Blood Bond asc-9

by Jeanne C. Stein

  A sound from downstairs draws me to the window. Dad is greeting the first guests, the family from next door. He looks so handsome in his suit, white hair brushed straight back from a smooth forehead, smile erasing some of the worry lines that have formed around his mouth since my mother’s illness. Father of the bride. A title that probably surprises him as much as it does me!

  At ten, a knock and Mom and Trish walk in.

  Trish looks radiant. Lisette pulled her buttercream hair back from her face, fastened it at the crown with a garland of flowers and ribbon the same rose color as her dress. The rest falls to her shoulders in soft curls. I can only shake my head at how splendid she looks.

  As does my mother. Her hair, thinned by illness and medicine, has been transformed through the magic of a hairpiece. Lisette matched Mom’s hair perfectly, adding fullness at the top and back by expertly blending a short cascade of curls with her real hair. She did Mom’s makeup, too.

  “No one is going to be looking at me,” I say, hugging first Mom and then Trish. “They’ll be too busy looking at you two.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Trish says. “Look at yourself.”

  She says it in the offhand, casual way one does, but Mom and I know that’s not something that’s going to happen.

  Unless—

  “Mom. Do you have a digital camera?”

  “I do.” She turns to Trish. “It’s downstairs on Grandpa’s desk. Will you get it please?” When Trish is out the door, she raises an eyebrow at me. “You can be photographed?”

  “Not on film. But digitally . . .”

  “Then quick, let’s get your dress on. When Trish comes back we’ll take a couple of pictures.”

  I take off my robe and Mom helps me slip into the dress. She stands back, eyes shining, her expression saying more than words. Trish is back, camera in hand, and she, too, gives me the nod of approval.

  Mom takes the camera, but before she can start snapping away, Trish yelps. “We almost forgot! The ‘something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue’ thing!” It comes out in a rush, one long hyphenated word.

  “You’re right.” Mom lays the camera down and pulls three small packages from the pocket of her jacket. She hands two to Trish, the third to me. “Your beautiful dress is something new. This is something old.”

  My hands are suddenly trembling. I tear at the tissue to find a small jewelry box. When I open it, there is a pair of pearl earrings nestled against black velvet. “Oh, Mom.” I touch the earrings. I recognize them. “These were your mother’s.”

  “And now they’re yours.” She turns to Trish.

  Trish is grinning. “Something borrowed.”

  “Uh-oh,” I tease. “Something borrowed from a teenager? What is this? Your iPod?”

  But when I open the package, it’s a simple gold bracelet of dainty heart-shaped links. “Trish, this is beautiful.”

  “It’s the only thing I have from my dad,” she says wistfully. “Mom said he gave it to her when he found out she was pregnant.”

  God. I have to fight to keep my expression from betraying a sudden wave of anger. Another in her mother’s web of lies. The bracelet couldn’t be from my brother. He died before knowing Trish’s mother was pregnant. With another man’s child.

  But I’m lying, too.

  Every minute of every day. Because I’ve perpetuated the lie.

  When I look at the strong, courageous young woman Trish has become because of that lie, though, I know I made the right choice.

  I accept the bracelet with a smile and slip it on.

  Trish holds out the last package. “Your fiancé picked this out,” she says with a mischievous smile.

  “He did, did he?” I tear off the paper. A blue garter. I hold it up. “Hmmmm. Now whatever is he going to do with this?”

  Trish is laughing and Mom motions for me to put it on so I slip the garter over my knee. Then she waits until I’ve made the last adjustment, putting on the earrings, to stand back and give me the once-over.

  “You are a beautiful bride, Anna.”

  “Take a picture, take a picture,” Trish says excitedly. Then, “Wait, wait. We forgot the bouquet.” And she’s out the door running down the hall for Mom’s bedroom. There’s a gasp as we hear her say next, “No. Don’t look in. Aunt Anna has her gown on. It’s bad luck. Go on downstairs.”

  Mom and I smile at each other. Frey must have snuck upstairs for a peek. He grumbles something, but we hear his tread on the stairs so he’s heeding Trish’s heated admonition.

