Biting Bad_ A Chicagoland Vampires Novel(59)
As I held up my hair, he turned around and fastened the dress, then stood behind me for a moment, his eyes on my image in the mirror that hung on the back of the closet door.
“Leave your hair down,” he said, his eyes seeming to turn greener as we watched each other in the mirror.
“Down?” I asked, piling it atop my head. “I was thinking a topknot.”
“Down,” he insisted.
I dropped the faux bun, and he ruffled my hair so that it fell across my shoulders, a dark curtain around my face and pale blue eyes.
He was right.
In this just-snug-enough sheath, with my hair down and the pale cast of vampire to my skin, I looked like a blue-blooded heiress. A vampiric aristocrat with an agenda and the will to see it through.
“Not bad,” I said.
“Indeed,” Ethan agreed, before nudging me aside and opening the shirt box he’d brought inside, revealing a half-dozen pocket squares that ranged in color from white to just slightly off-white.
While I looked on, he tucked one, then the other, carefully into his jacket pocket.
“What are you doing?”
“Selecting a square,” he said, gazing at his reflection.
“For my parents?”
“For your parents, your siblings, your nieces and nephews,” he said. “For you. Because I want to make a good impression.”
“You’ve met my parents before.”
“I have,” he said, and met my eyes in the mirror. “But not like this.”
There was a different kind of gravity in his voice. Not, I thought, from the weight of being a Master vampire, of caring for others and ensuring their safety, but from the weight of being us. Of having, for the first time in a long time, someone whose safety and happiness you put above all others. Even if that meant impressing her particularly stuffy family.
“Sometimes you make me swoon.”
“If it’s only sometimes, I’m not doing my job adequately.” He made a final silken selection, put the square into the pocket on his jacket and adjusted it, and checked himself out in the mirror. “Not bad, Sentinel.”
“Not bad indeed. I think we’re ready.”
“Shoes?” he said, glancing down at my feet.
“Ah,” I said. I looked in the closet and found several pairs awaiting me. Helen must have brought them down from the apartments. I climbed into an appropriate pair, and turned around for Ethan’s final review.
“And away we go,” I said.
Ethan looked at my shoes with an expression of abject horror. Stilettos were definitely the right choice for the dress . . . but not for February in Chicago.
That’s why I’d pulled on a pair of ugly, puce green galoshes to wear in and out of the car, and Ethan did not look impressed.
I put on an expression of pure, unmitigated innocent. “You don’t like these?”
“You aren’t serious.”
“About what? The shoes?” I glanced down, stifling a grin. “It’s February, Ethan. There’s snow on the ground.”
He watched me for a minute. “You’re kidding.”
“I was.” I held up the pair of black lace stilettos I’d been holding behind my back. “Do you prefer these?”
He looked relieved. “All that drama for a bit?”
“It was a good bit.” I did a little soft-shoe in the galoshes to punctuate the joke.
“Let’s go, Ginger Rogers,” Ethan said, pointing dictatorially toward the door. But he was grinning when he said it.
—
Dressed in our finest, we headed downstairs to the Ops Room to ensure the House was prepared and we could still make a getaway.
Luc, Lindsey, and Juliet were in residence, but the Grey House vampires hadn’t yet descended. Margot had clearly prepared for them, as a giant tray of pastries sat in the middle of the conference table. My stomach growled—a few sips of tea hadn’t done much for my hunger—but I resisted the urge to nosh, knowing I’d inevitably drip pastry cream or sugared fruit down the front of my expensive frock.
Luc whistled when she caught sight of us. “Merit, you are a sight.”
“What’s the occasion?” Lindsey asked. I guess she hadn’t yet read Luc’s reports for the night.
“We’re having dinner with my parents,” I said with a grimace.
“You are kidding,” Lindsey said.
Ethan and I took seats at the conference table. “Not a bit,” he said. “They sent a paper invitation and everything.”
“I’m surprised you’re going,” Lindsey said, her gaze narrowing suspiciously.
“Ethan thought it was a good idea.”
“So you’re blaming me for this?”
“Whenever possible,” I said with a smile. But that smile faded quickly. “Oh crap.”