Mom breaks off. She grasps my hands. There’s a definite twinkle in her eyes that makes me go, Uh-oh. What are you thinking?
“I just had the most wonderful idea.” She clasps her hands together. “It’s the one thing you could do for me. You and Daniel.”
“Go on . . .”
“Get married here. Right away. Let me do this for you. Your father and I could arrange the most beautiful wedding. Oh, Anna, it would be perfect.”
The very last thing I would have expected her to say. I sit back, “But, Mom. It’s too much. You can’t tire yourself out. Planning a wedding is a lot of work. And Frey and I haven’t even set a date yet. I don’t know if he’d want to get married so soon.”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Of course he wants to get married right away. In any case, it wouldn’t hurt to ask him, would it?”
“Ask who what?”
A voice from the doorway. Frey’s. He and my father back from their walk. He comes over and stands between my mother’s chair and mine. He smiles down at us. “Ask who what?” he says again.
I roll my eyes and look toward my mother. “Mom had an idea. Now, if you don’t want to do it, I understand. It’s kind of out of the blue and we haven’t talked about it yet. So be honest. My feelings won’t be hurt if you think it’s too soon.”
“Too soon for what?”
He’s looking from one of us to the other. I take his hand. “Mom wants us to be married here. It’s rushing things, I know and you can—”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
Frey’s answer stops me short.
“You do?”
“Of course. Why should we wait?” He looks at my mother. “My only question is how it will affect your health? Now between Anna and me and Trish and James, I’m pretty sure we can do most of the heavy lifting. But as mother of the bride, you have a big role to play. Are you really up for it?”
Mom’s face radiates joy. “Nothing would make me happier.”
Dad has come to join us. “What’s this I hear? We’re going to have a wedding?”
I look around at the three people gathered around me and find myself grinning. Not having given the ceremony any thought, I’d supposed Frey and I would elope—Vegas maybe—with David and Trish as witnesses.
But now . . .
A wedding.
We’re going to have a wedding. I roll the thought around in my head, tasting it like some exotic food.
Anna Strong. Kick-ass vampire. The Chosen One.
I’m going to have a wedding.
Frey and Mom and Dad are already tossing ideas back and forth. The atmosphere is festive and full of excitement.
Hopeful. Happy.
I see the elation on my mother’s face.
I’m sure it’s mirrored on mine.
I’m going to have a real, honest-to-god wedding. I look at my mother. “Nothing fancy, though, okay? No long white dress and veil.”
“No jeans, either,” my mom quips back.
“Deal.”
The four of us spend the next hour or so making lists and assigning chores. There isn’t much for Frey and I to do except decide who we want to officiate and where we need to go to get the required certificates. With the help of the folks’ trusty computer we soon determine in spite of all the paperwork required, a wedding in two weeks is doable.
My head is swimming. We put a call into the American Consulate in Nice and make an appointment to go the next day to set the wheels in motion. Mom says she has copies of my birth certificate. She’ll dig one out to take with me to the consulate tomorrow. Frey is sure he can have a lawyer friend back in San Diego send his since most of his papers are still in the condo there. He gets right on the phone and makes arrangements.
I watch in shock and wonder. And a bit of trepidation. I can’t help feeling I’ve pressured Frey into this. Mom plans a celebratory dinner and asks Frey and me to go into town to pick up a few things. I jump at the chance. It will give the two of us time to talk. I want Frey to understand that I love his enthusiasm but have to know it’s not just for my mom’s benefit. If we need to, we can get out of it.
Dad walks us outside and hands us the keys to the Citroën. “Do you remember the way into town?” he asks.
I nod. And stand on tiptoe to give his cheek a peck. “Thank you,” I say.
“Are you kidding?” he shoots back. “This is the best thing that’s happened to your mother in months. I can’t wait to tell Trish and John-John.” He stops and quirks an eyebrow at Frey. “Unless you’d rather I not say anything until you can tell him yourself, Daniel.”
Frey grins. “You can tell him. He wanted us to be married as soon as Anna said yes to my proposal. He’ll be thrilled!”
Once Frey and I are on the road, I ask, “Is that true? John-John wanted us to get married right away?”
Frey, in the passenger seat, glances over. “Are you afraid he would think it too soon after losing his mother?” he asks quietly.
I nod, keeping my eyes on the road.
He reaches over and squeezes my knee. “No. John-John loves you. He wants us to be a family. He’ll always love his mother, but he sees in you what I do. Besides, neither of us wants to take the chance you’ll change your mind.”
The last is said with a hint of humor. I don’t answer, my throat suddenly tight with emotion. How could I change my mind? I’m about to get everything I’d thought unobtainable to me since becoming vampire—a husband who is strong, brave and understanding and a child to love as if he was my very own.
CHAPTER 11
LORGUES HAS THE FEEL OF A MEDIEVAL VILLAGE WITH the shopping amenities of a modern city. Frey and I spend an hour wandering the narrow streets hand in hand. Frey has never been here before and he’s as taken with the vaulted passages, ancient stairs and elaborate stone carvings on the buildings and doorways as I was at first sight.
It’s a beautiful spring day, and after checking off all the items on Mom’s shopping list, we stop for coffee in an outdoor café on the Boulevard Georges Clemenceau. The sky is deep blue and cloudless, the air still.
Frey breathes it in. “I can see why your family loves it here.”
I let my gaze wander up and down the street. Across from us, the open-air market we visited earlier teems with shoppers. The pile of our own packages, tucked under the table, holds bread, fresh vegetables, olives. It’s still too early for the platan trees lining the streets and parks to have budded, and their white spindly trunks look like skeleton hands lifting bony fingers to the sky. Most of the buildings in Lorgues are painted soft pastels or brilliant primary colors with shutters of contrasting blue or green. It’s an artist’s concept of a French village . . . only real.
Once again I find myself grudgingly admiring Avery’s choices. He couldn’t have picked a more beautiful spot to set down eternal roots.
Frey picks up my hand and gently squeezes. “Are you thinking of Avery?”
I look at him in surprise. “How did you know?”
He points to the bridge of my nose. “You get a furrow, right there, whenever you think of him.”
His comment makes me laugh. “Wow. Who needs mind reading when you have such keen powers of observation.”
“It’s true. I know you very well.”
I place one of my hands over his. “Better than I know myself, I think.”
Our coffee arrives and we settle back to enjoy it. One of the things I appreciate most about Frey is that we can be quiet around one another. As we are now, each alone with our own thoughts, but connected in a way that transcends words. It’s a heady, comfortable feeling.
Until I feel him suddenly tense beside me. When I look at him, his face is drawn, tight with anger and taut with the primal instinct to defend. A low growl escapes his throat, the panther at the ready.