  Trish is back with the bouquet. Roses. The same pale color as my dress. When I’m holding the bouquet, Mom starts snapping. After half a dozen shots, I’m too impatient to wait any longer. “Let me see,” I say, almost dancing with excitement. I haven’t seen what I look like in over a year . . . and that was a fuzzy newspaper photo.

  Mom hands me the camera and stands back to watch, her arms around Trish’s shoulders, her eyes shining.

  My hands tremble as I work the display. I can’t believe I’m looking at my own image. My hair is lighter than I remember, honey blonde, with even paler streaks highlighting a face I expected to look drastically different. It doesn’t. My eyes are softer than I would have imagined, still human, even after all they’ve seen. Lisette did a great job with a simple, subtle application of makeup that gives my tanned skin a glow. The dress hugs the curves of my body, my legs look long and lean, my arms toned.

  “I don’t look half bad.” I don’t realize I’ve said that aloud until Trish snorts.

  “Are you kidding? Didn’t you look in the mirror? You’re drop-dead gorgeous.”

  Mom winks at me over her head and goes to the window. “I hear the orchestra. I think everyone’s here.” She hustles Trish out the door. “Go see if it’s time, will you?”

  When Trish has left, Mom takes my hands and stands back as if taking her own mental snapshot. We don’t speak, don’t move, either of us. She looks happy, content. I feel happy, content. It’s so strange and wonderful. Unexpected. Magical.

  If only it could last forever.

  CHAPTER 31

  I PEEK OUT THE WINDOW WHEN I HEAR THE STRING quartet begin to play what I’ve chosen as my processional: Bach’s Prelude in C.

  Mom looks at me, her eyebrows raised.

  I grin at her. “This is my surprise for you. I remember you saying it’s what you chose when you married Dad.”

  Her eyes fill with tears, but I shake a finger at her. “No crying, remember? Your crying will ruin my makeup.”

  Another glance out the window. Trish is walking down the aisle hand in hand with John-John. They take their places in front, John-John at Frey’s side, Trish to the left. I look at Mom. It’s our cue. She takes my hand and we go downstairs to where Dad is waiting at the gate to the garden.

  Mom gives my hand one last squeeze before she places it in Dad’s. He leans over and pecks my cheek. “Your hands are cold as ice. Don’t be nervous. You look beautiful.”

  Mom winks at me. “Here we go.”

  She precedes us down the red carpet that’s been laid from the edge of the garden to a flower-strewn pergola. The officiate is waiting for us on the steps. It’s Pierre. I wonder with a grin if Frey will be disappointed that it’s not Hot Lips performing the ceremony.

  This is the first time I’ve seen the garden since the workmen arrived yesterday. Three rows of chairs have been placed in a semicircle facing a raised dais. The chairs are filled with Mom and Dad’s friends and neighbors and at the front, David and Tracey. Lots of flowers. Everywhere. I sense Chael, too, though at the moment I’m too excited, nervous, terrified to look around.

  My eyes focus on Frey. He’s waiting for me, John-John at his side. He steps forward to give Mom’s cheek a kiss and when she’s taken her place in the front row, his gaze turns to me.

  In that moment, all our history, all our mistakes, all our past evaporates. It’s as if I’m seeing him for the first time. He reaches out a hand and Dad place
s my palm in his. Then Dad kisses my cheek, too, and joins Mom.

  I can’t take my eyes off Frey. His wonderful familiar face suddenly looks different. It’s not a reflection of his clothes. He’s handsome in his tux, but he’s handsome in jeans and an old sweatshirt. It’s something new in his gaze when he looks at me.

  It’s devotion. In his eyes. Shining from his face. A promise that he will never let me down. I knew he loved me. I didn’t know until this minute how much. Or realize how much I loved him. It’s magical. Joyous. I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ve found my soul mate.

  He bends his head and whispers in my ear, “You are even more beautiful than I imagined you’d be.”

  And in that instant, nervousness and fear disappear. I throw my arms around his neck and hold him—so tight I feel his breath catch. And then he’s hugging me back and I’ve never felt so safe.

  Suddenly, laughter erupts from the guests seated behind us, and the officiate pulls us gently apart. “That’s at the end,” he quips.

