Haunted Honeymoon

by Marta Acosta

  “I take no satisfaction in being right.” Ian sighed. “I am entirely at fault for putting you in harm’s way so many times.”

  “A large cast played out this particular tragedy. We chose our roles. We can’t go back and change things,” I said. “I tried to. I think Wil was my trial amnesia, my effort to return to the sort of girl I was before … And after I killed the guard, I didn’t want to be myself anymore.”

  “So you went back to Oswald.”

  “Lily thinks I went back to Edna. I felt safe there. The ranch represented something to me, too: a home, family, love.”

  “Do you still plan on marrying Oswald?”

  “Why does it matter to you?” I molted from the sleeping bag and crossed my arms over my chest. “You already told me that you never wanted to see me again. You described your passion for the woman you love, but you’ve never told me who you love.”

  “I was talking about the most exciting, beautiful, amusing, infuriating, irresistible woman in the world, the only woman I’ve ever loved.” He stood and came close to me. “I was speaking of my coy mistress.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me directly, Ian?”

  “I was waiting for you to tell me first.”

  “The classic Mexican-vampire standoff,” I said, and took a step back. “You had Cricket and you still have Ilena, and you blew up a building.”

  “If I’d wanted Cricket, I would have had her and the situation would have been so much easier because no one would have known. You wouldn’t have known. But I don’t want anyone but you,” he said. “As for those who died at the facility, I have no pity for merchants of death.”

  I wanted to believe Ian. I did believe him. “You have too many secrets.”

  “I would tell you my secrets if I trusted that you would not run away.”

  “I’m not running away. I’m taking responsibility for the innocents who got caught in the trap you set for Poindexter.”

  “Milagro, what if I could provide an alternative safekeeping for Ford and Cricket, so that you do not have to exile yourself like a succulent missionary nun, abstaining from all of life’s pleasures to act as a caretaker?”

  When Ian took my hand in his firm, sturdy hand, a pleasurable fizz ran through me as quickly as an electric shock. He said, “Tell me that you love me.”

  I looked into his dark eyes and said, “From the first moment I saw you. My heart knew, but my brain’s wiring is a little off. I interpreted the signal as sex, sex, sex. But my heart meant love, love, love.”

  Ian bent to kiss my neck and must have felt my pulse racing. “I love you, Milagro de Los Santos. Tell me that you’ll marry me and never leave me.”

  “You can’t have any more secrets from me, and I’ll fight you if I think you’re doing something wrong, and I won’t share you with anyone, ever.”

  “Anything, everything, whatever you want,” he said as he put his arms around me. “No other men for you, either. No running back to Oswald, or tormenting me with liaisons.”

  “What about flirting?”

  “That’s like asking, what about breathing?” His teeth nipped my skin and my blood rose up, wanting release, wanting him.

  “Yes, Ian Ducharme, I’ll marry you.”

  I put my arms around him and smelled his skin, warm and spicy, and felt the heat of his breath on my ear as he whispered, “I shall tell you everything, such extraordinary things, my own girl.”

  He pulled me down to the sleeping bag with him, and I looked into his face and asked, “Do you remember the first time we made love?”

  “Vividly. You were a revelation.”

  I pulled off his sweater, and thought, He is mine, thrilling at his broad chest, the dark hair that ran down to his belly button and farther.

  “You were so delectable.” His hands went to the hem of my shirt, and he lifted it over my head. He grazed my collarbone with his fingers, making me ache with want.

  I took his hand and brought it to my mouth, biting until my teeth broke his skin. The rich, salty, intoxicating blood that flowed into my mouth made me shudder with pleasure, and while my mouth was on him, Ian was kissing my shoulder, my arm, my breast.

  When I released his hand from my mouth, I gasped, “I’ve never liked that kitchen table.”

  He was strong and I was strong.

  twenty

  Get Me to the Club on Time

  A great playwright once said that if you introduce a Margaritanator 3000 in the first act, there will be strawberry margaritas by the third act. And so it was that my frozen drink maker was commissioned by the My Dive bartenders to augment their own equipment on my wedding day.

