“Not in shape, huh?” Frey pushes me down on the bed. He leans close and teases me with his lips, bringing them close, then pulling back. I finally tangle my fingers in his hair and settle his mouth on mine. At the same time, he’s teasing another part of my anatomy, fingers tormenting until I arch my back and thrust against his hand and he slips his fingers inside.
“I thought we had to get up,” he says, but he continues to probe, slower, deeper.
“I thought you had a headache,” I gasp back.
But I don’t try to stop him.
I’m shuddering with excitement, lost in the sensations flooding over and through me. If he tried to stop now, I would scream in protest. I move with the rhythm of his thrusts. When the climax comes, it lifts my hips off the bed. He holds me close, driving every wave of passion until the swell breaks and I collapse against him.
“What was that you were saying?” he says, stroking my hair.
I lift myself on my elbows to look at him. “It was supposed to be your turn.”
He grins. “Oh, you’ll make it up to me. Just wait.”
FREY AND I CREEP DOWNSTAIRS WONDERING WHAT type of reception we’ll get from my dad for being late once again. For the same reason, too.
We needn’t have worried. I’d forgotten it was Sunday. On the kitchen counter we find a note:
Gone to Mass. Took John-John with us. Catherine has the day off but there are fresh brioches in the cupboard. Thought you kids would want to sleep in since you got in so late last night. Remember the wedding planners will be here at noon.
Love, Mom
Frey grins. “Want to go back upstairs? We have two hours. We can make all the noise we want.”
I raise an eyebrow. “First one up the stairs gets to be on top.”
It turns out to be a tie.
CHAPTER 29
TWO HOURS LATER, FREY AND I ARE FRESHLY SHOWERED AND RESPECTABLE AND SITTING AT THE DINING ROOM TABLE ACROSS FROM A MAN AND WOMAN who represent the company that’s officiating at our wedding ceremony—tomorrow. My head swims at the thought.
The man is well dressed, suit and tie, carefully slicked-back hair framing what I’ve come to think of as a “French” face—closely shaven, well-groomed, thin nose, dark eyes. He’s wearing a citrusy cologne or aftershave, I can’t tell which it is. But it’s strong. His name is Pierre.
His partner, Lorraine, is beautiful. Tall, model thin, expertly and subtly made up. Her dark eyes have a slight upward tilt and she has a mouth that begs to be kissed, wide, full-lipped and eager. I have to give Frey a surreptitious elbow more than once to stop him from staring at those lips.
Pierre is reading us examples of vows that we might choose from. We decide on a simple recitation that combines the traditional with a modern spin. The entire ceremony will take no more than fifteen minutes.
We are finished with the technicalities in less than an hour.
Frey gives them a credit card. They process the payment. Then we usher them to the door. As they leave, a truck pulls into the driveway. The crew who is to transform the back of the house into a tented, flower- and ribbon-strewn wonderland has arrived. Mom made all the arrangements, only consulting me on things requiring my opinion, so that Frey and I would be surprised. We have strict orders to point the workmen to the site, but not to peek as the work progresses.
When we are back inside, I look at Frey. “Can you believe we’re getting married day after tomorrow?”
He puts his arms around me. “Getting cold feet?”
“Vampire, remember?” I tease. “Cold feet, cold hands.”
“Not always.”
And then we’re kissing and he proves how right he is. But before things take their natural progression with us, we hear my folks’ car in the driveway.
John-John is the first through the door, holding a white paper bag up high. “Guess what they call doughnuts in French?” he asks, running to greet us. “Beignets!”
I catch Mom’s eyes over his head. The circle of life. Memories of my brother and I heading home after church, in the backseat of my parents car, a bag of hot, fresh doughnuts between us. My eyes fill with tears. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
FREY IS AT THE WHEEL OF DAD’S CAR AND WE’RE ON OUR way to Cannes to pick up David and Tracey. The pilot called to let us know they would be in at three. I’m slumped back on the seat, window open to the warm spring day, thoughts cascading through my head in a stream of consciousness that is making me dizzy.
“Anna?” Frey’s voice. “What are you thinking?”
I swivel on the seat to face him. “You really want to know?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Uh-oh. Am I going to regret asking?”
I give his knee a squeeze. “No. It’s nothing like that. I’m not going to call off the wedding.”
“Well that’s a relief. I don’t think I’d get my twelve hundred bucks back from Pierre and Hot Lips.”
I swat his arm.
Frey’s expression sobers. “No, really, Anna. Are you upset about something?” He catches himself. “That was stupid. Of course you’re upset about your mother. But I get the feeling it’s more than that. You have a very serious look on your face. Are you thinking about last night? Because I am fine.”
I reach over and touch his knee. “I know you are,” I kid. “You proved it this morning, remember?” But even his smile doesn’t chase away the uneasiness still clouding my thoughts. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He picks up my hand and kisses it. “I don’t intend you’ll ever have to find out.”
I lay my head back against the headrest and close my eyes. “Do you remember the first time we met?”
“No. When was it?”
The tone of his voice gives lie to his words. There’s humor there and a hint of a tease. He chuckles, then says, “Let’s see. You came to see me at school, convinced I might have had something to do with Trish’s disappearance. You were ready to tear my head off.”
“You won’t ever forget that will you?”
“Well, it turned out all right. Considering you bit me and almost sucked me dry to get at the truth.”
“And considering how we ended up, your neck wasn’t the only thing I sucked.”
Frey laughs. “First time we made love. You did it for the blood . . .”
His voice trails off.
“I wish I had been smart enough to realize then what I know now. It would have saved us both a lot of mistakes. Me with Max and Lance and Stephen. You with—what was her name?”
Frey looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t remember.”
“Good answer.” I pause a moment, sorting the images flashing in my head. “Then there was Belinda Burke. I almost got you killed the night of the demon raising. I’ll never forget how I felt seeing you lying at that bitch’s feet.”
More mental snapshots, flying by like frames in a PowerPoint presentation. “You saved Culebra by letting yourself be put under a spell because I asked you to. You saved me by coming to Palm Springs when I’d been burned. You helped me prepare for the vampire convocation that very probably would have resulted in my death if it hadn’t been for you. Then, you stood by me when I dragged you to Monument Valley, even when John-John’s mother was killed—” The flow of words stops, choked off by a strong surge of emotion.
Frey shakes his head, tightening his grip on my hand resting on his knee. “Anna, that’s all water under the bridge. Why are you thinking of those things now?”
Why am I?
I don’t know.
I close my eyes.
I do know. I look at Frey. “Do you know how important you are to me? You’ve been the only real constant in my life since I became vampire. You’ve never judged me or tried to make me change. You’ve been by my side no matter how difficult the situation or what it ended up costing you. I don’t know why you love me. You shouldn’t, you know. I don’t give back to you half of what you give to me.” I close my eyes, feeling tears threaten. “I don’t know why you love me,” I repeat softly. “I’m just so glad that you do.”