by Lynsay Sands
“I did buy a bed,” she assured her, deciding to save her the trouble of reading her. “But it won’t be delivered until next week. The sleeping bag is just a temporary solution until it arrives.”
“Or you could stay here until it arrives,” Marguerite suggested at once. “We are more than happy to have you stay, Ildaria. In fact, I have enjoyed your company and will be sorry to see you go.”
Ildaria had spent her life on the run, keeping barriers between herself and others by necessity. Both to keep herself safe, and to keep others safe as well. But her situation had changed, and at those sweet words from Marguerite, a woman she liked and respected, Ildaria felt some of those shields collapse and her heart go a little mushy. It made her smile, and she instinctively hugged the woman as she said, “And I’ve enjoyed being here. You and Julius and furry Julius are wonderful.” Releasing Marguerite, she stepped back and added, “But I’ll feel better in my own place. I—I’m not used to leaning on others.”
“I understand.” Marguerite patted her shoulder gently. “But that is what family is for, Ildaria, and I now consider you family. Please remember that in the future, especially if you need anything. Anything at all,” she added firmly.
Ildaria swallowed a sudden lump in her throat, and nodded before managing to get out a husky “I will.”
“Good.” Marguerite nodded. “Then I shall go search for the sleeping bag and—”
“You don’t have to do that,” Ildaria interrupted, not wanting to put her out. “Just tell me where to look and I’ll—”
“You,” Marguerite interrupted firmly, “will go ahead and drive over to the Night Club. You have a lot of stuff to unpack and put away before work. I’ll find the sleeping bag and follow. I should like to see this apartment anyway. We can have tea.”
“Oh. Si, of course.” Ildaria smiled crookedly and nodded, but she was thinking she would have to stop at the grocery store on the way. Food was something she’d neglected during her shopping spree. Fortunately, she still had a little money left, certainly enough to buy tea, sugar, and milk. Maybe some cookies too. Maybe, she’d even have enough left over for bread and peanut butter to eat until her first paycheck, Ildaria thought as she gave Marguerite a distracted parting wave and headed out to her car.
Thinking of her first paycheck from the Night Club had her recalling that it was almost Friday, which was payday at the part-time waitressing job she’d managed to get and the only reason she had the money she’d just spent. Which, in turn, made her realize that she hadn’t yet given her notice there and she was scheduled for an afternoon shift the next day.
That wasn’t so bad, Ildaria decided. She could manage the shift and still make it to her job at the Night Club on time. But she’d have to give them notice . . . and spend her break switching any evening shifts they’d scheduled her for with someone who had day shifts so that she could finish out the standard two weeks. The manager there was a good person, she didn’t want to just leave her high and dry with no time to hire a replacement. Unfortunately, that would mean a lot of hours working between the two places for the next two weeks, but she could handle it. Besides, it would give her more money for food. Something she was much more interested in now that she’d met G.G. Her flagging appetite had returned. If she was lucky, she might even make enough in tips to buy a chair or something to sit on besides the bed.
That had her smiling faintly as she got in her old silver Ford Fusion. It had belonged to Jess’s deceased parents. Jess had let her use it to get to school and her job and such when she’d first moved in with her, and then had sold it to her cheap when Ildaria had scraped enough money together to buy it.
Ildaria loved her car.
It was old, at least ten years, but it was in great shape, and worked well. Judging by the mileage on it, Jess’s parents hadn’t had it long before they’d died. She suspected it had been left to sit in the garage between then and when Jess had given it to her to use. Whatever the case, it hadn’t given her a lick of trouble since she’d bought it, and it gave her the freedom to go where she needed to go.
Right now her car was stuffed with her television and the shopping bags holding all the things she’d bought today. The front passenger seat was the only available space for the groceries she planned to get on the way to her new apartment.
Her new apartment.
Just thinking the words made Ildaria smile. She knew she was rushing it moving in this quickly and with absolutely no furniture. Certainly, continuing to stay with Marguerite and Julius would have been more comfortable.