  Mercedes, dressed in a simple navy suit, seemed unusually nervous as she paced in the lobby of her nightclub.

  “Chillax, cutie,” I said, although I was fidgeting with the bouquet of ivory roses from my garden at Casa Dracula.

  “I can’t. I keep thinking of all the trouble you’ll cause here now that you’re going to have part ownership.”

  “Oh, my God, I hadn’t thought of that! Now do you regret asking Ian to stop me from leaving?”

  “A little,” she said with a smile. “But I’m selfish. I couldn’t stand the idea of you inflicting your craziness on other people.”

  “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  Pepper, resplendent in a navy blazer, kilt, and biker boots, came in the lobby and said, “You ready?”

  Mercedes and I looked at each other and I said to her, “Am I doing the right thing?”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Completely, utterly. From the moment I met him.”

  “I’m crazy about him, too, Milagro. He’s got his quirks. What guy doesn’t?” Mercedes glanced fondly at Pepper.

  “He’s a righteous dude,” Pepper said, with a nod that sent the tiny metal skull beads on his beard dancing.

  I took a breath and smiled. “Okay, Pepper, we’re ready.”

  Juanita was at the piano and when her trumpeter played the first pure notes of “At Last,” our guests in the club fell silent. Juanita joined in next, singing, and then the rest of the Rat Dogs began playing.

  Mercedes went down the aisle between the small cocktail tables and took her place onstage. I followed, wearing her grandmother’s scarlet satin cocktail dress, ruby drop earrings, and an antique gold and ruby tiara.

  As I walked through the crowd, I saw the Grant family, Nancy, Mercedes’s family, the Stitching & Bitching crowd, the bikers, the heiress, the tabloid writer, my masseuse friend, the foxy shapeshifter, and Ian’s family and his other friends. They all smiled at me and I felt so lucky to have them in my life.

  And when I arrived by my groom’s side and looked into his dark eyes, I thought, Love, love, love.

  Ian, wearing an exquisite black suit and white shirt, smiled his dangerous smile, and my heart was so full, I thought it would burst. When he took my hands, I felt the thrill that no one else gave me, and I knew he felt the same thrill.

  The doorman Lenny’s wife, a minister, conducted the brief service. Ian slipped an ancient gold and ruby band on my finger, and it looked exactly right.

  The minister said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” and Ian kissed me, sending shivers down my back. Everyone clapped and many hooted and hollered and the party started right away, just the way we’d wanted it to.

  Champagne corks popped, guests started chattering, and the band began playing. My new father-in-law, compact and distinguished Augustin Ducharme, in tails and a sash with medals, kissed me on both cheeks, saying, “Our son is a lucky man!”

  Lala Ducharme looked both chic and matronly in a pink Chanel suit. She held my hands in her small ones and said, “We’ve been waiting for this day ever since Ian told us about you. I know you will be a good wife.”

  “I will do my very best.”

  Friends handed me off from one to another, kissing me and wishing me well. Nancy said, “You look incredible, and I knew you’d get to wear a tiar
a. My envy is boundless. You should keep it on for the wedding night. Do you have a title now, too?”

  “I’ve always had one. It’s Miracle of the Saints.”

  “I’ll find out and get calling cards for you. The more hyphens the better.”

  “I’m keeping my name, and a toaster would be fine.”

  “I knew you would have this kind of wedding. The only thing I was off on was the bongos and bad poetry.”

  “You know me too well, Nancita.”

  Ian’s sister, Cornelia, came at me with her thin arms open wide, like a spider in haute couture. “Dearest!”

  “Cornelia!”

  She smirked and said, “You see, I told you I would be at your wedding to the man you loved.”

  “You certainly did, Cornelia, although I was annoyed when you sabotaged my engagement to Oswald.”

  “It was from love, Milagro. I couldn’t wait until you were my sister. I have the best brother in the world, but I’ve always wanted a sister.”

  “Me, too.”

  I was pulled away by Gabriel, who said, “You look ravishing, Mrs. Dark Lord.”

