by Chloe Neill
My grandfather smiled. “By the power vested in me by the state of Illinois, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Forever, Ethan said, just for me.
Forever, I agreed, and could all but feel his love, powerful and strong, like a blanket around us both.
My grandfather smiled, lifted his arms. “You may kiss the vampire.”
Ethan wasted no time. His eyes gleaming with power, with pride, he slid a hand around my neck and moved in for the kiss, which was powerful and deep, and singularly possessive.
Our family and friends stood, applauding and catcalling, but Ethan ignored them.
He let the kiss get just heated enough to singe before pulling back again.
The silver in his eyes glowed. “I love you,” he said. Mrs. Sullivan, he added in silence, just for me.
Mr. Merit, I offered back.
He smiled. You are mine and I am yours, whatever the titles.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” my grandfather said, “a Sentinel and her Master.”
“That works,” I whispered, as Mallory handed back my bouquet, Ethan took my hand, and the audience cheered.
Katherine and Thomas began their music. Together, we walked down the aisle, among friends and family and lumps of rose petals, and into our future.
• • •
The spare elegance my mother and Helen had managed for the service had been abandoned for the reception.
It was held on the other side of the divided space and featured a parquet dance floor and plenty of cocktail tables and round tables with seating, all of it draped with tropical flowers. There were pots of palm trees, birds-of-paradise in clear cylinders on every table, and floral swags hanging from the ceiling.
My mother insisted we not enter the reception proper until Shay had photographed us in every possible position around the exterior of the room with every possible group of individuals. Family groups, friend groups, House groups, business associate groups. (A ticket to the Merit-Sullivan wedding was apparently a hot one.)
You spared no expense, I silently said, smiling as Ethan shook the hand of one of my father’s business associates. He’d paid for the bulk of the wedding from his own personal savings.
You’re worth it, he said.
When every photographic box had been checked, Shay released us, and the leader of the band stepped to the microphone.
“I am thrilled to present, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Ethan Sullivan!” He hadn’t gotten the naming memo, but then, he also probably hadn’t played a wedding for supernatural creatures who didn’t generally use last names. We were a particular bunch.
We’d survived the wedding and made it to the reception. For the first time, I felt myself relax. Felt that knot of tension in my gut finally loosen.
Vampires came forward. They came to pay homage to Ethan, to greet and congratulate us. Nicole Heart, with dark skin and serious eyes, hair waving gently at her bare shoulders in a dress of pale peach. Morgan Greer, head of Chicago’s Navarre House, with pale skin, dark hair, and dreamily good looks.
There were more Masters, more humans, more captains of finance, industry, and academia whom Ethan had come to know in his many years as a vampire. Supernaturals of most peaceful varieties, which left a few humans staring at the nymphs, trolls, and broad-shouldered shifters.
Saxophones filled the air, and the singer did a pretty good impression of Al Green as he began to croon “Let’s Stay Together.”
Ethan held out his hand, crooked his finger to beckon me forward. Need I call you, Sentinel?
I grinned at him. Why don’t we save that for the honeymoon? I offered my hand, and he pulled me against the long, hard line of his body, to the enjoyment of the crowd, which hooted in appreciation.
One of his hands in mine, the other at the small of my back, we swayed to the music while the crowd watched.
The happiness in the room was literally palpable, magic bubbling into the air from supernaturals who nursed champagne, chatted and caught up, or otherwise enjoyed a good party.
“It looks like everyone’s having a good time,” I told him.
“I believe you’re right,” Ethan said, and, when I looked back at him, tipped up my chin for a kiss. He got catcalls for the effort that I’m pretty sure came from Luc’s direction.
I love you, he said. Truly, madly, fiercely. So much that I’m nearly drunk with it.
Part of that may be the very good champagne, I said. The French may make irritating vampires, but they make very good bubbles.
Ethan smiled. So they do.
And I love you, too. And I think you will very much enjoy the trousseau I’ve put together later.
His brows lifted with interest. I’m enjoying even knowing that it exists.
Just you wait, I said, and gave him a wink.
• • •
We danced, and the world around us disappeared. There were only Ethan and me and the sweeping melody among the glow of those thousand candles. No politics, no drama. Just love and hope, and the fact that this incredibly sexy and powerful man belonged to me.
When the song ended, Ethan spun me around and dipped me low to more applause and amusement.
“You are really working the crowd tonight.”
“It’s my party,” he said with a smile.
The sound of ringing crystal was a welcome interruption. We looked back, found Amit on the small stage, microphone in hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “for those who don’t know me, my name is Amit Patel. And I have had the dubious honor of knowing the groom for more than a century.”
There were well-timed chuckles.
“I have seen him at his worst, and this wouldn’t be a very good wedding toast if I didn’t share at least a few of those embarrassing anecdotes with you.”
“Good Lord,” Ethan whispered beside me, as my smile spread.
Embarrassing anecdotes about my gorgeous husband seemed like the perfect cure for family-related blues.
“Yes, please!” I yelled out.
