The man had tan skin, dark hair, and dreamily wide brown eyes. He wore jeans and a cotton tunic of deep saffron on his tall and lean frame, and a cheeky grin on his face. “Isn’t it bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other before the wedding?”
The smile traveled through the crisp accent that edged his warm voice.
He and Ethan walked toward each other, met in the middle, and shared a manly, back-slapping hug. “It’s good to see you, Amit.”
Amit put a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, squeezed it. “And you as well, my friend.”
The most powerful vampire in the world—and Ethan’s best man—glanced at me and held out his hands, a silver ring glinting on his right thumb. I walked to him, offered my hands. He raised them to his lips, pressed kisses as a frisson of magic passed between us.
“Amit. It’s so good to see you!”
He grinned. “Have you changed your mind about marrying this reprobate yet?”
“I have not,” I said, glancing at Ethan. “And I don’t think I will.”
Amit nodded gravely. “You’re a brave woman.”
“She is,” Ethan agreed, eyes gleaming with pleasure. “That’s why I named her Sentinel.” He glanced back at Amit. “Did you just get in? Can we get you settled?”
Amit held up his hands. “I’m fine. Helen has seen to my luggage and accommodations. And speaking of which, what’s happened?”
Ethan and I exchanged a glance.
“I’m Very Strong Psych,” Amit said, a reference to the vampire ranking system. “There is an unusual energy in the House, and not just because of the wedding.”
“Merit was attacked here last night.”
“I wasn’t attacked,” I said, putting a supportive hand on Ethan’s arm. “An unbalanced supplicant holed up in a closet, made his way in here. I was the unlucky vampire who found him, and he wasn’t happy about it.”
Amit’s eyes widened with alarm, and he glanced at Ethan.
“Isolated incident,” Ethan said, repeating the party line. “The Ombudsman’s office is investigating, and the individual was apprehended after Merit beaned him with my Greenwich Presidium service award.”
Amit nodded approvingly. “That’s the way to do it.”
“I’d have preferred not to bean him with an award or otherwise. But a Sentinel’s gotta Sentinel.”
“Put that on a T-shirt,” Ethan said.
There was a polite throat-clearing in the doorway. We looked back, found Lindsey in jeans and a pink BRIDE’S CREW T-shirt, my dress bag in hand.
“Sire, Sentinel.” She smiled at Amit, nodded, held the bag a little higher. “It’s time to go.”
The pre-wedding nerves hadn’t sparked yet, but seeing her standing there with the dress she hadn’t yet seen made everything suddenly real. We’d reached the point where there was no more time to guard the House, investigate threats, plan for security.
I was getting married today.
I was getting married today.
I was getting married today.
“Merit,” Amit said, laughter in his voice. “You’ve gone a bit pale.”
I swallowed hard, looked back at him and then Ethan. “I feel like I’m about to give my ninth-grade history speech.”
Ethan smiled. “You made it through ninth grade, or so I assume, since you’ve got a master’s degree and a half. I feel like U of C, among the others, would be particular about that kind of thing.”
I blew out a breath through pursed lips. “Everything will be fine.” But I grabbed his lapels, pitched forward. “What if my mother got doves? What if the DJ only plays the chicken dance? What if Amit messes up the toast?”
“I have no plan to mess up the toast,” Amit said crisply. “I will bring the crowd to the cusp of tears, then amuse them with stories of your groom’s wilder days.”
Actually, that did sound entertaining.
Ethan kissed my forehead. “Steady on, brave Sentinel. You deferred the wedding planning, and now you must face the music—and possibly the doves.” But he looked down at me, skimmed a finger over the House necklace at my throat.
Regardless of the rest of it, he said silently, there will be you and me. That will be enough, and that will be perfect. This night, and all of its dark beauty, is ours.
Who needed Lord Byron anyway?
CHAPTER FIVE
WHEN DOVES CRY
They stood in the foyer like a posse come to collect their due.
