She scrowled through most of the ceremony, but no one paid her any attention. She is upset because I beat her to the altar. It was her goal to marry before me but particular circumstances made me the winner of that race.
“Which is exactly why I brought my husband.” I squeeze Everett’s side in reassurance and he leans into me.
“I was under the impression he was your pet. When did you take up an interest in bestiality?”
Everett chokes, his eyes growing into the size of teacups. The tips of his ears taint with embarrassment and shame as his eyes start to mist. He’ll need to maintain a backbone in my family home. We might all love each other, but people murder their loved ones all the time.
“When did you decide it is acceptable to be a bitch simply for the sake of being one?” I snap. Lilith frowns. She can be as displeased as she likes. If she’s hostile to my husband, I’ll give her the sit down Father never did.
“Athanasios—” I look toward the familiar voice “—be nice to your sister.” Mother comes forward, pressing her lips to my cheeks. She smells like oranges and paint thinner. It is a scent infused with my childhood.
“That depends entirely on how she treats Everett.” I refuse to let him be mistreated even if he is a Vârcolac. As far as I am concerned, he’s my husband first and foremost.
“It’s lovely to see you again, Everett. I hear you paint,” she speaks while grinning. Everett looks at me and I nod in encouragement. Having a good relationship with my mother will serve him well in the coming years.
“Yes, ma’am. Right now, it’s mostly sketching,” he mutters. She reaches out, linking their arms together with casual ease.
Mother doesn’t care what he is either. He’s my husband, we are at peace, and those are the only things that matter. Everything else is just inconsequential details. Everett is accepted by her—or he will be in time once she is sure of him. Everyone else will fall in line or get out of the way.
“I haven’t sketched in years. You’ll have to tell me your favorite medium,” she begins, dragging him away. He looks over his shoulder as she tugs him along. “Your father is in his office, sweetheart,” Mother calls before disappearing up a set of stairs, taking my husband with her.
“Toodaloo,” Lilith wiggles her fingers, mocking Sophia, before scurrying off.
“Take your meds!” I yell after her, shaking my head.
Mother has stolen my husband. Father is waiting for me in his study. Lilith is in an overall unbecoming mood. Who knows what Sophia and Mason are planning.
Tonight is going to be a much longer than I originally anticipated.
8
The matrix of our family is clear when everyone sits around the table. My father, the head of our family, takes the head of the table. I sit on his left as heir to the Moroii empire. Mason normally occupies the spot next to me, but he has moved to the other side of the table, leaving his former spot open for Everett and taking the seat on Sophia’s right.
Sophia sits to the right of Lilith, who settles to the right of my mother. Mother always sits to the right of father, symbolically his right hand.
In all of my memories, my mother’s seat has only ever been vacant when she was ill. As far as I know, she is in perfect health so . . . why is she late, along with my husband? Where are the pair of artists? I have a strong suspicion the answer involves paint, canvas, and brushes.
“They’re late,” Mason says what everyone around the table is thinking.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Lilith snidely remarks and I grind my teeth together in growing irritation. She’s spent the last hour mocking Everett, our arrangement and just generally been unbearable. It is by pure will power I haven’t locked her in a closet.
“Ignore her,” Sophia sings from her seat, a gleeful lilt to her tone. “She’s in a bad mood because her latest boyfriend said Au Revoir.”
Mason snickers. If I was a few years younger and wanted to be as annoying as she has been, I would chuckle, too.
“Shut up, Sophia,” Lilith hisses and Sophia giggles, taking a sip of her pre-filled wine glass.
She is enjoying herself, although truthfully, not much can bring her down. Since she was born, she has been a happy child full of smiles and giggles.
“I’m going to find Mother. Take a picture as proof I was seated at six.” I hold my phone out to Mason. It is a sad fact that just because she is late doesn’t mean I will get a free pass.
“Good luck,” Mason says as I stand.
“Note the father sacrificing the eldest son,” I say.
Father scoffs, but he isn’t getting out of his chair to go find his wife. He is staying where he knows it is safe, where food is ensured. I am going as a lamb willing to the wolf. Only, my mother is a Moroaicã and my husband is the wolf with more bark than bite.
“I had four children for a reason,” Father notes and my siblings laugh like there is something funny in the fact that the old bastard is admitting to sacrificing me to his wife. If I was one of them, and one of them was me, I might have laughed, too. That isn’t how the cards were dealt, though. My ass is the one on the chopping block.
“Don’t die,” Sophia quips. “I refuse to be a part of this family if Lilith is the head.” Mason nods in agreement, the pair of siblings ganging up on their older sister.
Lilith as head to this family would bring about destruction. Her temper is too volatile, her mental state too unstable to deal with the problems that crop up at least twice a day. Not to mention, she would never manage to keep the peace between us and the Vârcolaci. Father would never pass the line to her, even if she is his favorite child.
“You wouldn’t have to worry about being a part of it,” Lilith speaks as I am leaving the room.
“Girls—” Father’s reprimand is lost as I begin to climb the set of stairs my mother dragged Everett up. The further I climb, the closer I get to my mother’s studio, the louder the excited buzz of voices become.
