Chapter Fifteen #2
And he is, his fingers firm and sure and far too clever as he navigates the lacing on my dress.
Blushing, I try to come up with a retort and fail miserably.
I’m silent as Claude eases me off his lap and steps out of the car.
Thankfully the heat has faded from my face as he bends to take my hand and help me out behind him.
All other thoughts fade as I find myself on the steps to a mansion.
“Wow,” I breathe, staring up at it. The place sprawls against a mountainous backdrop, all brick exterior and gambrel roofs and Venetian windows. It looks huge, and old, and intimidating.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Claude offers his arm and I accept, trusting him to lead me as I stare around the beautiful building.
The ballroom isn’t as large or crowded as the venue that hosted the Valentine’s Day Ball, but it is somehow even more intimidating.
Not the least because I recognize several faces from my guilty-pleasure magazines.
Actors, models, and musicians flow through the crowd, each of them shockingly beautiful and dressed to the nines.
It’s a relief that none of them spare me a second glance, because I feel even more plain and underdressed than usual.
Claude, however, earns himself a handful of curious glances and startled double takes.
He seems oblivious to it as he brings me past a gathering of tables and a sprawling dance floor to a bar.
I’m still a little drunk from the car ride, but when he presses a glass of wine into my hand, I’m grateful for something to hold.
He touches his own glass to mine. “Santé.”
“Cheers.” I sip; the taste is far richer than whatever we had on the way over. “So… what now?”
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Have you never been to a party before?”
“Not like this.” I fidget with my wine. “Not… much ever, really, no.”
Claude’s eyebrows rise in a silent question, but before he can voice it, a young man approaches to greet him. I stand with a smile frozen onto my face as they launch into an easy conversation about parties of days past.
The young man—a model, I gather from their discussion—is the first in a steady stream of beautiful people whose names I can’t seem to remember.
I spend the whole time standing stiffly at Claude’s side, drinking my quickly dwindling wine, murmuring pleasantries when he introduces me before swiftly getting left behind in the conversation.
Every time I try to think of something to say, my throat tightens with the sudden certainty that I don’t belong here and everyone knows it.
“Sorry,” I mutter, when the last of them walks off.
Claude slides closer to me, his hand brushing over my elbow. “Whatever for?”
“I’m not very good at this.” Just another part of my job that I’m failing at. I haven’t been a successful muse, nor a successful party guest. What am I getting paid for?
“You’re fine. These people are dull,” Claude says, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Let’s go find Lady Viktoria. I’ll tell her what a huge fan you are.”
“Don’t you dare,” I sputter, clinging to his arm as he heads to a quieter corner.
We find Lady Viktoria in a corner of the room, lounging on a plush couch with her long, long legs stretched out in front of her.
Her dress is adorned with what must be hundreds of actual roses, and the thigh slit is so high, I can tell she’s not wearing anything beneath.
She’s engaged in discussion with another Camelia vampire, but when Viktoria sees us, she dismisses the woman with a casual flick of her wrist.
“Claude de Vulpe,” she says with a slow smile. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”
“Well, I know how you love a good surprise.” He bends down to take her hand and brushes a kiss against her knuckles.
When Viktoria turns her smile on me, I feel a little stunned.
She’s even more gorgeous in person, with smooth alabaster skin and eyes like a cloud-free sky.
Her short blond hair is slicked back, and diamonds glitter on her ears, her neck, her fingers.
“You must be the new valentine I’ve heard so much about. ”
I drop into a slightly belated curtsy as I remember myself. “Lady Viktoria.” I hope she doesn’t actually mean it when she says she’s heard about me. The thought of her knowing anything about me is terrifying. “This is such a lovely party, thank you for inviting us.”
“Hmm.” She gives me an appraising once-over while I try not to quiver.
“And where is your darling Jonah?” Claude asks, glancing around. He shifts subtly closer to me, his hand grazing my lower back before settling on my hip. I’m surprised at how reassuring it is. “I thought he was a permanent fixture at your side.”
“He’s off indulging himself, I suppose.”
“Without you?” Claude quirks a brow.
“Come now, you know I have no problem sharing.” Viktoria’s gaze falls on Claude’s hand where it rests on my hip, and his grip tightens. Her eyes glimmer with amusement. “Neither do you, usually.”