And that “due” was me.
Helen and my mother, Meredith Merit, looked like business partners. Both wore trim suits and pearls, their hair perfectly coiffed, makeup precisely elegant. There was something very Stepford Wives about it. Or the Oak Park and Hyde Park versions, anyway.
Mallory stood with them in jeans and another BRIDE’S CREW shirt. She stood beside a pile of suitcases and what looked like black tackle boxes.
They turned together, glanced at me with the same assessing gaze.
“Merit,” my mother said, walking forward and pressing her hands to my cheeks. Her palms were soft and cold, and she smelled like powdery perfume. “How are you feeling, darling? Are you nervous? Excited?”
My mother and I weren’t especially close. As my father focused on business, my mother focused on socializing—leading charitable guilds, hosting socials, arranging donations that got “Merit Properties” on buildings or plaques or benches. Things that Charlotte dealt with better than I did. But given that she’d coordinated my wedding, this wasn’t the time to be ungrateful.
“Both, I guess.” As she turned to slip an arm around my waist, I glanced at Helen. “Before things get too chaotic, I wanted to say thank you for everything that you’ve done to get this wedding off the ground. Without you, we’d probably be eloping at a Waffle House.”
“Perish the thought,” my mother said with a smile. “It has been a great pleasure working with Helen.” She reached out and squeezed Helen’s hand like they were old friends, which disturbed me more than it should have. Helen already wasn’t a fan of mine; I didn’t think her having my mother’s ear would improve the tension.
“The wedding will be beautiful,” Helen said. “As befits a Master of Cadogan House.”
Not as befit a Sentinel, or two vampires in love, but as befit the Master.
I would be the bigger vampire. “Of course,” I said simply, and saw the surprise in her eyes that I’d agreed instead of arguing. Or maybe because I hadn’t let her see that the arrow had found its home.
My mother glanced around at the group. “I think we’re all here. Let’s get started!”
She opened the door, and the group began to funnel into the night.
Mallory slipped an arm through mine. “That was well done, Merit. Saying thank you.”
“If it’s all doves and chicken dances, I’m retracting it.”
“I’m not sure what that means, but I’ve noted it for the record.”
That would have to do.
• • •
Another night, another limo. But while last night’s mood was light and a little sassy, tonight’s was much more serious. Led by Helen and my mother, we were serious people heading off for serious events. Prestigious events. Socially important events.
But I kept smiling as I watched the dark city pass as we drove toward the Loop.
I was getting married today. And I was feeling pretty damned good about it.
Mallory, who sat beside me, chuckled. “If you keep smiling, you’re going to wear out your cheek muscles before things even get started. You’re going to be asked to smile a lot in the next few hours.” She cast a considering glance at my mother and Helen, whispered, “How many people at this shindig?”
“Four hundred,” I whispered back.
“And you’re going to have to say hello to each and every one of them.”
&nbs
p; I hadn’t thought about that—not in so many words. But it couldn’t be helped. It was my wedding night, and I’d make the best of it.
“I like those T-shirts,” I said, plucking her hem.
“Lindsey’s idea,” she said. “She didn’t want the mood to be too starchy.” Another glance at my mother and Helen. “All things considered.”
“All things considered,” I agreed, and gestured to the chilling bucket of champagne. “Let’s get this party started.”
• • •
We pulled up in front of the Portman Grand, the grandest of grande dame hotels. We’d get dressed in a suite Helen had reserved for the wedding party—or the female half of it, anyway.
We’d party until dawn, and Ethan and I would also spend the day here before tomorrow’s overnight to Paris, where we’d enjoy the gardens at Versailles (by night, of course), excellent champagne, and each other.
A woman with blond hair in a low ponytail and a dark pantsuit stood in the gilded lobby, clipboard in hand. She strode forward on needle-sharp heels, hand extended. “Merit,” she said with a smile, shaking my hand with brisk efficiency. “Welcome to the Portman Grand. Thank you for allowing us to have a part in your wonderful evening.”