Opening the door to my mother’s sanctuary, I find my husband and her sitting knee to knee on the sofa, waving their hands and speaking in what must be a foreign language. Nothing they say makes any sense. Something about direct painting, or dry brush; maybe flat color, and flow medium?
Everything is jumbled as if the pair are having three conversations at once. It is . . . fascinating watching the duo interact, completely open and utterly vulnerable.
Mother looks up and I step further into the room.
“It’s past six.” Mother checks the time, her brows pulling together in surprise. “Does the typical dinner rule apply to you, as well?” I ask.
“Taking into account my sixty-four years of marriage to your father and the thirty-six months of life I spent as an incubator for four ungrateful brats—” she rises to her feet with all the grace and elegance I’ve come to expect, “—no.”
Touché, Mother.
“What about Everett?” I look toward my husband. If he is banned from the table because Mother chose to yip with him, I am going to lead a revolt, or at the very least protest. It is her fault he wasn’t seated. That has to count for something.
“I like him better than I like my own children. Plus, he’s new to the family. Tonight, we can ignore the rule,” she declares.
Tonight, we are ignoring the rule? I can’t remember a single time when the rules of our household were ignored. The others need to hear about this. I have a witness, too. Everett can verify my mother is finally going senile.
“We should do this again soon, Everett,” mother says as Everett stands up.
“I would like that, Mrs. Right.”
“I’ve told you; call me Charlotte, sweetheart.”
They share a grin. Some sort of camaraderie has formed over paint. I don’t know what I think about that, but I am not displeased that he and my mother are finding something to bond over. He is family now, no matter the circumstances. Everett ensures all Vârcolaci are family.
“Go ahead, Mother. I’d like five minutes with my hu
sband.” My fingers curl around Everett’s upper arm, stopping him from following Mother out of the studio. He lifts an eyebrow, a question on the tip of his tongue, but I only offer a smile in answer.
She looks between us. “Five minutes.”
I nod and she leaves. When the click of her heels dies away, I turn to Everett whose gaze is imploring. My fingers slide along his jaw until I brush some of his hair behind his ear. He smiles softly at the action as I say, “I am so sorry for Lilith’s behavior earlier. I don’t think of you as my pet or an animal, at all.”
Everett’s hand lays against my chest, just over my heart. “I know. You’d be surprised at what I’ve learned about you after living on top of each other for fourteen days.”
My fingers rest over his and he steps closer until our thighs brush. “That sounds an awful lot like you’re not judging me based on my reputation.”
“Does it?” he questions, his voice raspy.
Why do I feel as breathless as he sounds?
What is the tightening in my stomach?
None of it makes any sense.
“It does,” I whisper.
My heart is pounding. Can he feel it thumping against my rib cage under his palm? How am I going to explain the rapid racing of the organ to him without sounding like an idiot? Do I care if I sound like an idiot in front of him?
“Well,” he reaches up, brushing his fingers along my neck, “I can’t very well dislike my husband—especially when he’s so good to me.”
I squeeze the hand on my chest while pushing my other hand into his hair. He leans into my palm, closing his eyes.
There is so much trust in his open submission. That trust makes me feel . . . too many things at once. It seems too early to feel anything, but I am feeling everything and have no solid plan of action to defend myself against the influx of emotions.
“You came to that conclusion in fourteen days?” I ask.
Everett shakes his head, his hand curling over my shoulder. We’ve shared a lot of personal space over the past two weeks, but this is somehow different. We aren’t in our bed or frolicking through a field; we are in my mother’s studio, so close I can feel the heat of his breath against my cheek.
“I came to that conclusion in four.” Four days to decide he couldn’t dislike me. Four days after we married, I invited him for a walk. Now, we walk every day.
It was on those walks I discovered I really do like him as an intelligent, funny, sarcastic being. Everett is a singular Vârcolac. I like him a lot more than I should. Or maybe, I like him just the right amount to make him a proper husband.
My mouth slides across his gently, but instead of withdrawing, I curl my fingers in his hair and pull him against my chest. His mouth parts and my tongue slips between his lips, sweeping into the sweet cavity he offers so eagerly. Our tongues meet and dance together, preforming a play as old as time itself.
He is intoxicating and I feel as if I am drowning in the taste of him. If we could stand for all eternity with our mouths locked together, I would do that. Everett presses closer; the hand on my chest curls into a fist in my shirt as he rises on his toes, seeking a deeper exploration.
I oblige him, mindlessly moving as one, letting our tongues clash in a fierce, passionate fight. There is no way I am going to let him win, not that he is actually trying.
A moan vibrates his chest; it rocks through my being with all the force of a hurricane. I groan in response as an erect strain develops in my slacks. Now is not the right place for this, but it damn sure feels like the right time.
Everett sways against me, his chest rising sharply before he pulls back and inhales a ragged, deep breath. I exhale, my lungs heavy and burning from the lack of oxygen. If we continue, he is going to be the death of me.
“Despite the circumstances—” my breath emerges harsh and uneven until I suck in a sharp breath and hold it, “—under which we married, I’m happy for it.”
