19
Picnic Prep
Rome
I have been awake since yesterday morning. I can’t stop planning our time together in my mind, going over the details et nauseum to make sure I have covered my bases. It’s ridiculous, of course. We’re going to a beach three hours away from the city. No one will see us there.
Even if passersby did, would they know something was off? Vampires blend in seamlessly because we look like normal humans. Sure, we heal faster and our hankering for blood is no secret, but other than those hiccups, we’re not that much different from the rest of the population. Just because we have been herded to all live in the West End of Mayfield doesn’t mean that we haven’t assimilated into the population on occasion.
It was the quickest way to get property values to plummet, to be sure. Once a vampire moved in, everyone else moved out. It became hard to find a realtor to sell to our kind. Mama Kennedy used to be our realtor. She made it a point to sell only to vampires, giving us options outside of Mayfield’s West End.
Of course, her dream for us to live in proper society died when she passed. Vampires were corralled to the West End of Mayfield—the only place where we are now allowed to live.
The humans have us where they want us, so they feel safer.
Good for them. Meanwhile our schools are underfunded and the tax money we pay seems to go to anything but beautifying our side of the city.
But none of that matters today. Not too many people frequent the beach in the middle of a workday in the early fall. Kids will be in school, and most won’t bother swimming when the weather isn’t balmy. Colette and I will have the whole beach to ourselves.
She is a recognizable face, as am I, so finding a private spot to be together is tricky, but important.
I don’t need to leave for another half an hour, but after trying to fill my time cramming in a hundred sit-ups so I don’t look old in front of Colette in a bathing suit, I realize I am driving myself crazy.
I want her so badly. I need to sweep away all the reasons that might pop into her mind that might try to convince her I am not worth the risk.
I know myself, so I am certain that she is it for me.
When I meander into my spacious kitchen, I pull out the travel cooler from the doublewide stainless-steel fridge and set it on the marble countertop. I packed our picnic lunch when I was supposed to be sleeping, but was too fidgety to rest.
Orlando’s footsteps are hard to miss; he’s the largest in the family and has a sixth sense when I am unsettled. “Morning, cousin. What are…” When his gaze hits the cooler, his mouth firms. “Are we talking about what a bad idea it is to hook up with the Kennedy girl?”
I raise my chin and keep my gaze from his scrutiny. “Nope. I’m not talking about any of it, actually. I’m taking a day off.”
Orlando scoffs, as if I’ve cracked a joke. “That’s funny. What are you really doing?”
I pop open the cooler to show him the sandwiches, tapenade, crackers, wine and raspberry cannoli.
That’s right. I know my girl’s vices.
Orlando’s nose scrunches. “I don’t get it.”
I roll my eyes at the both of us, because if he came to me with a fancy lunch packed like this, I would think he had similarly lost his mind. “It’s a picnic. This is what normal people do when they are dating. I’m meeting up with Colette out of town so we can actually give this thing a go. There are too many eyes in the city.”
Orlando’s movements are stiff as he pours himself some coffee. “There are eyes everywhere! You get that, right? Colette is a recognizable figure, being the Last Deadblood. And you’re a public persona, too, Rome. Everyone knows you run the West End. You’re the most influential vampire there is. When humans think the word ‘vampire,’ it’s your face they see.” Orlando shakes his head as he blows on his hot cup. “This is a bad idea. I don’t understand your game. Are you trying to piss off the sheriff? Are you trying to stick it to Fintan? Because all of that should be beneath you.”
My teeth grind, but it’s not Orlando’s fault. These are fair questions. A month ago, I might be asking the same thing if it was Nico in my position.
“I’m trying to date a woman. That’s all. It’s nothing more complicated or seedy than that. We’re going out of town, so we don’t run into her family. Hopefully, people will leave us alone so we can enjoy our lives for a single day.”
Perhaps that’s a touch too much melodrama. But that doesn’t stop it from being true.
I tuck silverware, plates and napkins into the cooler. “Maybe if we’re out together, like a normal couple, I can shake her out of my system.” Though, even as I say this, there’s a foul taste in my mouth. I don’t want Colette out of my system. I want her in my arms. I want to suck on her lower lip and bury my face in her neck.
I want to nip at her hip and trace the curve of her side with my tongue.
Hunger rises in my body, reminding me of all the nuances she has that I haven’t been able to shake from my memory. She touches her thumb to each of her fingers in order when she is anxious, and then starts over until she says her piece.
She wears heels at a job where she’s on her feet all day.
Her lips are dark pink, and every now and then, she presses them together when she doesn’t like what I say. That simple tease tempts me to utter all sort of ungentlemanly things just so I can watch her disapprove of my antics.
Orlando motions to me with a finger. “You need to feed before you go.”
“I fed yesterday. You were there.” I know I sound petulant, but I don’t like being told things a basic five-year-old vampire understands. We have to drink about a pint of blood every week, or we’ll start to get thirsty. Thirst leads to irrational situations, like a vampire trying to feed on a stranger instead of going to the blood bank for donated blood, like a civilized vampire should.