“You’re welcome.”
“If you’ll come this way,” she said, gesturing to a bank of elevators, “we’ll get you to your suite. Your limo will remain in front of the building, under guard, until it’s time to proceed to the site.”
The “under guard” took me a moment to process, but I nodded and followed her into the elevator, one of the glass-walled variety that looked out on the city. The brass doors closed, and the car dipped slightly as everyone piled on, and then it began its slow ascent, rising over the city, buildings and cars in the Loop twinkling like stars beside the lake’s empty darkness.
“It’s a beautiful night,” the woman said. “A beautiful evening for a wedding.”
I hoped it would stay that way. But I didn’t feel better when we exited on the seventeenth floor and proceeded down the hallway to a lone door at the end where a man and woman, both human and both in black, flanked the door. They were security contractors who regularly guarded the House gate.
I hadn’t known they’d be here—that Luc or Ethan had assigned guards just for this. They probably hadn’t wanted me to worry about the possibility of a threat, but that didn’t make me feel better about it.
I glanced at Lindsey, and she must have read the expression on my face. But before I could inquire, the double doors opened. My sister, Charlotte, stood in the doorway in a BRIDE’S CREW T-shirt and pink seersucker shorts.
“About damn time!” she said, dragging me into the room, squeezing me into a hug. “I can’t wait to see your dress!” Charlotte closed the door behind us, rubbed her hands together gleefully. “And it’s time to get started.”
The room was enormous—a long rectangle with a wall that faced the river, and three separate sitting areas. There was a dining room table at the far end, topped with portable lighted mirrors. On a low buffet on the wall beside it were more bottles of champagne, crystal flutes, and a silver tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries.
“I’ll open the champagne,” Charlotte said, heading for the buffet on bare feet with pretty pink toes. “Shay, we’re ready when you are!”
A woman entered from a doorway at the other end of the room. Curvy and dark skinned, with a cascade of spiral curls that reached her shoulders and a black camera around her neck. She looked at me, smiled. “Shay Templeton. I’ll be your photographer for the evening.”
“Shay is the best wedding photographer in Chicago,” my mother said. “We practically had to get into a bidding war to get her.”
I glanced at Shay, who looked faintly embarrassed, but also a little proud, at my mother’s raving. I figured that was probably the right response.
I smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Shay. If I could just have one minute?” I held up one finger, then took Lindsey’s arm and pulled her into the suite’s bedroom, which was as amply appointed as the lounge, with thick blankets and pillows atop a sleigh bed on a carpeted pedestal. I bet the honeymoon suite was insane.
“The guards?” Lindsey asked, closing the door behind us.
“The guards,” I said.
“Just a precaution,” she said. “Ethan is taking no chances with his bride.”
“He could have told me.”
“And what would you have said?”
“That we don’t need armed guards outside the bridal suite,” I grumbled.
“Yeah, and you’d have fought him on it, refused the guards, and been on your guard the entire night. He wanted you to relax, Merit, and actually enjoy your wedding.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. I didn’t like that he’d done it without talking to me—which was a classic Sullivan move—or that she was absolutely right.
“Fine,” I said. “But I’m only going along with this because I left my katana at the House.” I hadn’t even thought about it. Which meant Ethan was winning, and I wasn’t doing a very good job of mixing security and wedding.
Lindsey grinned. “Ethan made sure I brought it with. It’s in the other room, just in case.”
And so he was forgiven.
• • •
In the interest of keeping Weddingpocalypse somewhat contained, I had a maid of honor, Mallory, and only one bridesmaid, Charlotte. Ethan had Amit as his best man and Malik as his groomsman. Like Ethan, Amit and Malik would wear slim tuxedos. Mallory and Charlotte would wear long dresses of delicate pale green lace.