Everett smiles as if I’ve just given him the best gift in the universe. My own lips tug upward, happy with his reaction, truly happy with the circumstances of our union. It is surprising that we have become something of friends so quickly, so easily, but I won’t protest.
“There are worse situations, worse husbands I could have ended up enduring. I’m glad it’s you. Marriage to you isn’t a chore, isn’t something I endure so much as enjoy.” Color travels down Everett’s cheeks with his admission. Bending, I press a peck to the fresh stain. He is adorable. I find that is simply another thing I like about him.
“Let’s join the others.”
9
Dinner with my family was its usual madhouse. By the time Everett and I leave, midnight has come and exhaustion is setting in. He falls asleep in the passenger seat, cradling his head in the palm of his hands against the window while I drive. It is an unexpected show of trust.
I drive carefully, letting him sleep until we arrive home.The car engine fades into silence and Everett sits up blinking, confused about our location or maybe how we returned home so quickly, though it has been an hour drive.
Reaching out, I sooth his brow with my thumb. He smiles; a soft, sleepy thing that tells me he won’t be up longer than it takes to strip and climb between sheets.
“We’re home.”
He yawns into his hand, nodding and unbuckling.
“The estate.”
Pushing open his door, he climbs out. I meet him at the stairs, taking his elbow and assisting him since he seems to be dragging his feet. The door opens and I look up curiously at my butler who anxiously shifts from foot to foot.
If there was something amiss on the estate, he would have called, so why is he nervous?
“What is it?” I ask when we are in the foyer.
Benjamin’s eyes dance to Everett.
Something concerning him?
Something concerning someone in his family?
Or is it simply something my butler doesn’t feel comfortable sharing in front of Everett yet?
He’ll have to put aside his hesitation at some point. Everett is my husband.
“Sir . . . it’s the first Friday of the month.” Shock rolls through me. How could I forget about the blood donor?
“The library,” I tell Benjamin.
“Sir.” Benjamin slips out of the room and I turn toward Everett who has shaken off his exhaustion. Giving him a reassuring smile, I curl my fingers around his tricep and draw him further into our home, moving closer to the stairs.
“I’ll be to bed in a bit. There are a few things I need to take care of first.” I press a kiss to his forehead, enjoying the fact that he sighs and leans into my offer of affection. “You can go ahead and get ready for bed,” I mutter.
His arms snake around my waist in an abrupt hug. My arms wrap around his shoulders as I draw him closer, holding his warmth against my chest and enjoying the feel of him.
“I can wait for you,” he whispers against my collarbone. “I don’t mind.”
Turning my head, I lay my cheek against his hair. His fingers tighten against my back and I respond by running my hands over his shoulder. If he is as tired as me, it is taking some effort to remain on his feet.
Both of us will benefit from a late morning.
“I know, but I need to feed so . . . I’d prefer if you didn’t.” He pulls back, a frown turning his mouth upside down. He wants to stay, wants to follow me to the library and watch.
Once we’ve been married longer, once we know each other better, maybe I will let him. For now, feeding is still an incredibly private thing I don’t feel comfortable sharing with him, even if he is my husband, even if my fondness for him is growing rapidly.
“Oh . . . okay. Goodnight, then.” He steps away, dejection obvious in his tone and the slump of his shoulders.
It isn’t my intention to make him sad and I don’t want to send him to bed feeling forlorn. Grabbing his arm, I draw him back into my chest. My mouth touches his, but my tongue doesn’t seek to invade the space he might offe
r if I ask. Instead our lips move together for a moment before I release him with a soft sigh.
He exhales, a heavy sound that matches mine. I would have much rather been climbing the stairs to our room with him than making my way to the library. It is necessary I visit with the donor, though.
“Goodnight, любимый. I’ll be up soon.”
Everett smiles and I reach out, running my knuckles over his jaw. He really is quite handsome.
“I’ll be waiting.” Grabbing my wrist, Everett presses a kiss to my palm before pulling away. I watch him slowly climb the stairs, a shuffling sound echoing after each of his tired steps.
At the top, he looks back and I give him a smile that he returns. Benjamin appears to inform me the donor is waiting. I start that way, with plans to be done quickly.
Stepping through a set of double doors, I look around.
The library is a large room that is lined with a couple dozen bookshelves from floor to ceiling. A dozen leather lounge chairs and sofas along with a few end tables stacked with spare books and the occasional reading lamp give the area a warm feeling. This place is designed for the comfort of anyone who chooses to use it.
I most often use it for the purpose it serves now.
Book pages flutter, drawing my attention to a set of French doors that open onto a small veranda. They face the back of my estate and overlook a calm lake that freezes solid in the winter, but plays host to dozens of different animals in the summer. The donor's back is to me as they look across the dark landscape.
The moon casts a soft glow, making the area appear more sinister than what it really is.
“It’s lovely during the day,” I call. The donor spins around, her eyes wide and surprised, but after a moment her expression relaxes.
“I imagine it is.” She steps away from the doors.
“I apologize for the wait. I completely forgot the date and made other plans. You’re welcome to make use of a guest room tonight since I imagine the city gates are closed.”
After The I Do Page 6