Here Comes the Vampire (5 page)

At the same time, I had responsibilities. Not only was I duty bound as a born
vampere
to procreate, I had to play it cool. Lay low.

“Catholic,” I blurted. “That’s me. Guilty as charged. That’s why I need to prove my innocence. So I can get an annulment. From a priest.” When she didn’t say anything, I added, “I’m
really
sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I joined Couponclippers.com two weeks ago,” she blurted, as if she’d just admitted to committing one of the seven deadlies.

“Seriously?”

“So I guess we’re even. So
tell
,” her voice took on an excited note, “was it even the teeniest, tiniest bit romantic?”

“There was an Elvis impersonator officiating the ceremony.”

“Are we talking Elvis pre-bloat or post bloat?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, yeah. Have you ever seen him in
Jail House Rock
?” A loud sneeze punctuated the question. “Total hunk.”

I searched my mind for some picture of the ceremony and kept coming back to my mother’s smiling face. “I’m not sure, but that’s beside the point. Skinny Elvis or fat Elvis—it doesn’t matter. I’m stuck with Remy Tremaine.
Forever
.”

“Annulment isn’t the only choice.” Another sneeze. “There’s always divorce.”

“That won’t really work in my case.”

“Look, I know your family might get upset, but you’re the one who has to live with him. Just get a good lawyer, chalk the whole thing up to lots of alcohol and bad choices, and get on with your life. Your parents will come around.”

“Before or after they disown me?”

“You really think they’ll get that freaked?”

“I
know
. Marchettes don’t get divorced. It goes against everything we believe in.” Not to mention there was no such thing as divorce among born vampires. We mated for life.

Eternal life.

“I think I’m going to be sick again.” I swallowed and thought of my own Prada stilettos directly in my line of fire should I start rolfing again.

I know, I know. Not quite as expensive as my ma’s Gucci pythons, but still. I
liked
these shoes.

Five seconds and I managed to quiet my nerves and summon some optimism. “I just need to hold it together until I get back to Manhattan,” I said more to myself than Evie. “Then I can figure out something.” I had the DVDs which basically equaled a
Get Out of Crappy Marriage Free
card, right?

Unless I really
had
humped Remy’s brains out in that elevator. Then it was a Paris Hilton moment just waiting to happen.

“I’m going to think of a way out of this,” I said again, bolstering my failing confidence. “When I get back, I’ll cancel all my appointments for the next few days and put everything on hold while I fix this.” Focus. That’s what I needed.

“I’m afraid the on-hold will have to go on-hold. You have two new clients tomorrow who can’t wait. And then there’s Ash.”

“Ash is next week.”

“He
was
next week. He’s leaving on a mission tomorrow night and will be gone for at least a week. He says he can’t wait that long so you have to meet with him before he leaves.”

“I’ve been offering to hook him up for the past six months. What’s the hurry all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know, but he said he hopes you’re half as good as you think you are because he’s desperate. I told him not to worry,” she added and I coul myd and Id hear the smile in her voice. “You’re better.”

“Will you marry me?”

“You’re already hitched.”

Ugh. “Thanks for reminding me.” She sneezed again and I asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I think it’s just allergies.”

“Go back to bed and get some rest.” I hit the OFF button and spent the next fifteen minutes pinching my cheeks and trying to urge some color back into my bland complexion.

I was stalling, but the less time I spent with Remy and my mother, the better off my own shoes would be.

I finger-combed a few strands of hair and thought about trading in the highlights for a solid color. Something vivacious like red. Or maybe even pink—

The thought stalled when I heard the creak of the door. The traffic in the bathroom had died down and I was the only one standing in front of the mirror. I half-turned, but by the time I glanced to the side, the door had rocked shut. I glanced around, but I didn’t see anyone. Still, it felt as if someone was there. Close. I caught a whiff of caramel and apples and a rush of goose bumps chased up and down my arms.

I turned and eyed the row of stalls. Three of them were occupied, which could explain the unusual feeling that I wasn’t alone.

Because, duh, I wasn’t.

