Biting Bad_ A Chicagoland Vampires Novel(66)

They like to be fancy, I agreed. It’s part of my father’s plan to distance himself from his upbringing. That upbringing being his lot as the son of a cop. Fancy is as fancy does.

My sister caught my light smile and gave me a sly one. “What’s so funny over there?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Just enjoying my asparagus.”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, but clearly didn’t buy it.

“Hush, Charlotte,” my mother said. “They’re in love. Let them have their moment.”

Wearing my expensive heels and my designer dress, and sitting next to the most handsome man I’d ever seen, I stuck my tongue out at my sister.

“Enjoy the thrill of young love,” my father said, as if suddenly an expert on emotional fulfillment. “Youth is fleeting. Well, perhaps not in your case.”

My sister raised her glass. “Here’s to never needing, shall we say, facial enhancement procedures.”

“Amen to that,” my mother said, flicking a delicate gaze to Ethan. “If it’s not impolite, may I ask how old you are?”

“It isn’t,” he said, “and you may. I’m three hundred and ninety-four years old. Oh, and approximately three-quarters.”

The table went silent.

“That such a thing could even be possible . . . ,” my mother mused.

“The things you must have seen—experienced,” Elizabeth said, eyes shining with curiosity. “World wars. New technologies. The advent of modern medicine. It’s staggering.”

“I have been lucky to sample much that is laudable among humans,” he said. He reached out and put a hand on mine. “And to find a prize awaiting me at the end of four centuries.”

I might have sighed, but for the glint in his eye that told me Ethan was playing his crowd, and with success. My mother, sister, and even pragmatic sister-in-law got dreamy expressions at the sentiment.

Kiss-ass, I mentally accused.

How dare you think the sentiment is anything less than genuine?

The sentiment was intended to woo my family. So much for thinking him not sycophantic.

Ah, Sentinel. So suspicious. He picked up my hand and pressed it to his lips in full sight of the rest of the table, leading to even more sighs and puppy dog expressions.

For a pretentious Master vampire, Darth Sullivan was pretty dreamy.

—

An hour later, we finished the evening in the sitting room, a warm and pliable Olivia asleep in my arms.

“It’s amazing how limp she goes, isn’t it?” Charlotte remarked.

“It really is,” I said, wincing a little as I tried to gently shift my arms, which were stiffening from the sack of potatoes in my lap. And a beautiful sack of potatoes at that.

Olivia was as pretty as her parents; she’d leave any number of broken hearts in her wake. Teenage boys who dreamed of her from afar; frat boys too cool to approach her.

Not that her appearance would define her. She was the granddaughter of one of the most powerful men in Chicago, the daughter of a heart surgeon and a philanthropist. Ivy League schools would vie for her attention. That would be a pretty fun battle to watch.

But as I smiled down at her, I couldn’t help but feel saddened by my own limitations. Vampires couldn’t have children. I wouldn’t be a mother, and Ethan wouldn’t be a father. And despite Gabriel’s once-upon-a-time prediction, it wasn’t possible that a child with eyes as green as Ethan’s could be in our future.

Suddenly struck by melancholy, I felt my eyes fill with tears, and I stared down at Olivia until I was sure I’d blinked them back, and they wouldn’t spill across my face like etchings of grief.

After a moment, I glanced up at Ethan and found sadness in his eyes. We hadn’t spoken, but he’d watched me hold a sleeping child—and mourn for a future we couldn’t have.

Olivia woke, her eyes suddenly wide and staring up at a person who wasn’t her mother. She began to cry, and Charlotte rose and lifted her from my arms, leaving behind wrinkled silk and a bit of sadness.

“Stranger danger,” Elizabeth said.

“No kidding,” Charlotte said, hoisting Olivia onto her hip. She wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and plunked her head down, her eyes drifting shut almost immediately.

“I think that’s our cue to get home,” she said.

“We should probably be going as well,” Ethan said. “We’ve some matters at the House to attend to.”

My mother nodded and rose. “I’ll get your coats.”

My father stood and reached out to shake Ethan’s hand again. “Nice seeing you again. And do remember our conversation.”

Ethan nodded tightly and escorted me back to the door, where my mother had readied our outerwear. We slipped on our coats, and I pulled on my galoshes. The mood was suddenly somber, having shifted from awe of vampire longevity to sadness about our other physical shortcomings.