Abbey rolled her eyes. “Honestly, we have this conversation every time I come to town.” She held up her empty wineglass. “I’m going to get a refill.”
As Sheree watched Abbey walk away, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for the man who would one day court Rane Cordova’s daughter. Mortal fathers were protective enough; vampire fathers were sure to be a hundred times worse.
Sheree grew more at ease as the night wore on. Wine and conversation flowed freely. There was an endless supply of chardonnay and humorous stories as the other couples told tales of their courtship. There was no doubt that Roshan and Brenna’s was the most fascinating. Roshan had seen a photo of Brenna in a book, fallen in love with her picture, and traveled back in time to rescue her from being burned at the stake.
Sheree could scarcely credit it. Believing in vampires was one thing, but time travel?
“I can see you don’t believe me,” Roshan said good-naturedly. “Next time we get together, I’ll bring that old book with Brenna’s picture in it.”
Sheree listened with rapt attention as the vampires talked of past wars, of friends and loved ones lost. Pearl’s and Edna’s names were mentioned several times. And then, out of the blue, Vince said, “I hear there’s a hint of werewolf blood in you, Derek.”
A muscle flexed in Derek’s jaw, and then he nodded. “From my father.”
“Is it a problem?” Rane asked.
“No.” Derek glanced at Sheree. “I can handle it.”
Rafe nodded. “Glad to hear it.”
It was near dawn when the party broke up. Two by two, the vampires said their good-byes and departed. Abbey was the last to leave. She hugged Mara and promised to visit again soon, and then, she, too, was gone.
“So,” Derek said, “what did you think of them?”
“If I’d met them before you turned me, I never would have known they were vampires. They seem so normal . . . well, except that they’re all exceptionally gorgeous.”
“So are you.”
Ignoring his compliment, she said, “Who’s Abbey’s father?”
“Nobody knows. Savannah was artificially inseminated.”
“Ah. And she remained human until Abbey grew up, didn’t she? That’s why Savannah looks older than all the others.”
Derek nodded. “Are you ready to go?”
“I guess so.”
“Let us know when you set the date,” Mara said, “and I’ll get in touch with Father Lanzoni.”
“Let’s do it soon and get it over with,” Sheree said.
“I take it you’re still angry,” Mara said dryly.
“You could say that.”
“On that happy note, Ma, we’ll take our leave.”
“Have you ever met Father Lanzoni?” Sheree asked as Derek navigated the winding road that led to the freeway. “Is he a vampire, too?”
“Yep. He’s one of the old ones . He’s officiated at the weddings for just about everyone. Is that going to be a problem?”
“No. In spite of my mother’s insistence on a church wedding, she’s not very religious, and neither is my father.”
“Any particular place where you’d like to get married?” he asked.
“No. You?”
“You find a dress. I’ll find a place.”
“All right.”
Derek blew out a sigh of exasperation as Sheree turned her head to stare out the side window.
Like it or not, he was beginning to think she was never going to forgive him.
Chapter Forty-Two
Sheree went shopping for a wedding dress Friday night, grateful that the stores were open late. It was her first time out and about on her own since becoming a vampire and she was excited and scared in equal measure.
She had tried dissolving into mist before leaving the house, again without success. But she forgot all about that when she entered the bridal shop. There were so many dresses to choose from, she didn’t know how she would ever decide. It would have been nice to have her best friend along, but Shirley was happily married and living in Delaware. Even if she’d been nearby, Sheree didn’t trust herself to be with Shirley, mostly because she was afraid she would be tempted to tell her friend that she was now a vampire. She was dying—a poor choice of words, she thought—to talk to someone about it, someone who wasn’t a vampire.
Sheree picked out a half-dozen gowns and took them into the dressing room, thinking she should have let Mara help her pick out a dress that day long ago. At least back then, she would have been able to see how she looked. She loved them all—the knee-length one with the round neck and short puffy sleeves; the floor-length one with a fitted bodice and flared skirt; the ball gown that looked like it belonged to Cinderella; the one with the deep V-neck and gored skirt; the one that looked more like a long white nightgown than a dress.