“Well, there was the time the only mount we could find was a very sad-looking donkey. So close your eyes, if you will, and imagine Masterful Ethan Sullivan riding Eeyore. Until Eeyore decided he wasn’t interested in being ridden, and chucked him into the street. The look on his face—even then.” Amit stopped to laugh. “He was shocked—absolutely shocked—that a donkey would dare.” His smile was warm when he looked at Ethan again. “He was a Master even then. And then there was the time in a certain house of ill repute . . .”
There were salacious whispers in the audience, and Ethan cleared his throat. “Pay him no mind, Sentinel.”
“Oh, I’m paying him all the mind. Please continue!” I called out.
“Ethan, of course, did not partake of the less honorable offerings. But he was running from a human who suspected Ethan of demonic leanings. So, of course, Ethan pitched out the window. Landed in a horse trough, to the amusement of all.”
I snorted, glanced at Ethan. “Why do you always end up on the ground?”
“He’s choosing selectively,” Ethan said, shaking his head at Amit.
“But there is more, of course,” Amit said. “More stories, good and bad. Because while I have seen Ethan at his worst, I have also seen Ethan at his best.” He glanced at me. “And he is at his best when he is with you. That, I think, is the best kind of love. Love doesn’t guarantee happiness or wealth or success. But if you’re willing to commit to it, to work at it, it guarantees partnership. So that no matter the trials or tribulations, no matter the joy or loss, you are not alone.” He raised his glass. “To Ethan and Merit.”
“To Ethan and Merit!” the crowd responded, punctuated with more clapping and the ringing of crystal, which hopefully distracted them from the tears I swiftly wiped away.
Amit handed the microphone
to Mallory, then stepped down and moved to us. He shook hands with Ethan, then pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Congratulations and Godspeed.”
“Appreciated on both counts,” I said with a smile.
“My turn!” Mallory said. “I wanted to do a skit, but our illustrious wedding planners ixnayed that idea. I also proposed to learn how to play the ukulele and honor our Merit and Ethan with a song, but that was a no-go. So I guess I’ll have to use my words.”
“You can do it!” Catcher yelled out.
“Thank you, honey,” she said with a chuckle. “I debated how much detail I should get into on this stage, whether I should embarrass her completely, or just a little bit. I’ll probably take the high road.” She put a hand on her hip, getting into the speech. “But I will note for the record that she has an unparalleled love of chocolate, and she was, for a brief time, obsessed with the Backstreet Boys.”
“Oh God,” I murmured, and covered my face with a hand.
“What’s a Backstreet Boy?” Ethan whispered.
“Never you mind,” I said. “Never you mind.”
“There’s the ‘vacation’ to DC, in which she spent three full days in the Library of Congress, the one time I took her bowling. One time,” she repeated, with a dramatic eye roll and headshake. “And the incident involving the marathon she basically ruined when she tripped the front-runner.”
“It was an accident!” I insisted. “He ran into me.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Mallory said. “Our girl, our bride, is a little bookish, obsessed with chocolate, and prone to become obsessive about the weirdest things. Newsies,” she added through a fake cough.
“But most of all,” she said, settling her gaze on me again, “there is Merit. There is joy and curiosity and bravery that’s almost ridiculously terrifying. And there’s loyalty. There was loyalty at a time I didn’t deserve it, which probably makes it the best possible loyalty of all.” She sniffed, looked away, obviously holding back tears. And when she’d composed herself, she looked at Ethan.
“You have that loyalty now, and I don’t have any doubts that you feel the same way about her. We may call you Darth Sullivan, but you’re really her knight in shining armor. You let her see a side of herself that she didn’t know existed, and it’s a pretty kick-ass side. For that, the world is forever grateful.” She raised her glass. “To Ethan and Merit!”
There were more cheers, and then Amit helped her step down again. She wrapped her arms around me, squeezed me tight enough to bruise ribs.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mallory. And I will get even for the Newsies comment.”
She pulled back, thumbed a tear away from my cheek, winked at me. “Do your best, vamp.”
“Looks like you’re having a good time.”
I glanced back, found my grandfather smiling at me, hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. Both the gray jacket and pants were a little too big for him, the pants bagging a little over his thick-soled shoes. It was perfectly grandfatherly, and just made me love him that much more.
“It’s been a pretty good night,” I said.
“It’s been a beautiful night,” he said. “A beautiful wedding, a wonderful couple, and some damn good food.”
My stomach rumbled. I could smell steak but hadn’t had a chance to try it.
I glanced over the crowd, happened to catch sight of my father, who was walking across the room with my mother. No, not just across the room, I realized. Toward the door. His hand was at her back, her wrap over her arm.
They were leaving. They waited just long enough for pictures and toasts, and that was apparently enough. I guessed there’d be no father-daughter dance.
My grandfather must have realized what I’d seen, and sighed heavily. “I’m not sure why he’s leaving so early.”
“Business deal,” I said. “Conference call . . .”
“He is a busy man.”
“He’s a man with skewed priorities,” I said. “And that doesn’t make it feel any better.”
“No. It doesn’t. I’m sorry.”