But she was desperate for a home of her own. A place where she wasn’t beholden to others. Ildaria hated that feeling. It was probably her worst flaw. She’d rather go hungry and sleep on a cold, hard floor than accept charity, and kind and sweet as Marguerite and Julius had been to her, she was still very conscious of the fact that she was residing in their home, a charity case. At least to her mind.
Pulling on her seat belt, Ildaria started the engine, and headed off, mentally working out how much money she had left and what she could afford to buy with it. In the end, she was able to buy tea, cream, sugar, bread, peanut butter, and even some bakery cookies to serve with the tea. She still had no idea where she and Marguerite would sit while they had it, but was hoping G.G. would let her borrow a couple of the high-backed bar stools from the Night Club if she promised to bring them back down before the club opened at sunset. If so, they could sit at her island to enjoy their tea and cookies.
Before seeing her off that morning, G.G. had shown her the back door to the Night Club and apartments, and told her how to access it through an alley of sorts behind the building. He’d also given her a spot in the small parking lot behind the building. Ildaria parked, gathered several bags and headed for the door to the back of the building. She didn’t have any problem with the lock, and didn’t run into anyone on her first two trips up to her apartment. Ildaria wasn’t surprised. G.G. was mortal. Unlike immortals he couldn’t make up for a short sleep by taking in extra blood. He’d need the full eight hours and since it was after eight by the time he’d seen her off that morning, and it was only 2:30 in the afternoon now, she suspected he’d sleep a couple more hours.
However, on her third trip into the building, she encountered Sofia obviously on her way out.
“You’re up early,” Ildaria said lightly, moving to the side to allow the other woman to pass.
“G.G. only makes two of us stay to help with cleanup each night. Last night was my night off cleaning duty. I was in bed by 6 a.m. I’ve had plenty of sleep,” she said with a smile and then glanced at the bags Ildaria was carrying. “Moving in?”
“G.G. told you?” Ildaria asked with surprise, but knew at once that such couldn’t be the case. Sofia had just told her that she’d been in bed since 6 a.m. and G.G. hadn’t offered her the apartment until after that.
“No. But you’re working here now, and it’s early to start work so . . .” She shrugged and then nodded toward the bags in her hands, and asked, “Is there more? Can I help?”
“Oh, you don’t have to . . .” Ildaria’s voice trailed away when Sofia took half her bags and turned to lead her inside and up the stairs. It seemed she was getting help whether she liked it or not, Ildaria thought and followed with a wry, “All righty then.”
“Oh, get over it,” Sofia said with amusement. “You work at the Night Club now. You’re part of the family. And we help each other. Get used to it.”
Ildaria didn’t comment. It was the second time today she’d been informed she was now part of a family. And then there was Jess, who called her sister. After more than a hundred years on her own, she appeared to have “family” springing up everywhere. Weird.
Ildaria had expected to have to make four more trips up and down the stairs, but with Sofia’s help they managed it in two. Even better, while traipsing back and forth to the car, Sofia had asked about furniture and when Ildaria said she only had the television and a bed coming for the mome
nt, Sofia had dragged her to the storeroom G.G. had mentioned. It was crammed full of furniture as it turned out. Most of it was stuff from the rooms G.G. had renovated. The furniture was all perfectly good. It just hadn’t suited the esthetic G.G. wanted. But it was all expensive, so he’d stored it until he decided what to do with it.
Sofia had insisted that she take what she needed, that G.G. wouldn’t mind. When Ildaria had still balked at doing so, she’d said to think of it as borrowing. She could return each item to the storeroom when she’d managed to find replacements she could afford. That had made her feel better, so she’d borrowed three high-backed bar stools for the island, and a table with six chairs. It was all very modern-looking. The high-backed bar stools were metal with black leather seats and backs, as were the chairs that went with the table. But the table itself was the most contemporary thing she’d ever seen, featuring a sleek glass table surface tinged black and big enough to seat six more than comfortably, as well as a chrome finished pedestal that looked like mirrored horns coming out of the glossy white base beneath. Ildaria had never seen anything like it and couldn’t decide if she loved or hated it. She did know that she certainly wouldn’t have picked it herself. It was interesting, but cold. Like G.G., she preferred the warmth of real wood.