  And so I disentangle myself from Frey and we’re both grinning as the ceremony really begins.

  The vows are simple, promises to be faithful, to love each other through dark days and light, to protect and defend each other. Uncomplicated concepts to mortals, but to us, vampire and shape-shifter, they take on a special meaning. We repeat them solemnly, together, eyes locked. We exchange rings, gold bands each engraved with one word: forever. Then Pierre proclaims us husband and wife.

  “Now you may kiss the bride.”

  And so Frey does. A deep, lingering kiss that has my heart pounding until the sound of applause brings us up for air.

  The recessional blasts from speakers hidden among the foliage. Frey watches my face as I recognize the song. Since I picked the processional, he insisted on choosing the appropriate recessional. “It’s perfect,” I say. “But who picked it out, you or Dad?”

  Then there’s another gale of laughter and applause when the audience, too, recognizes the familiar composition.

  What could be more fitting than the “Hallelujah Chorus”?

  * * *

  I’M MARRIED. I HAVE TO KEEP REPEATING IT LIKE A MANTRA TO BELIEVE IT. EVEN WITH ALL THE PEOPLE OFFERING CONGRATULATIONS AND MY FOLKS BEAMING, IT doesn’t seem real.

  Chael approaches with his guests. Plural. He not only has a very young, very human, very French model type on his arm, but he’s brought someone else, too.

  Vlad’s eyes twinkle as he bends low to kiss my hand. “You make a lovely bride,” he says.

  You kept a low profile, I say with a smile. I didn’t know you were here.

  I wasn’t sure you’d be pleased at my coming.

  Frey and I are in your debt, I reply. You are always welcome.

  Chael looks puzzled by the exchange but I don’t give him time to ask about it. I address myself again to Vlad. You’ll have to fill Chael in on our adventure.

  Vlad nods and laughs. He looks very handsome in a tailored suit, his hair pulled away from his face and secured at the back of his neck. He, too, has a woman on his arm, but this one doesn’t look happy to have been brought to such a commonplace event. As a human, she no doubt expected more excitement from her vampire date.

  Your date looks bored.

  He grimaces and shoots her a sideways frown. I made a mistake bringing her. She’s too young and inexperienced to appreciate the beauty of this occasion.

  Young, yes. Inexperienced, I doubt it.

  That brings a chuckle from both Chael and Vlad and a stern look from the date, who probably guesses that we are having a conversation and she is more than likely the topic.

  “Allons, cher, je veux un peu de champagne,” she says through pouty lips, pulling on Vlad’s arm.

  He bows an apology and moves toward the buffet and bar set among the trees.

  I look around for Frey. He’s chatting with some of my parent’s friends. He had thrown a questioning look Vlad’s way when he spied him among the guests, but he remained with the little knot by the buffet table. I join him now, slipping my arm through his. He nibbles my earlobe, using the diversion to whisper, “Everything all right?”

  His eyes are on Vlad and Chael, now chatting it up with Mom and Dad. Vlad’s date still looks like she wants to be anywhere but here, but the sour expression is hidden behind a glass of champagne so I doubt my exuberant parents notice.

  “Everything is more than all right.” I tip my face toward his. “I’ve never been happier.”

  Trish is suddenly at our side, John-John beside her. She holds a silver cake knife. “Come on, you two. It’s time to cut the cake!”

  She takes my hand and John-John takes Frey’s and we’re pulled to the end of the buffet table where the magnificent wedding cake is on proud display. Someone clangs a fork against a glass and in a minute, we’re surrounded.

  Trish hands me the knife. Now this is going to be tricky. If I so much as get a mouthful of cake, there will be serious repercussions. I cut two small pieces and offer one to Frey.

  Luckily, Frey knows the drill. I go first, stuffing a forkful of cake in his mouth; well, mostly in his mouth. He grins and uses his fingers to scoop up the excess, wiping them on a napkin Trish holds out. Then he holds up his piece of cake, but instead of aiming for my mouth, he swivels suddenly, leans down and pushes it at John-John.

