to see if they wanted some cheese and crackers. The aunts went for it. Thierry declined.

  "Are you planning on getting engaged?" he asked.

  I choked a little on my latest sip of sparkling wine. "Not in the immediate future."

  He frowned. "Why not? Doesn't he want to commit?"

  "Look, can we lay off the twenty questions already and talk about something else?"

  My mother approached with the tray of cheese and crackers. "Talk about what?"

  "Sarah and Thierry have no plans of committing to each other," my father commented.

  "Perhaps he's not the marrying kind."

  My mother looked distraught. "But, Sarah, why waste your time with someone who doesn't want to marry you? You're still young, but time is a fleeting thing. You know what they say about the cow and the milk, don't you?"

  "Mom—"

  "You're not giving away free milk, are you, honey?"

  I sighed heavily. "What is marriage? I mean, seriously. It's just a piece of paper. Or, possibly, a chiseled ancient tablet of some kind or however they did it back in the fourteenth century. It doesn't mean anything. I like things just the way they are."

  "But you always dreamed of a perfect wedding," my mother persisted. "With a white dress and a long veil and doves released at the end of the ceremony!"

  "Dreams can change," I said. And I meant it, too.

  "I think I know what's going on here." My father's arms were crossed. "He's a married man, isn't he?"

  My eyes widened. Damn, he was a good cop.

  Mom gasped and held a hand up to her mouth. "No! He's married? To another woman? Sarah, what on earth are you thinking?"

  Instead of throwing up on the pale green wall-to-wall carpeting, which was my first inclination, I glanced over to where Thierry was surrounded by the aunt entourage. They'd popped a tape into the VCR and were taking the liberty of showing him my secret shame, aka the only commercial I'd done when I'd been an aspiring actress. I hadn't even known it was still in existence.

  "Feel fresh as the morning dew," the twenty-year-old me (with much longer hair) said with a big, bright, and shiny smile. "With Daisy Fresh personal deodorant maxi-pads you'll never worry about not being as fabulous as you can possibly be!"

  Obviously things could not get any worse than they already were.

  I turned back and fixed my parents with a steady look. "Hey, guess what? I'm a vampire."

  They frowned.

  "What did you say, dear?" my mother asked.

  "I'm a vampire. It happened a couple of months ago. So, I won't be aging anymore. I'm immortal. I've come home to go to my reunion so I have a chance to feel happy and normal again. Still waiting. I just thought you'd like to know."

  "You're a vampire," my father repeated.

  I rubbed my stake wound absently. "That's right."

  He shook his head. "And you think that this is some sort of excuse for taking part in a shameful, adulterous relationship?"

  My mother sniffed and drew a Kleenex out of her shirt sleeve. "My little girl. My poor little girl!"

  I blinked. "Didn't you hear the part about me being a vampire?"

  "Yes, and we're ignoring that. Obviously you are wracked with guilt over these life choices and it's making you delusional." My father sighed heavily. "I really think you should move back here for a while. Get your head straight."

  "Sarah," I felt Thierry's arm come around my waist. "How is everything over here?"

  My father fixed Thierry with an icy glare. "Just so you know, I do not approve of the kind of life you're subjecting our daughter to."

  Thierry's expression didn't change. "I'm sorry?"

  "You should be sorry. Sarah deserves better. She deserves a bright future with a man who adores her, not someone who wants to use and discard her like a dollar-store hanky."

  "I assure you that is not my intention and apologize if I've somehow given that impression in the short time I've been here. I only want the best for Sarah."

  My father's face was as cold as I'd ever seen it. I'd seen him look at criminals with more kindness in his eyes. "I'm going upstairs to watch the golf channel." He moved past us but touched my arm. "Remember what I said, Sarah. Your room is always open for you."

  He left.

  My aunts were replaying my maxipad commercial for the fifth time and commenting on how pretty I'd looked and how unfortunate it was that I chose not to pursue a career in acting. They beckoned for me to come and join them.

  I looked at my mom.

  She cleared her throat. "Would anyone care for some more wine?"

  My ten-minute estimate was very optimistic, since it took two more hours until we were out of there, and the reunion was to start in a little over an hour. I had barely any time to get ready. The sun had already set by the time we walked down the ice-and-snow-covered driveway. Thierry was silent as he steered the car away from the curb and got back on the main street of Abottsville.

  "I'm sorry about that," I said. "Really."

  "Did I say something I shouldn't have?" he asked. "If so, then I do apologize."

  I shook my head. "I'm not even sure what happened, myself. They just freaked out."

  "About what?"

  I pressed back into the leather seat. I so didn't want to talk about this. "I told them I was a vampire."

  He took his attention briefly off the road to glance at me with surprise. "Why would you do that?"

  "Because I wanted them to know."

  "And that's how they reacted to this news? They hold me responsible for this change?"

  I chewed my bottom lip. "Not exactly. Somehow they figured out that you're married and then they completely disregarded the whole vampire thing. Being a vampire
isn't as bad as dating a married man to them, I guess."

  His jaw was tight. "I don't blame them."

  I raised my eyebrows at that. "You don't?"

  "No."

  "I'll explain to them why it's different for us. That Veronique is out of the picture.

  Etcetera, etcetera. They'll understand."

  Then again, I didn't really understand, so how could I hope that my parents would?

  He shook his head. "It still isn't right."

  I shrugged and glanced at the clock—it was already after six. "Look, don't worry about it.

  I know that things aren't going to change—that it's impossible—but it doesn't change my feelings for you."

  His attention was steady on the road ahead. "It's not impossible."

  I frowned. "What did you say?"

  He pulled the car off to the side of the road just past downtown Abottsville, next to a very large hotdog-shaped building that in the summer sold—believe it or not—hotdogs, and shifted into park. He turned to look at me with those silvery eyes of his. "I said, it's not impossible."

  "I don't know what you mean."

  His throat worked as he swallowed. "Veronique has been a part of my life for so many years I can't remember ever not knowing her."

  I cringed inwardly at that. "Of course. You've known her since practically the Stone Age.

  Plus, she's completely gorgeous and perfect and well-dressed. And she speaks French."

  "That's not what I meant." He frowned deeply. "It was different years ago. Most marriages were arranged or were entered into for the sake of convenience. One never had to worry about falling out of love with someone and wanting to get a divorce, since love rarely played a part in such agreements."

  "One out of two marriages end in divorce these days," I said, feeling strange and uncomfortable sitting here in the car and talking about marriage. Besides, we were now running really late for the reunion.

  My stake wound itched.

  "A disheartening statistic," he said.

  I forced a smile. "Listen, Thierry, you don't have to get all analytical on me. I understand your situation." Not really. "I know that, even if you wanted to, divorcing Veronique is impossible."