There were at least three other women in here with me. I’d seen them come in while I’d been worrying over my complexion and mourning the loss of my cosmetics. I could hear them—the toilet paper unrolling, the shuffle of shoes, the zipppp of a zipper.

But this... This felt different. As if there was something else here. Someone else.

The scent teased my nostrils and another wave of gooseys rolled over my skin before I heard the knock at the bathroom entrance, followed by Remy’s deep voice.

“Are you going to walk out of there on your own, or do I have to come in and get you?”

“I’m coming already.”

I chalked the feeling up to my already strained nerves, gathered my courage, held tight to my handbag and walked out of
el bano
to find Remy waiting for me.

I debated doing a one-eighty despite the heebie jeebies and marching right back in, but he caught my arm before I could turn.

“Here.” He took my hand. “Your mother gave me this. Take it. It’ll help you calm down.”

I stared down at the tiny white pill in my palm. “I don’t want a valium.”

Okay, so I did want one. An itty bitty dose of
ahhhh
that would make all my troubles float away? I was
so
there.

At the same time, I knew a pill wasn’t going to fix this disastrous situation. Only a DVD of Remy and I playing solitaire instead of humping our brains out could do that.

“I don’t need a valium. I need out.” My gaze met his. “You can’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why? Because it was so sudden?” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s a good thing. It’s like diving into the deep end. If you think about it, you’re liable to chicken out. It’s better just to jump. Then before you know it, you’re swimming.”

“I don’t swim. It messes up my hair.”

“I’m serious.” So was I, but he didn’t seem to be clued in to that. Instead, he continued on, “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but this
is
a good thing. I’m sure you’ll see that in time.” Even more than Remy’s words, the determined light in his green eyes told me he wasn’t about to give up on our commitment. He’d jumped and was already treading water, meanwhile I was sinking to the bottom.

Dread rolled through me and I knew he’d finally crossed over to the enemy camp. He was one of
them
now. A born vampire who looked at love and relationshm bd relatips as a practical business arrangement. Our backgrounds fit. Our hopes and dreams fit. Therefore, we fit.

Which meant I could forget kicking and screaming and begging for his sympathy vote. He wasn’t about to let go of the perfect wife. The only way out was to prove that we’d never consummated in the first place.

That, or prove to him that having the perfect wife wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

“This is going to be so great.”
His words echoed in my ears as I followed him onto the plane, and straight into a first class window seat. Remy slid in next to me.

I debated making a run for it, but then a flight attendant leaned over to check my seatbelt, so I opted for the next best thing.

“I need liquor,” I blurted. “Lots of liquor.”

“But we haven’t taken off yet—“

Now.
I sent the silent command on the off chance that our flight attendant was a switch hitter. She looked puzzled at first, but then a smile curved her lips. Bingo.

“How about some champagne? I’ll get you a glass right now.”

“Make that the bottle.” I chanced a sidelong glance at Remy who was stuffing a pillow behind his head. “An expensive bottle.”

He didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. Not that I’d expected as much. Remy was rolling in the dough and so blowing a little on yours truly wasn’t going to shake him in the slightest.

No, I had to get a lot more obnoxious if I wanted to show him just how not-so-great this was going to be.

I bided my time through take-off and three glasses of champagne before snatching the pillow from beneath his head.

His eyes snapped open. “What the—“

“Let’s talk.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Hey, if we’re going to spend eternity together, I think we should know everything there is to know about one another. Good communication is key, you know.”

“Common ground is key,” he said, waving his born vamp flag in my face. He frowned and tried to grab the pillow back, but I shoved it behind my back. “I already know everything about you.”

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Pink.”

“My favorite song?”

“
Love is a Many Splendored Thing
.”

“My favorite designer?”

“It’s a toss-up between Gucci and Chanel.”

Darn it. “Lately I’ve been leaning toward Michael Kors,” I blurted, eager to prove him wrong. “He’s a legend. And then there’s this new guy—Paul Graciano—who’s just hit the scene with a really incredible fall line of accessories. He’s making a huge splash and I just so happened to snag one of his scarves this past week. I bet you didn’t know that?”