I nodded, feeling my buoyant mood slip away, and grasping at the thin tendrils of it. “Robert didn’t even show up.” Robert was my older brother, and very much my father’s son. He’d been injured at Towerline while courting Adrien Reed for a new business deal. That had been a bad move on many levels, but he’d put the blame on “supernaturals,” or so I’d heard. He hadn’t spoken a word to me since.
“I don’t know why I expect otherwise,” I said, but that was a lie. I expected otherwise, at least from my father, because there’d been glimmers of hope recently.
“Because you expect more of him, and rightly so. You expect a lot of your friends, of your family, of yourself.” He glanced at the door, gaze narrowed. “It’s not unreasonable to expect your father to be a willing and complete participant in your wedding.
“If it helps,” he said after a moment, “I don’t think he disappoints you for the sake of disappointing you. He has known loss. And in response, he tries to control what he can, by whatever means he can.” He looked at me. “Your immortality being a prime example. I’m not trying to make excuses for him. I’m just trying to explain what he might be thinking.”
“That helps, actually,” I said after silence had filled the air. “Do you really believe it?”
My grandfather smiled. “I believe it’s possible. But I’m not sure there’s anyone on earth entirely sure what’s in that man’s head, Merit.”
That wasn’t much of a surprise.
• • •
I refused to let circumstances I couldn’t control affect my mood. Mallory, Lindsey, Margot, and I danced until my feet were numb with it, and I’d had more champagne than I should have, and not nearly enough food.
“Well, well,” Mallory said, sidling next to me as we took a breather between songs. “Looks like you managed it.”
“What?” I asked, and turned in the direction of her pointing. Jonah and Margot stood in a corner, nearly hidden by an enormous potted palm. He was taller than her by nearly a foot, his auburn hair and chiseled face interesting contrasts against her sleek black bob and curvy figure.
Margot laughed at something he said, touched his arm in a gesture of camaraderie. It was a simple, easy move, something she’d probably done a thousand times before. But they both seemed startled by the contact and looked away, both with secret smiles. Smiles full of hope.
A woman walked by, offered a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Jonah held up a hand to decline, but Margot laughed, took his arm, pointed to the tray, began explaining the snacks arranged there while Jonah looked on. He looked suspicious when she pointed to something, but agreed to try it, popped it into his mouth.
And then closed his eyes in obvious satisfaction.
“I told you,” she mouthed, the words easy enough to read on her smiling face, and nudged him with her elbow.
I wanted to rub my hands together and cackle in satisfaction. But gloating seemed like bad juju at my own wedding.
Mallory put an arm at my waist. “You know what’s amazing?”
I let my head drop to her shoulder. “What’s that, kid?”
“We’ve made it through a wedding and reception without supernatural drama.”
“If you just jinxed us I’m going to be so pissed.”
“Jinxing isn’t a thing. Charming? Yes. Hexing? Absolutely. But not jinx. That’s just coincidence.”
“What, supernaturally, did you expect to happen?”
She snorted. “Anything and everything? You know how it is—life for the Real Cadogan Housewives.”
“That should never be an actual thing.”
“Au contraire,” Mallory said. “I would watch the shit out of that.”
I bet she wasn’t the only one.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR
When hunger got the best of me—there’d been no time to even sample the beautiful food Margot had put together—I grabbed a spiraling cheese straw from a basket and ducked into a corner to munch it.
I wasn’t officially sure if Margot had put crack in it, but it was good enough that I instantaneously wanted another. I carefully dusted off my hands, trying not to get Parmesan-scented crumbs on my dress, and emerged from behind a potted palm.
“And there’s the beautiful bride,” Gabriel said. He was tall and tawny, with golden skin and blond-brown hair streaked by the sun. He’d traded his usual jeans and leather jacket for slacks, a button-down shirt, and a blazer, but the clothes just made him seem more feral. Tarzan, newly emerged from the jungle, disguising muscle beneath a suit.
“Merit, you look lovely. And it was a lovely wedding. I hope your husband proves himself worthy.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” I said with a smile. I glanced around, didn’t see Tanya. “Where’s your lovely wife?”
He gestured across the room, where Tanya—slender and delicate, with brown hair and blue eyes—sat at a table with my grandfather. He was talking animatedly while she scribbled something on a small pad of paper, smiling as she wrote.
He smiled. “She’s borrowing your grandmother’s meat-loaf recipe.”
“Excellent choice,” I said with a nod. My grandmother had been a fantastic cook.
He pulled a hip flask from his coat pocket, offered it as Ethan joined us. “May I offer you a congratulatory drink, Kitten?”
Ethan’s smile looked pleasant, but there was steel behind it. “I’ll thank you not to call my wife ‘Kitten.’”
Gabriel grinned. “Wondered when you’d get around to saying that.”
“And now you know.”
“So I do.”
“Drink,” I requested, and took the flask from Gabe’s hand, sipped it suspiciously, and was pleasantly surprised. It was Scotch, or so I thought. Dark and oaky, but still as smooth as honey, and with the same citrusy sweetness.
I handed the flask to Ethan. He lifted his eyebrows but took a drink, and surprise crossed his face, too.