So, I'm the queen of the dead. And the lout I'm hopelessly attracted to, yet despise, is my king. For all intents and purposes, we're stuck for the next thousand years.
A week ago my biggest problem was finding a new job. Now I had to worry about running a kingdom of vampires, keeping my hands off Sinclair (because, oh God, I still want him, would do just about anything to feel his hands and-other things-again), giving Tina the cold shoulder until I decided to forgive her, keeping Jessica and Marc from starting their new crime fighting business (HELP, Inc.), and help thousands of vampires acclimate to being in charge of their own destiny.
Not to mention finding permanent suck buddies and a paying job-I was undead and unemployed, and couldn't live off Jessica's charity forever.
Worse, my mom was completely taken with Sinclair. He really swept her off her feet when he came to take her out of harm's way. She thinks the fact that Sinclair is the king is just dandy. "You know, Betsy, just because you're a vampire doesn't mean you can't settle down with someone. Just because you're undead doesn't mean you have to be unwed."
Yeah, sure. I planned to stay unwed, for a thousand years to be exact. Having that sneaky Sinclair as a consort was bad enough (and what exactly was a consort, anyway?); I wasn't about to become the little woman.
Now if I could just get him to quit dropping off pairs of designer shoes. In his last card he said he would drop off a pair a day until I forgave him. I'm up to fourteen pairs of Pradas, eight pairs of Manolos, and six Ferragamos.
Maybe I'll forgive him...eventually.
I'm still waiting for this season's red Beverly Feldman pumps.