  An excited, surprised squeal and John-John grabs his father’s hand, and the two are soon covered mouth to chin in chocolate cake and whipped cream frosting. The guests howl in laughter. It’s a perfect distraction and before anyone notices I haven’t had a bite of cake, I’m wiping my lips and smacking in feigned appreciation.

  Well done.

  I spy Vlad at the edge of the crowd, clapping his hands along with everyone else. Then more champagne is poured, the cake served, and I turn my attention to helping Frey and his son clean frosting off their clothes.

  I sense the tenseness in the air before seeing David and Tracey approach. They are not holding hands. She tries to smile at me, but it falls a hundred kilowatts short of her usual high-beam grin. David is tight-lipped, shoulders bunched.

  “Uh-oh,” I whisper to Frey. “Here comes trouble.” I hand him the napkin I was using to help John-John clean up. “You take Tracey, I’ll take David.” And I’m off to grab David’s arm, pulling him to the edge of the garden where we can have some privacy.

  “What the fuck, Anna?” he snaps, rubbing his bicep.

  I guess I grabbed him harder than I realized. But he’s not going to sidetrack me. “Fine way to talk to a bride,” I snap right back. “What did you do to Tracey?”

  His face softens from aggravation to something that looks a lot like guilt. “I broke up with her.”

  Now I wish I’d grabbed him harder. “You broke up with her? At my wedding? What the fuck, David?”

  “Fine way for a bride to talk,” he growls right back. But now it’s guilt plainly stamped on his face. “I just couldn’t let her go on thinking we had a future. It wasn’t fair.”

  “Jesus, David. Tell me it’s not because of Gloria.”

  “It’s not because of Gloria.”

  Too fast, and not at all convincing. “So all that bullshit you fed me about you and Gloria just being friends was just that? Bullshit?” I don’t give him time to respond. “You had sex with Tracey last night.”

  His head jerks up. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I heard you.”

  Color floods up his face. “God. You could hear us?”

  He’s embarrassed. Good. No sense letting him off the hook by telling him it was because of my super-acute sense of hearing. “Yes. So, you had sex with her last night and broke up with her this morning. Real classy, David.”

  His jaw tightens. “We’re both adults. She wanted to have sex. So did I.”

  “Last night. So did you just wake up this morning and think, today Anna is getting married. Good time to break up with Tracey.”

  He looks down at his hands. “It wasn’t like tha
t. Exactly.”

  “I don’t even want to know what it was like. Exactly. John-John is more mature than you are.” But I soften my voice. “Can’t you make things right with Tracey?”

  “How am I supposed to do that?” For the first time in our conversation, his eyes spark defensively. “Tracey knew all along I wasn’t prepared to get serious. I told her so. I told you so, remember? But with all the wedding preparations and watching you and Frey so crazy in love, it suddenly hit me that I wasn’t being fair to Tracey. She deserves someone who can give her what you have. It isn’t me.”

  I take his arm and turn him to face Frey and Tracey still standing by the wedding cake. “Are you sure? Look at Tracey. She’s beautiful, smart, strong, sexy, and she cares about you.”

  He looks at Tracey. The sadness tugging at her mouth and clouding her eyes makes my heart heavy. But the look quickly morphs into one of grim determination when she catches David’s eyes on her. She squares her shoulders and deliberately turns her back on him.

  Tracey is a tough chick. A truth suddenly dawns on me with such clarity, I can’t believe I hadn’t seen it before. One of those “aha” moments you read about in books but seldom experience in real life.

  This one hits me with the force of a sledgehammer. Maybe it’s because of my mother or what Frey and I just went through or maybe it’s because of the conversation I had with Vlad. Only one thing matters in this life. And it’s about time I stopped trying to force David into a relationship he doesn’t want because it’s a relationship I think he should.

  I take a deep breath and plunge in. “I can’t force you to make things right with Tracey. And I’m about to utter words you never in your wildest dreams imagined I’d ever say.”

  David’s face darkens. “What now?”

  Are the words going to get caught in my throat? Choke me? Shit. Let’s get this over with. I look David square in the eyes. “If it’s really Gloria you love, don’t waste any more time. Go get her.”

  I couldn’t have surprised David more if I’d declared my own undying love for him. His eyes widen, his mouth falls open.