  “So do you, Gabriel. Will we see you and Charlie next month?”

  “Yes, and while we’re in Lviv, Charlie will be looking at a chalet to convert to a hotel.”

  “We’ll go sightseeing together, Gabriel.”

  “I think our lives are inextricably tied, girlfriend,” he said, and kissed my cheek.

  Although I got sidetracked, I set my course for Edna, who was chatting with Gigi Barton and her guest. Kisses went round and Edna said to me, “You have never looked so radiant.”

  “I never thought I’d marry Ian.”

  “You were the only one, Young Lady. The rest of us knew it the moment you two crocodiles met.”

  “You could have saved me trouble and told me.”

  She gazed at me with her gorgeous green eyes. “I think that you have become a lady at last, Milagro.”

  “Don’t say that, Edna. I want to believe that I can do better.”

  “Don’t expect an argument from me,” she said. “I’ve figured out your superhero power.”

  “You have?”

  “Look around you.”

  I did, and said, “All I see is people waiting for the roast pork to be served and the dancing to begin. What’s my superpower?”

  “You open people to passion. There’s my grandson Sam with his wife and child, and that wouldn’t have happened without you. Gabriel wouldn’t have met Charlie if you hadn’t caused problems. Mercedes and Pepper are an oddly right couple. Nettie and Wilcox are together as they wish.”

  Suddenly, everywhere I turned, I saw couples who had come together in connection to me.

  The crowd quieted a little as Thomas Cook approached, looking more beautiful than his photographs.

  Edna said, “I never would have met Thomas if not for your shenanigans.”

  Thomas kissed my cheek and said to Edna, “I told Milagro she was a happy ending sort of girl.”

  “You were right, Thomas,” she said with a smile. “You have a deeper understanding of character than people give you credit for.”

  “I’m not just a stunning face and amazing body.”

  The besotted actor pulled Edna away and I saw one more couple I’d brought together, Oswald and Lily. In a slate gray suit that intensified the silver-gray of his clear eyes, he looked like the successful professional he was. Lily was lovely in a shimmery lavender dress and a wrap around her ivory shoulders.

  They held hands and came to me. “Best wishes,” Lily said. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thank you, Lily, and thanks for bringing the roses from the ranch.”

  “I’m learning more about them,” she said. “Oh, and I’ve got some questions about planting for late summer blooms.”

  “I’ll give you a call and we’ll talk.”

  “Maybe you could come up sometime,” she said, and then Oswald glanced at her. “Or we can have a just-girls lunch until things are more settled.”

  “That would be fine. I’ll save up my gardening catalogs for you.”

  “Great. Excuse me, because I’ve got to try a margarita,” Lily said.

  Then she left us, and I was staring at Oswald and remembering so many things.

  My former fiancé looked solemn. “I’ve never seen you look so happy and beautiful. You got the wedding you wanted—the club, the music, the food, the dress …”

  “This is more my style than a formal wedding. You know that.”

  “Yes, but I kept hoping you’d change.”

  “Funny, I kept hoping that about me, too. Ian once told me, ‘You’re Milagro de Los Santos, why would you ever want to be anything else?’”

  “He was right. Goddamn Ian Ducharme. Before, during, and after, it was always Ian.”

  “Why did you try with me, then, Oz?”

  “Because you’re so damn hot and I was in love with you. Why did you try with me?”

  “Because you’re the perfect partner for a sincere and serious young woman, but I’m not that woman,” I said with an apologetic smile. “I never knew when I met you what my life would be—secret cabals and vampire maniacs, werewolves and incubi, zombies and mad scientists.”

  “And amazing sex,” Oswald said, and touched my hand. “We had a wild ride, didn’t we, babe?”

  “It was astonishing,” I said. “Thank you, Oswald, for everything—for all the incredible memories.”

  “If we could go back in time …”

  “But we can’t,” I said.

  One side of his mouth went up in the crooked smile that I would always love. “If we could, I would do it all over again, in a heartbeat, because I wouldn’t have missed any of it—I wouldn’t have missed you, Milagro, for anything in the world.”

