I sighed. “Sure, eggs would be great.”
“Scrambled or over easy?”
“Scrambled.” Much like my life.
“Okay, honey, have a good sleep.” She blew me a kiss and turned to walk down the hall.
“Yeah,” I said under my breath. “Thanks to you I’ll be getting lots of sleep tonight.”
She turned around. “What was that?”
“I said, you have a good sleep, too.”
“Okay. Good night.”
I closed the door and stood there with my back pressed up against it for a few minutes until my racing heart slowed down to a relatively normal pace. Then I went back to my little bed, got in, and pulled the covers up high. I leaned over and felt around for my old diary I’d always kept in the secret hiding compartment of my bedside table. I opened it up to a blank page, grabbed my strawberry-scented, pink-inked Hello Kitty pen and wrote:
Mrs. Sarah de Bennicoeur.
Thierry + Sarah = Tru love 4ever.
I drew a heart around it. With an arrow and everything. Then I came to my senses enough to scribble on top of it. I absently chewed the end of the pen while wondering what tomorrow would bring.
The morning came extremely bright and damn early. I got dressed in faded jeans, hot pink T-shirt, and my black leather jacket. I happily used the shard to help put on my makeup. It was simply the coolest thing ever. Then I choked back half of the scrambled eggs my mother made, so as not to seem rude, and said my goodbyes, praying I wouldn’t throw the eggs up all over the interior of Thierry’s sleek black Audi. Dark sunglasses firmly in place, I gave my mom and dad one last hug each—they were still stunned from the breakfast conversation of, “Oh, by the way, Reverend Micholby tried to kill me last night and now he’s in jail.” So as not to freak them out any more than they already were, I’d officially decided not to part ways with them till the next time I saw them. At Christmas dinner. Or maybe it could wait until Easter. I’d have to play it by ear. I climbed into the backseat of Thiery’s car on the dot of eight-thirty. Thierry was driving. George was in the passenger seat, looking pale but alive.
Thierry turned around and smiled at me. “Good morning, Sarah.”
I smiled back and felt my cheeks redden as I remembered the feel of his incredible body pressed against mine. “Good morning to you, too. And how are you feeling today, George?”
“Like someone should take me out back and shoot me,” he said very seriously.
I patted the top of his sandy-colored hair that was currently back in a messy ponytail.
“Sounds like somebody needs some caffeine.”
The three-hour drive back to the city was relaxed and mostly comfortable, except for the fact that I badly wanted to climb into the front seat and straddle Thierry. I managed to control myself for the time being. But the heat I was feeling between us would have to be handled very soon. I might just explode if it wasn’t, or at the very least I’d get a very bad sunburn. I busied myself looking out the window at the passing countryside. Tree, barn, horse. Horse, barn, tree.
Finally the barns and horses gave way to pavement and traffic. The city enveloped us and I began to feel relatively normal again. I wondered if Amy would mind if Thierry came along on the double date. I’d tell her that Quinn was out of the picture. Way out. Then again, I couldn’t exactly imagine Thierry tolerating dinner and dancing with my best friend and her new man of the moment. Time would have to tell on that one.
“I’ve shut down Midnight Eclipse for a couple of days,” Thierry said as we neared the club. “But I need to pick up some files and invoices.”
He parked around the back of the club and got out of the car. I got out, too. George stayed put in the front seat, his cheek pressed against the window. Thierry raised an eyebrow at me as I approached him from the other side of the car.
“I’ll only be a moment,” he said.
I grinned up at him. “And your point is?”
“Oh, nothing at all.” He smiled as we turned toward the back door.
There was a woman sitting with her back against the red door, her knees up against her chest. She was— hands down—the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life, at least in person. She had raven-colored hair, which was long and wavy, perfectly pale white skin, and full burgundy lips. Big, dark Gucci sunglasses covered her eyes. She wore a dark blue shift dress that swished against her trim body as she got to her feet. Standing, her legs were as long and shapely as any swimsuit model’s I’d ever had the misfortune of seeing. I felt the sudden urge to get back to the gym as soon as possible.
“Finally,” she said and placed an elegant hand on her slim hip. “I’ve been waiting here for ages.”
I glanced at Thierry. He took a deep breath and didn’t seem as if he was going to say anything back to the woman. How rude was that?
“Hi.” I extended my hand. “I’m Sarah.”
She smiled, showing off perfect white teeth, fangs included, and shook my hand.
“Veronique,” she said. “Thierry’s wife.”
Veronique de Bennicoeur was slightly over seven hundred years old, though she didn’t look a day over thirty. She and Thierry had met during the Black Death plague in Europe. She’d been a vampire first and Thierry’s sire. She currently lived in France, but word had reached her through the grapevine that there was trouble in Toronto, and she thought she might be able to lend a hand. Her favorite drink was a martini on the rocks. I listened to her give me the Cliffs Notes on her life with the poorest excuse for a smile frozen in place on my face. I was trying to decide, while listening to her go on about her fabulous life, who I wanted to kill more. Her or myself.
“So, what do you think?” Her voice was as beautiful as she was. She could have been a deejay. Or a phone-sex operator.
I decided. I was going to kill myself.
“Hmm? What was that?” I stood behind the bar, bracing the edge of it for support. I’d originally gone behind it to get myself a shot of whatever blood type was on tap, and Veronique had sat down across from me and ordered a martini. I only gave her one olive.
She smiled. “I just asked if while I’m in town, the two of us could go out for a girls’ lunch. It’s so rare that I find another woman I feel I can really talk to. You’re an excellent listener.”
“Yeah? Wow. That sounds great.” Even I couldn’t coax enthusiasm into those words.
After a quick two-cheeked European-style kiss and a few words of greeting to Veronique, Thierry had disappeared into his office shortly after he’d let us in the club. George was lying down in a nearby booth concentrating very hard on healing, but I was pretty sure he had a curious ear open for our mostly one-sided conversation. What I was still doing there was beyond me, although I was sure that the bone-jarring shock had something to do with it.
Thierry had a wife.
Not something that had come up in casual conversation. I was trying very hard not to freak out. It was difficult, but so far I was succeeding. He had a wife. Okay. He wasn’t currently living with this wife; that much I’d figured out. Well, I suppose when you’re married for six hundred freaking years you need a little time apart to help keep things fresh. I’d done four shots of B positive with vodka chasers since we got back. They weren’t making me feel better. I guess B positive didn’t live up to its optimistic reputation. I was starting to feel way claustrophobic. Since Thierry hadn’t said a word to me to explain what was going on, I was getting the distinct, stomach-churning impression that I wasn’t needed anymore. Gorgeous European ?ber-wife had returned.
“I should go,” I said.
“No, dear girl, stay. I like you. And you make an excellent martini.” She ran a French-manicured finger along the edge of her glass.
“Thanks. Um, no, I really have to take off.”
“Very well, if you insist. And listen, I know Thierry wants to shut down the club. Don’t worry at all. We will open for business tonight as usual. I know how hard it is to be a working girl in the big city.”
She thought I was only a waitress there. Kill me. Somebody, kill me.
“Great.” I smiled at her through clenched teeth. “I’m just going to say bye to Thierry now.”
There were a few other choice words I had in mind for him, too. But I was going to try to be mature. That was me. Mature with a capital M.I knocked lightly on his office door and then pushed it open. Thierry sat at his desk, staring intently at some papers. He didn’t look up.
“I’m leaving,” I said.
He still didn’t say anything.