“Yeah, but you’re going to be spending time alone with the one woman who could kill you if you get thirsty and forget yourself.”
I twist my ring on my finger, examining the family crest.
As much as my father adored Coletta, I know he would not approve of what I am doing.
I narrow my eyes at my cousin. “I haven’t been thirsty in years. I’m an adult, Orlando.” Drinking once a week means I don’t feel the pangs of thirst at all, so I can live a relatively normal life.
“Really? Because you’re sneaking around like a teenager.” He leans his elbows on the counter. “You do realize we babysat her, right? Our differing races aside, you’re ten years older than she is. That’s weird.”
I don’t address his last point because it’s not one I can argue my way out of. I’ve slowly allowed myself to become obsessed with the worry that I might look old to her, so I’ve been overdoing it with pushups and sit-ups to compensate.
I pull a blood bag from the fridge and pop the tab, sticking a straw in through the hole. Hopefully this satisfies Orlando’s worry that I might be thirsty, even though I am a grown man who knows the basics of how to tie my shoes.
I drain half the bag and put the rest in the fridge. “There. Satisfied?”
Orlando sips his coffee, which has to be too hot to drink yet. “Overjoyed. You want me to check on Martin’s Dry Cleaning today?”
Thank goodness he switches his focus toward work. “That’s a good place to start. Their numbers are too low for them to be laundering money through the business, but there have been a fair few shady people getting their clothes dry cleaned for everything to be aboveboard. I know Martin is selling halluci-blend. I just don’t have the proof.”
Orlando sips his coffee. “I’m on your side. I’ll get another look at their books if you like.”
I shake my head. “No. They’ll just show us the same fabrication they handed us before. We’re missing something. I can feel it.”
“They’re not cooking drugs in the laundromat. We did a thorough search. The sheriff searched them, too. There’s only so much we can do with a hunch, Rome
.” Orlando pauses to let his words settle in the air. My cousin thinks my hunch is wrong, but he is being diplomatic about it. “Sooner or later, we have to admit that the problem might not be coming from the laundromat.”
I know it’s Orlando’s job to question me and make me think things through, but I know when I am on the right track, and this is one of those times.
“I’m taking the copy of their books with me in case I beat Colette there. I’ll give them another look. I’m missing something; I can feel it. This is the spot the halluci-blend is coming from.”
I finish packing the cooler and load it into my car, along with a bathing suit and two towels, a picnic blanket, and the copy of the laundromat’s financials.
Orlando doesn’t say anything more as he drinks his coffee and watches me pack the car. He doesn’t laugh when I look up on my phone a list of things one might need to create the perfect romantic picnic.
I will never live this down if my search history is made public.
Orlando doesn’t have a hint of teasing to him when I leave for the day. But I know what my cousin is thinking.
This is a mistake. Coletta and I are a dangerous mistake.
The problem is that I agree with him…
…I just don’t care.
20
Swimming
Colette
I am careful the entire way not to go over the speed limit, worried more than usual that I might get pulled over. Though I have never had a ticket in my life (thanks to my father being who he is, coupled with my diplomatic immunity that pretty much gets me out of every jam), I still concern myself with being a rule follower. I break only the rules that are in desperate need of shattering.
I turned around twice on the way here, so I arrive later than I told Rome I would be. He hasn’t texted me to ask where I am at, and I’m too chicken to call him and tell him I am scared to meet. If we go on this date—this day away from everyone who feels permission to dictate the particulars of my love life—it will be official. Right now, it’s still a clandestine affair—me cheating on my own people.
My fingers are shaking. That’s not a good sign. If I don’t get my nerves under control, I won’t be able to go at all. I don’t want my stupid condition to be the reason I don’t show up. I want to be the one who makes the call, not my failing health.
I take my pill with a snarl. I’ve been trying to ween myself off them, but on days like this, it’s not an option. Anxiety makes my tremors worse. I don’t want to get there and be such a wreck that I have to admit to Rome how sick I really am.
No, he doesn’t need to know about that. First dates are supposed to be about fun and flirtation.
Though, I am not sure either of us are the type to commit to those things without taking in the ramifications such levities could cause.
I am sweating because this is insanity. Even as I pull into the almost empty parking lot of the beach, I’m still unsure if I should get out of the car. My hands are steady again, thank goodness, but my heart is a series of nervous pitters and patters.
I’m not supposed to get worked up.
Well, if we’re making a list of the things I’m not supposed to do, moving back to Mayfield, away from my doctor is number one.
Number two is opening a branch of my business with stakes this high. So really, meeting Rome for a date isn’t even at the top of the activities my doctor would throw a fit about.
I don’t know why that doesn’t make me more confident. As it is, I am fairly certain I just drove three hours only to be half an hour late to a date I might bail on. I want Rome too badly. I can’t objectively look at our pairing and see it for the bad idea it obviously is.
Rome will understand. If I drive home right now and don’t tell him a thing, he will surmise it was too much for me. It’s too much for any human, really. I’ve never heard of a human hooking up with a vampire, much less going on a proper date with one. We preach tolerance but not acceptance of the other race. Tolerance and acceptance are two very different things. Our family was a big pioneer back in the day, making it a point to go places together with the Valentinos. We went on family vacations, worked and studied together.