“It’s Nora’s debut. I’m not sure she’s ready for that.”
I glance sideways at him, peeved at the way he’s talking about me like I’m not here. And the way he’s talking about me in general, like a thing he can choose to give out at will.
But Claude is oblivious to my glower, or doing a good job of pretending at it, as his hand slides off my hip and he settles on the couch next to Viktoria.
“Fair enough,” she says. “Is it true you’ve been painting again?”
Claude’s eyes narrow. “Word does get around fast, doesn’t it?”
“I’ve no idea if it gets around, but it always finds its way to me quite quickly.”
As their conversation continues in low tones, I glance around, trying to figure out what to do with myself now that Claude seems to have forgotten my existence.
Maybe I should wander off, but it isn’t like I know anyone else here, and I’m terrified of being around so many vampires alone.
So I settle myself onto a chaise a few feet away and sit awkwardly, gazing at the crowd.
A man breaks away from the dance floor and heads our way.
It takes me only a moment to place him, since I’m pretty sure he’s one of the most recognizable faces in the world: Jonah Montgomery, the valentine poster boy known for his stunning good looks and, according to most vampires, the sweetest blood one could ever taste.
And clearly quite a few have been tasting him tonight.
He wears a silk dress shirt with half of its buttons undone, revealing a pale chest and neck decorated in fresh bite marks and lipstick stains in various colors.
His cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright, his hair thoroughly mussed but somehow still elegant.
He drops onto the chaise beside me with a sigh, lying on his back so that he takes up almost all of the space. Then he glances up at me as if just registering my presence.
“Oh,” he says. “I don’t know you.”
I clear my throat. It’s hard to look directly at him, with his sex hair and bedroom eyes and famously perfect face. “I’m Nora,” I say. “Clau— Um, Lord Claude’s valentine. Nice to meet you.”
“Ahh.” He gives me a slow, knowing smile, as though he’s in on some secret that I’m not privy to.
“Interesting.” But not interesting enough, apparently, because he immediately turns onto his side to face our patrons on the couch.
He props his head up with one hand while the other flutters at Claude in a lazy little wave.
“Why, hello. Pleased to see you made it.”
“Pleasure’s all mine,” Claude says. His eyes drift toward Jonah’s open shirt, lingering for a moment before darting guiltily to mine.
I lift a brow and slowly sip my wine, making sure he knows I saw that. There’s a curious warmth, low in my stomach at the thought he might want Jonah. A hint of jealousy, but… I can’t deny I’m intrigued, as well.
Judging from Jonah’s sultry smirk, I’m not the only one who notices Claude’s interest. “I still remember when you bit me at that New Year’s party,” he says. “You’re very good at it.” Then he looks up at me, still smiling. “Isn’t he?”
I flush despite myself. I can feel Claude eyeing me, too. Normally, I’d never admit to Claude having any sort of effect on me, but in this situation, in front of his friends, I can’t bring myself to insult him by brushing the question aside. “Yes,” I admit. “He is.”
“One of my many talents,” Claude says, though he looks far more pleased with himself than the offhand remark suggests.
“Well, I love to see an artist at work,” Viktoria says, and nudges him. “Go on and show us, Claude.”
Claude glances at me. To my horror, I feel heat climbing up the back of my neck and then across my face, undoubtedly turning me a horrible shade of red that’s impossible not to notice.
I don’t know how to say no, but the thought of Claude biting me in front of these people, knowing what it does to my body, feels so…
so public, almost obscene. And it’s not just in front of any people, but a famous couple, and a gossipy famous couple from what I’ve seen tonight. I don’t know if I can—
“Jonah?” Claude asks, his gaze sliding off me and to the man sprawled on the chaise at my side. “May I?”
There’s a flicker of surprise on Jonah’s face, followed by a smug smile. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Claude stands and moves over to us. I don’t move, can barely think nor decipher the tangled knot of feelings in my chest. The thought of Claude biting me in public was mortifying, but the thought of him biting someone else in front of me makes something in my chest burn.
Viktoria pats the couch at her side and beckons to me. “Nora.”
There’s a moment when I could refuse. A moment when I could say something to Claude. He wouldn’t be happy about me interrupting, and it’d probably be a faux pas to refuse our host, but I think he would listen.