I’d also nominated Lindsey as my official stylist and dresser. Since she’d seemed very relieved to say yes, I guessed she hadn’t been confident in my styling choices. But then again, neither was I. Which was why I’d asked the House fashionista to do it.
She brought one of the black tackle boxes to the dining table, flipped the latch, and opened the top, revealing a dozen trays of lipsticks, eye shadows, blushes, and mascaras.
I blew out a breath, nodded. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s get to work.”
Lindsey took the statement seriously. She pulled my hair into a ponytail, scrubbed my face, and then attacked me with brushes and tweezers, sponges and serums, highlighters and contouring powder.
While she worked, Shay moved silently around the room, sometimes standing, sometimes crouching, while taking photographs. It was . . . unnerving.
“When was the last time you were this poked and prodded?” Mallory asked.
“Last night!” Lindsey squealed, leaning forward to click her glass against Mallory’s.
“You’re both incorrigible,” I said.
“We do have that in common.” Lindsey cocked her head. “I like the look of the makeup so far. Romantic, but not too ‘windswept on the moors.’”
I smiled. “Possibly the title of the first romance novel I ever read.”
Lindsey snorted, dabbed lipstick on the back of her hand, then dotted it across my lips. “Mmm-hmm,” she said, nodding at me, then added a coat of clear gloss. She screwed the gloss’s applicator back into the jar again, then looked around the room.
“I think that will do it. Everyone?”
Everyone moved in behind me, began cooing over Lindsey’s work.
“Very elegant,” Helen said, which I figured was as good as a girl could get.
“Now that you’re extragorgeous,” Lindsey said, “are you finally going to let us see the dress?”
Anticipation fell over the room like a fog, silencing everything.
No one had seen it yet, not even Mallory. I hadn’t looked forward to drinking champagne while spending four hours at a bridal store—that really seemed inefficient—but I had accepted that I’d have to do it. I’d imagined Mallory, Charlotte, and Lindsey giving thumbs-down to taffeta, circle skirts, and poufy shoulders. It just hadn’t worked out
that way. I’d fallen for the first dress I’d tried on. And since we were on a tight schedule, I’d snapped it up, giving the staff just enough time to get it altered before the big day.
It was the most expensive article of clothing I’d ever bought. Jaw-droppingly expensive, but if I was going to spend money on a dress, I figured this was the one. And the price still probably paled in comparison to the dresses Ethan had bought for me. The fact that I’d used hardly any of the House stipend I’d been collecting for a year helped ease the guilt.
“Sure,” I said, and they moved aside to let me rise to the dress bag. When I turned around again, they were watching me.
“I can pick my own clothes,” I said sheepishly.
“This isn’t just clothes,” Mallory said. “It’s your wedding dress.” She held up her hands. “But the bridge has been crossed and I’m not taking it personally.”
“You are a little.”
“I am a little. But I will live. So let’s see it.”
I unzipped the bag, unexpectedly nervous about whether Mallory would like the dress or not. I needed her to like it.
“Oh,” Mallory said, barely a sound, her eyes welling at the sight of it. “Oh, Merit. That’s just . . .”
“It’s very you,” Lindsey said, reaching out to squeeze Mallory’s hand.
That was why I’d grabbed the first dress I’d tried on. Because it was absolutely me, and I felt like me when wearing it. Me, but maybe something more. Me-plus, if the plus was a kind of elegance I’d never really felt. But an elegance I imagined my mother would be proud of.
It was a slender dress, overlaid in delicate French lace. There were short cap sleeves of the same lace, and a bodice with a sweetheart neckline. The lace continued through the waist, where the underlying bias-cut silk draped to the ground and pooled in a short train of more lace. It was delicate and romantic and old-fashioned, and it fit my tall frame to a tee.
“It really is,” Mallory said, tears falling in earnest now. She stood up and wrapped her arms around me in a fierce hug that made me teary, too.
“There’s no crying in baseball or vampire fashion,” I said.