And here I am, grown into an adult who cannot decide whose opinion matters more—my own or a slew of strangers, plus a brother and a father whom I don’t respect to begin with.
I should tell Declan, though.
I should, but I know I won’t.
My shoulders slump as my forehead leans on the steering wheel.
I am pathetic. My mother would be ashamed of me for treating a member of the Valentino family like this.
Then again, I’m sure when Rome and Fintan occasionally had to watch over Nino-bear and me, she wasn’t exactly hoping her little girl would hook up with her babysitter.
Yep. This is too weird. I reach for the keys to shove them into the ignition, but just as I do, my eyes fall on Rome. He is leaning against a tree to the left of where I’ve parked, hands in his pockets.
I wonder how long he’s been staring at me, watching my existential crisis play out and land far from his favor.
I should leave. He would understand if I pealed out right now with no explanation. But even with the distance dividing us, I cannot bring myself to back away from the magnetic pull he seems to have on me lately.
He doesn’t move toward me, trying (and failing) to project a cool demeanor. It clashes with his laser focus on me when I finally open my car door. I don’t often wear flipflops, cutoffs and a tight pink t-shirt, but I am definitely dressed for flirting at the beach today.
I never did that when I lived overseas. Once I got on my feet, I was too busy studying and working to bother with dating. Plus, the only people who tried to date me made it crystal clear that they only wanted me for my place in the revolution, wherein the goal would be to extinguish all vampires using my blood as their weapon.
How romantic.
My steps are careful as I walk toward Rome with my towel over my arm. “I’m late,” I admit in lieu of a greeting. I stop a few feet from him, pursing my lips because I’m not sure how to proceed.
“You showed up,” he counters, not holding me accountable for my rudeness. “I’m glad.”
“Really? Because you look stressed.” I motion to his tensed neck muscles.
Rome shrugs. “You don’t think I fit in at a beach setting? You can’t picture me swimming and tanning and all that?”
The corner of my mouth quirks, but then the levity falls. “I turned around three times on the way here.”
He nods once, taking in the information without giving me a hint of how he is processing it.
Darn his beautiful poker face.
When he doesn’t speak, I start rambling like an idiot. “I’m nervous. This is… you know how big of a deal it is that we’re sneaking around. Phone calls were one thing, but this is a big step. If my family found out, it would be bad. I don’t know that a few kisses are worth the drama that’s going to rain down on your head if this thing blows in the wrong direction.”
He keeps his hands in his pockets, studying my movements. He remains silent, which I know from watching our fathers in action is an interrogation technique. It works easily on a guilty conscience.
“But maybe this is more than a few kisses.” My cheeks pink as soon as the words come out of my mouth. “Not like that. Not like sex.” I cringe at how stupid I sound. “I mean all of it. A relationship. If they find out there are feelings involved, it’s not going to go over well. I try to pick and choose how many heart attacks I give my father. Opening up a business in Midtown is enough for him to worry about. Adding a vampire boyfriend into the mix?” My eyes widen. “Not that you’re my boyfriend. We haven’t even talked about that. I’m not assuming…” I pause to pinch the bridge of my nose, cursing myself for not staying home this morning.
Rome doesn’t speak. He only holds out his hand in silent invitation.
Darn him for doing the perfect thing.
My heart ha
mmers as I stumble toward him like a newborn fawn. I don’t hold onto his fingers but drop my towel on the grass so I can throw my arms around his neck. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have kept you waiting. I’m scared, and I’m not sure that’ll go away anytime soon.”
His arms curve easily around my waist. My torso pressed to his feels like the most natural thing in the world. “Are you scared of me, Colette?”
I shake my head as my fingers tangle in his freshly cut hair. “No. I’m scared of us.”
His cheek presses to mine, not judging my fear or trying to brush it aside. His lips tickle the shell of my ear. His reply is more soothing than a lullaby. “Then we’ll take this slow.”
“Stop saying the perfect thing. It only makes me want you more.”
He thumbs at the small of my back, warming my body at the simple touch. My hips marry to his as I lean up on my toes. That little tease of a touch at the base of my spine leeches a flood of anxiety out of me. There’s protection in that touch—a shelter the wind cannot tear apart. His body curves around mine so I can finally begin to exhale in his arms.
My body trusts him, even if my brain is unsure.
We stand there like that, with my arms around his neck and my cheek pressed to his. I’m certain he will let me remain in his arms for as long as I need. He anchors me to this spot so I don’t fly away home, back where it’s safer and life is predictable. His thumb unties the strings that have me tightly wound. He takes his time toying with the few inches at the base of my spine, sweeping across the bare skin as if we were never meant to hide secrets from each other.
My heels finally hit the grass and my palm slides from his shoulder to his chest. My thumb traces his musculature from side to side, examining the hard feel of one pectoral compared to the other.
I love this spot on his body. It calls to me every time he comes near.
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