I would trust that Gabriel loved me. Even if it came back and bit me on the ass in a major way.
Turning to my undead date, I poked him in the side and asked, “Are you going to dance with me or what?”
“Why can’t you wait to be asked?” he muttered.
“Have you met me?” I asked. “Surely you must have figured out some of this by now. I’m contrary … and you love it.”
He shrugged.
“So, really, which one of us is the sick one?” I asked.
“Will the best maid, the man of honor, and their escorts please join the happy couple?” the DJ asked.
“Now you have no choice,” I told him.
Dick yanked Andrea onto the middle of the dance floor and offered a courtly bow. Andrea looked vaguely embarrassed but laughed as he drew her into his arms. Gabriel and I made a less dramatic entrance.
“I’m a terrible dancer,” I told him.
“I don’t care.” He pulled me into a box step, which my vampire grace still didn’t help me master. “So, I’ve been thinking.”
I smirked. “That can be dangerous.”
“You haven’t quite used your triumph settlement the way you wanted to.”
“Not true. Look at how happy they are.” I nodded toward Jolene and Zeb.
“I know it took quite a bit of money to do that. And it will take quite a bit more money to get the shop going.”
“Which is your clever way of saying that Ophelia told you exactly how much I got.” I gave him a wry smile.
“I cannot comment,” he said. “Because Ophelia’s scarier than you are.”
“Not going to argue there. But I am going to have a nice healthy nest egg. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Well, we both know that’s not true. The point, which we rarely get to painlessly, is that I know that you wanted to spend some of your ill-gotten wealth on travel.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “What did you do?”
“Nothing yet, but you say the word, and we will be on a plane. I’ll keep my schedule open.
I figured we could start in London and work our way east. I want to be with you when you see the Bibliothèque Nationale de France, harass some poor gondolier in Venice with questions. I’ll even go to the Eiffel Tower if you want to be prosaic. Anywhere you want to go we’ll go.”
“Travel?” I asked. “For how long?”
“Until you get tired of me.”
“When can we leave?” I asked.
“From here, as far as I’m concerned,” he said.
“That’s a little quick.” I laughed. “But I would love to go. Soon. And we will go to the Eiffel Tower, thank you.”
“I knew it,” he said. “At heart, you’re just a sentimental romantic fool.”
I laughed again, watching as Jolene and Zeb circled the floor. Lord help me, I actually started misting up. “Sometimes.”
“Are you crying?” he asked, lifting my chin.
“No!”
“Sentimental, romantic fool,” he said again as I wiped at my eyes.
“I really hate this song,” I grumbled.
He twirled me out and dipped me. “Honey, let it go.”