“Red with blue trim,” he said and a wave of anxiety rolled through me. He must have noticed my look, because he added, “You were wearing it last night.” A deep sigh vibrated his broad chest. “Lil, we grew up together. I know everything about you.”

“Well I don’t know everything about you. For instance, I have no clue what your favorite color is.”

Okay, so I did. I knew he liked blue because he was forever wearing blue ties, but I wasn’t letting him know that I knew because that would kill the first step of my fantastical plan—annoy the hell out of him.

“Or if you like cats better than dogs,” I plowed on. “Or what brand of toothpaste you use, or whether you voted Democrat or Republican.” He gave me a look that said
Seriously?
and I shrugged. “Okay, so I know that.” Born vamps were money hungry moguls and so it didn’t take a genius to guess a political affiliation. “But that’s all I know. Why, you’re a virtual mystery to me oy ftery totherwise.”

A frown pinched his eyebrows together. “Can we please do this later?” He signaled the flight attendant who appeared with another pillow. “I’m exhausted.” He stuffed it under his head.

“Fine. If you’d rather sleep than get to know the woman you’re going to spend the rest of your after life with, be my guest.”

“I’m not saying I don’t
want
to talk to you,” he adjusted the square of cotton and leaned into it, “it’s just I’ve had exactly three hours of—“

“Forget it. I’ll just zip it so I don’t disturb your precious sleep.” I tossed the first pillow at him.

It bounced off and rolled into the aisle, but Remy was unfazed. “We have plenty of time to talk. The rest of eternity.” He gave me a wink.

I scowled. “Fine. Whatever.”

He settled back down and closed his eyes. “You’re the best,” he murmured.

He had no idea.

I pulled out my iPod, shoved the headset into my ears and scrolled through my playlist until I found the Black-Eyed Peas
My Hump
. It wasn’t their latest and greatest by any means, but it was just monotonous enough for what I had in mind. I settled back in my seat and hit Play.

And then I s
tarted to sing.

CHAPTER SIX

By the time the plane landed, I’d belted out two Black-Eyed Peas CDs, the soundtrack from
Saturday Night
Fever
(What can I say? I’d had it fierce for John Travolta back in the ‘70s) and ten tracks from
Now That’s What I Call Yodeling
. Not that I actually knew one yodeling tune, much less ten, but Remy wasn’t privy to that juicy tidbit.

Long story short, he glared the entire trip and practically kicked me out of the cab when we reached my apartment.

“Aren’t you coming with?” I whined when he didn’t climb out after me.

No, really. We’re talking a high-pitched, irritating sound that probably tormented all dogs within a ten block radius.

He shook his head. “I’m due at the station this afternoon, so it makes more sense for me to head back to Connecticut now. I’ll call you when I’m free and we’ll figure out a joint living arrangement.”

Before I could open my mouth, the door slammed shut. Tires squealed and suddenly I was standing on the sidewalk all by my lonesome.

Yeah, baby.

I’d really done it. I’d used my fantabulous vocal ability and keen improvisation skills to wiggle my way out of the dreaded commitment (and into the complaint box at the American Airlines customer service desk).

Albeit temporarily (the commitment, not the complaint box—I’d been banned from all flights—foreign
and
domestic), but still.

Score one for Vampzilla.

I gave myself a mental high five and turned toward the renovated duplex that housed my apartment.

It wasn’t anywhere close—not via Mapquest or property values--to the lavish Central Park penthouse my parents called home whenever they ventured into the city. Forget a uniformed doorman, a carpeted walkway and a tastefully decorated lobby. Negative on an elevator attendant waiting to buzz me up. Or a butler waiting to answer the door. Or a personal chef ready to slice open a vein and squeeze out dinner. My place was much more subtle in its appeal, relying almost entirely on
je ne sais quoi
.

That’s French for cheap.

Concrete steps. A narrow stoop. Leftover cigarette butts here and there. Glow-in-the-dark buzzer. Yesterday’s newspaper for a welcome mat.