  “Someday, Oz, we’ll be the best of friends.”

  “Sure we will, babe.”

  When Oswald kissed my cheek, I took in the scent of his herby sunblock, and I felt an ache deep within me, such grief. Because it’s painful to see something die—a beloved grandmother, a favorite pet, a kind friend, life changing a passion for a fabulous man.

  Oswald and I gazed into each other’s eyes, and I thought he must feel the same bittersweet pang.

  And then I turned back to my guests.

  There was dinner and toasts, and after that Ian and I had our first dance as a married couple to a romantic bolero. I said into his ear, “Do you remember the first time we danced together?”

  “Vividly,” he answered. “You moved like a dream. A sweaty, lusty wet dream.”

  “I thought we danced too well together.”

  “Is there no pleasing you? I shall try to rise to the challenge.”

  “Not in front of the guests, Ian.”

  “If you insist.”

  “Where’s Ilena?”

  “She decided not to come.”

  “I can’t say that I’m upset. But thank you for letting me invite Oswald.”

  “The sooner he marries Lily Harrison, the more comfortable I’ll be,” Ian said. “I have a wedding present for you.”

  “Is it in your pants?”

  “Not in front of the guests, Milagro,” he said in his low, sexy, rumbly voice, and I wished that the guests would all go away so I could be alone with my husband.

  Our second band of the night was Pepper’s new rock group. Mercedes’s father joined the biker on bagpipes, and the wall of sound pulsing through me was exactly what I loved about music.

  I took off my shoes and danced with my girlfriends, before Ian picked me up and carried me out, while our guests shouted congratulations.

  A black Mercedes pulled up, and Mr. K got out and opened the door for us.

  “Good evening, sir, ma’am.”

  Ian said, “Good evening. Home, please.”

  I said, “Mr. K, please tell me that I’m not a ‘ma’am’ already.”

  He smiled and said, “As Lord Ducharme has instructed us, you will be exactly who
you will be, Milagro.”

  “Thank you, Mr. K.”

  We got in the backseat, and Mr. K closed the door.

  I leaned against Ian. “You didn’t have to carry me out.”

  “You would have stayed there all night, and I couldn’t endure sharing you any longer.”

  As Mr. K started the car and began driving, I said, “It was the best wedding ever, Ian.”

  “We still have the family ceremony in Lviv. My mother has been planning it for years.”

  “I’m trying to make that traditional vampire wedding fruitcake, and it looks all kinds of dreadful. Mrs. K promised to help fix it, but it may be unfixable, wrong at the molecular level, as Nancy would say.” I looked out the window. “This isn’t the way to the hotel. Where are we going?”

  “Home.”

  I sighed. “Did you buy another house without telling me?”

  “You won’t set foot in the Modern Tuscan, so I found a place that I hope will be more to your liking,” he said. “It’s down the street from Nancy’s apartment, and you can run back and forth and visit.”

  “That will be fantastic! Is that the present you mentioned?”

  “No, darling.”

  We’d reached Nancy’s tony neighborhood, where Beaux Arts buildings, Victorians, and a few daring moderns had spectacular views to the bay. Mr. K turned into the driveway of a graceful three-story pewter Edwardian with white trim and a long stairway to the front entrance.

  When Mr. K opened the car door, we got out and Ian led me through a black iron gate and up the marble steps. “It’s a bit empty now, because I know you’ll have your own ideas about decorating.”

  “So if I want to cover the walls in flocked leopard print, you won’t object?”

  “Not in the least.”

  Mrs. K opened the front door with a bright smile. “Congratulations! Come in, come in.”

  Ian picked me up again and said, “Welcome home, Milagro,” and carried me over the threshold into the foyer.

  It was silly, but in the good way. “Thank you. Now let me down so I can see this place.”

  I walked into a long living room with French windows looking out to a balcony. The house had been remodeled in a clean, airy way, from the white coffered ceiling to the simple marble fireplace, so that it was neither stuffy nor stark. “Ian, it’s beautiful. Are you sure this isn’t my present?”