“The designer brought the finalized design to the house the other night. The fitting went well.” At least she assumed that it did. The designer had cooed over the cut and drape of the satin, not complaining once about the rush of the order. Gemma had not even looked into the mirror. She hired the designer she normally used for her professional wardrobe. As a rule, he did not coo. Like others she employed regularly, she appreciated his professionalism and had come to trust him. If he said she looked stunning, she did.
“Any last minute details I can help with before the weekend? The officiant? Has that been sorted out?”
“Terry is taking care of it. He has some human acquaintance who can take care of the legal matters.”
“Ah. He must have been planning this for some time, then.”
“Mina, you really ought to try to keep the smug tone from your voice. It’s distracting.”
“I’ll try, dear, but it’s hard when you’ve been proven right.”
Gemma tried not to roll her eyes. It was an annoying habit she endevored to avoid. Her assistant had told her only months before that her long-time fiancee had seemed… restless. Gemma thought he’d probably try to have an affair, which disappointed her on a level she didn’t want to examine too closely. After all, she liked Terry. Maiming him and leaving London were hardly options she relished.
Wilhelmina, on the other hand, suggested that the foolish vampire had truly wanted to wed her. Ridiculous.
And apparently correct.
“So, you never did tell me how he managed to convince you down the aisle.”
And I never will. “We had a conversation. He expressed his wishes. I expressed mine. We came to an agreement.” And a rather fabulous climax.
Gemma tried not to curl her lip. She was still irritated with him. She’d been angry at first, so angry she didn’t even linger in his rooms once the orgasmic haze had worn off. She hadn’t yelled, either. She didn’t need to. Terry knew how furious she was. They never slept together during the day, but she usually indulged in a brief respite of chatting and a second go, if things between them were pleasant. That night, she’d stormed out of his bedroom and hadn’t touched him since.
She couldn’t. Touching Terry was her weakness. It always had been.
“Well, everyone I speak to is excited about it. If nothing else, it’ll be a fantastic party.”
“It certainly will be.” Gemma flipped through the estimate from the florist. By God, this wedding was going to cost a fortune, but they couldn’t avoid it. In their position, they had to make a statement, and the union of one of the oldest clans in Britain with the young vampire leader of London was the event of the decade. Planning events had never been a problem for Gemma, but dealing with the particular needs of some of Britain’s most… unusual citizens would have given her a headache if it was physically possible.
“Who knew it was so difficult to find lightly scented flowers this time of year?” The florist was shipping most of their stock in from hothouses in the Netherlands. That was only one of the special accommodations Gemma had to make. Delicately spiced food for sensitive taste buds. A string ensemble would take care of the task to not offend any preternaturally acute hearing. The aforementioned flowers…
All in less than a week. Bloody irritating water vampire.
She clipped through two more piles of messages, one having to do solely with the wedding, the other with the myriad business interests, charitable foundations, and family obligations that Gemma handled. It was less since Carwyn and Deirdre were splitting the load, but it still seemed like one of their clan or their extensive progeny was always in need of something. At the bottom of the family pile, there was a note written in a distinctive gaudy red ink.
‘Can’t wait for Friday night, luv.’ —T
Gemma couldn’t quite stifle the small snarl that erupted.
Daniel propped his hand on his chin, looking at her indulgently. “I just don’t understand why you’re so irritated, Gem. You’d agreed to marry the man anyway. You’ve been engaged for ten years now.”
“Exactly.” She sipped her pint and relaxed into the quiet corner booth at the pub where Daniel had dragged her. She was wearing denim pants and a snug t-shirt. Her regular heels had been replaced with a pair of casual boots. Only for Daniel. “There was nothing wrong with our relationship, in my opinion. Why on earth he had to go and complicate that by actually getting married is beyond me.”
Daniel threw his head back and laughed. “You’re such a control freak, Gemma.”
“And that’s why I’ve remained alive for as long as I have.”
It was something she worried about with her brother. He had the same joyous disposition as their sire, but little of the wisdom or caution. Daniel was reckless.
Daniel winked. “Besides, isn’t it time you married and settled down, old girl?”
“You’re just asking for a beating. And what makes you think I haven’t already?” She took a longer drink of the dark ale.
“What, married?” Daniel blinked in surprise. “You were married?”
Gemma shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
“Well?” Daniel leaned closer and grinned. “What happened? You kill him when you got tired of him?”
She couldn’t stop the instant rush of pain. Heartache. Regret. Even after so many hundreds of years. Daniel must have seen something in her eyes, because he pulled her a bit closer. “Gemma?”