“There,” Sofia said as they set the table down. “All done.”
“Si. Thank you.” Ildaria sighed. Grabbing the backs of two of the chairs they’d brought up first, she slid them up to the table.
“No problem,” Sofia said lightly, starting to move chairs around the table as well. “So you and G.G. . . .”
Ildaria froze briefly and then lifted her head to stare at the woman uncertainly. “What?”
“You can’t read him,” she said as if that was all she had to say.
Ildaria supposed it was all that needed to be said. It was also true. She’d finally tried to read him last night. He was a very solicitous boss, bringing her blood, coffee, food when checking on her, and then sending her upstairs at midnight, pointing out that she’d arrived at four, had been working for eight hours and that was all the accounting he expected her to do. The rest of the time she should “relax with H.D.” She’d argued that she hadn’t started working on the accounting at once, but had been out in the main room of the club with him. And he’d pointed out that while that was true, he’d spent that time talking to her about the books and instructing her on how they were kept at the Night Club, so she’d been working for eight hours and that was enough. Besides, he’d argued, H.D. was surely growing bored being stuck in the office.
Once G.G. had brought H.D. into the argument, Ildaria hadn’t protested further. Feeling guilty for keeping the poor pup there for so long, she’d nodded, scooped up H.D. and taken him upstairs to G.G.’s apartment where she’d worked off her guilt by cuddling, playing fetch with, and spoiling the little fur ball. Which had also worked nicely to keep her from thinking too much about her attempt, and failure, to read G.G.
Marguerite was right. G.G. was a possible life mate for her, one of those rare people that an immortal could not read or control. Sometimes they were immortal, sometimes mortal. But that was one of the main signs of a life mate and she definitely could not read or control G.G. As for the other signs, Ildaria hadn’t yet reached the age where she grew tired of eating, so that wasn’t a tell with her. And she’d have to wait to see if they had shared sex dreams, or shared pleasure during lovemaking. But none of that mattered. Not being able to read or control him was enough.
“He’s going to be a hard sell on agreeing to the turn,” Sofia said softly, her gaze troubled.
“Si. Marguerite warned me of that.” Ildaria pushed the last two chairs up to the table and then walked into the kitchen to start going through the bags and boxes they’d set in there. “Can I get you something to drink? Ice water or tea? I’m afraid I don’t have anything else yet.”
“Tea would be lovely,” Sofia said, following her. “I’ll give you a hand.”
Ildaria was soon grateful for the help, since they ended up having to unpack more than half the kitchen items to find the electric kettle, teapot, spoons, cups, and teabags. With Sofia helping, it was done much more quickly than she could have done it alone. They unpacked the other half of the items and started cleaning and putting things away while they waited for the kettle to boil.
“What time are you starting tonight?” Sofia asked as Ildaria returned to the kitchen from throwing a load of her new towels in the washing machine.
“Not until sunset from now on. I only came in so early yesterday so G.G. could familiarize me with the books before the club opened,” she explained and then added, “Although, I’m not sure what nights I’ll be working. I know the club is open on the weekends. Do we close Monday and Tuesday to make up for it?”
Sofia shook her head. “We’re open every day, but everyone gets two nights off a week except G.G. He works every night.” Scowling, she added, “I’ve tried to tell him he should take two nights off too, and have one of us man the door, but so far, no go.”
“Hmm,” Ildaria murmured, wondering what days he’d want her to take off. And then worrying about what he’d do with H.D. during those two days. The thought was a troubling one. She didn’t like the idea of the little guy having to be stuck alone in G.G.’s apartment two nights a week.
“G.G.’s planning on giving you whichever two nights off a week you want. But he’s debating on asking you to keep an eye on H.D. those nights if you wouldn’t mind. He won’t be upset if you can’t, or say you don’t want to, but he’ll pay double time if you do. Otherwise, he’ll just keep H.D. in his office,” Sofia announced, and when Ildaria glanced at her, eyebrows raised, she shrugged mildly. “Unlike you, I can read him.”
“Right,” she said wryly and returned to emptying the bags around them. They’d actually done a pretty good job at the task. She had towels in the washing machine, her new glasses, pots and pans, and dishes were all out of their boxes and stacked in the dishwasher. Or at least, most of them were. Everything hadn’t fit in one load. Pots and pans took up a lot of room. But those that hadn’t fit in the first load were waiting on the counter for their turn. Except for three cups and the teapot that were all drip-drying on the rack she’d purchased along with the other kitchen gadgets.
“Tea,” she muttered suddenly and moved to the kettle. It had come to a boil a good half an hour ago, but they’d both been busy and it had automatically shut off, so they’d forgotten about it. At least, she had. Ildaria couldn’t say for sure if Sofia had. She couldn’t read her mind. But then she had the sense that the woman was older than her, and younger immortals could never read older ones.
“Yes. I’m older. By a good three hundred years,” Sofia announced, obviously catching her thoughts. “And no, I didn’t forget about the tea, but we were doing such a good job of getting rid of boxes and bags I decided the tea could wait a bit. I’m almost ready for one now though.”
“Me too. This shouldn’t take long though,” Ildaria said, moving to the electric kettle to get it going again. Once that was taken care of, she moved to sort through the few remaining bags for the sugar. It was easy to find. There were only two grocery bags in the half a dozen bags remaining.
“What’s in the rest of these?” Sofia asked with interest, bending to peer into the bag nearest her.
“Hand soap, shampoo, a cheese grater, colander, whisk, spatula, measuring spoons . . . Basically odds and ends.” Ildaria carried the sugar to the counter and then moved to fetch the sugar bowl and cream holder set she’d unthinkingly put in the dishwasher just moments ago. Realizing she’d have to wash and dry them by hand as well if she wanted to use them, Ildaria set the items in the sink, and then returned to the dishwasher to retrieve a couple of spoons too.
“Plates for the cookies,” Sofia reminded her, and Ildaria snatched several of those too.
“You start washing these and I’ll run down to my apartment to grab a clean dish towel.”
Ildari
a glanced up with surprise. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can use—”
“You are not wasting half your paper towel drying dishes,” Sofia said firmly, reading her thoughts. “I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks.” Ildaria sighed the word as she watched the other woman slip around the kitchen counter to head for the door. Shaking her head then, she squirted dish soap into the sink and turned on the hot water as she contemplated how uncomfortable she was at having to accept help from others. Even after three years of living with Jess, something as little as Sofia letting her use a dish towel left her feeling extremely . . . well, uncertain and awkward. Like she owed her for it.
Although, to be fair, Ildaria thought now, while she’d known Jess was there if she needed anything, in truth, she had helped Jess as much if not more than Jess had helped her. Her friend had been trying to balance school, wedding plans, and constant, exhausting life mate sex with Raff during the better part of those three years, and had leaned heavily on Ildaria during that time. But that had been fine. In fact, it had made her feel needed and useful rather than like a charity case. They’d become really good friends. Almost like sisters as Jess liked to claim.
Marguerite had been different, of course, Ildaria acknowledged as she turned off the water and began to wash the dishes she needed for tea and cookies. There was very little Marguerite and Julius needed in the way of help. And she and Marguerite had spent a lot of time together these last almost two months. Ildaria had come to look up to the woman, respect and like her a great deal. Still, it was hard to accept help from her. Maybe that was something she should work on, Ildaria thought pensively, and then glanced around expectantly when she heard the apartment door open.
“Okay. Walk straight backward, G.G.”
Blinking at those words in Sofia’s voice, Ildaria gave up on the dishes and wiped her hands on her jeans as she hurried around the kitchen island, only to stop and gape at the men carrying in—“Is that a couch?”
