CHAPTER 30
POPPY
Twenty-four hours ago, this was supposed to be a battleground.
The reception is held in the resort’s main ballroom. Fifty guests mingle during cocktail hour, laughing and clinking glasses, with no idea what almost happened here.
I pause at the entrance.
This is where Damien had planned to strike. This room, these people, this moment when everyone I love would be gathered in one place. He’d wanted maximum impact. Maximum witnesses. He’d wanted Julian to watch me die surrounded by my family, helpless to stop it.
Instead, my sister is posing for photos by the sweetheart table. My mother is critiquing the centerpieces to anyone who will listen. Preston and Serenity are doing some kind of couples’ meditation in the corner, which is annoying but not fatal.
And somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, wrapped in silver chains, Damien is beginning his eternity alone.
Julian appears at my side. His hand finds the small of my back.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asks.
“Hard not to.” I watch a waiter pass with a tray of champagne. “This time yesterday, we weren’t sure how all this would end. Not knowing if you would or I would—you know,” I whisper, even though I’m pretty sure no one is listening. “Die. And now...”
“Now your aunt is arguing with the bartender about the proper way to make a martini.”
I follow his gaze. Aunt Dorothy is lecturing the poor bartender, gesturing with an olive pick.
A laugh escapes me. “How is this real? How are we just... at a wedding reception? Like everything’s normal?”
“Because for them, it is normal.” Julian rubs my lower back. “They don’t know what almost happened. They don’t need to know. They just get to celebrate.”
“And us?”
“We get to celebrate, too.” He turns me to face him. “That’s what winning looks like, Poppy. Not dramatic confrontations or constant vigilance. Just this. Ordinary moments. A dance floor. Bad martinis. Your family being chaotic.”
I look around the room again. See it differently this time.
Not a battleground. Not a crime scene that never happened.
Just a wedding reception.
“And if things get too rowdy, we have Nepenthe over there who can wipe people’s memories,” Julian says all nonchalant like that’s a normal thing.
“Wait, what!?!” I stop and turn him to face me.
“Huh...” He seems genuinely puzzled by my reaction. “Didn’t I tell you about Plan B?”
“No. No, you did not. I’m pretty sure I’d remember something like that.”
“Not if we wiped your memory, you wouldn’t,” he drops with a sly grin.
“You didn’t!” I slap his arm.
“Of course, not,” he assures me, rubbing his arm. “But if I did, that probably would be my answer.”
“Okay, stop playing around,” I groan. “Let’s celebrate!”
Julian smiles. “First, there’s something you should see.”
“What?”
“Look,” he nods toward the back of the room. “Table 12.”
Elena, Sofia, and Nathaniel—three ancient vampires in formal wear—are being escorted toward the back of the room.
“Table 12,” the wedding coordinator says brightly. “Right this way.”
Table 12.
I watch them realize it at the same time I do.
Table 12 is tucked in the corner near the kitchen doors. Its chairs are smaller than the others.
And its current occupants are six children under the age of ten.
“You didn’t,” I whisper.
Elena takes a deep breath as she realizes she’s sitting at the kids’ table. Sofia looks like she’s considering murder. Nathaniel is already sitting down and introducing himself to a seven-year-old with pigtails.
Julian presses his lips together. “Tsk. Uh, yeah, I may have mentioned to the coordinator that they were late RSVPs and should be seated accordingly.”
“Julian Blackthorne. You put three ancient vampires at the kids’ table.”
“Technically, Tammy did—and to be honest, she scares me, so I’m not saying anything.”
“You just defeated a vampire that was hundreds of years old, and you’re afraid of Tammy?”
“Have you not met her? I don’t want to be on the wrong side of her.”
“Me either.”
“On the bright side, I put three allies who saved our lives at a table where they could supervise the room’s most chaotic occupants.” His mouth twitches. “We could just call this tactical positioning.”
“It’s hilarious is what it is.”
We watch as a small boy with chocolate on his face asks Elena why she talks funny. Elena’s response is inaudible, but the boy looks serious and offers her his juice box.
“I may have underestimated how they’d react,” Julian admits.
“Never underestimate women with centuries of experience. They’ve dealt with worse than sticky children.”
A shriek of laughter comes from Table 12. Nathaniel has produced a balloon from somewhere and is twisting it into what appears to be a poodle. The children are delighted. Sofia is staring at him like she’s never seen him before.
“Did you know he could do that?” I ask.
“I did not.”
“Two hundred years of friendship, and you didn’t know he could make balloon animals?”
“Some secrets take time to reveal.”
I snort. “Come on. I have a speech to give, and I need at least two glasses of champagne first.”
The clinking of glasses pulls the room’s attention to the head table.
The best man and maid of honor give their speeches—now it’s my turn.
I stand, champagne flute in hand, pulse jumping. Public speaking is my job—I talk to cameras every day, perform for millions of strangers online—but this is different. This is my sister. Not to mention, it’s in front of a crowd and real.
“Hi, everyone.” My voice comes out steadier than I expected. “For those who don’t know me, I’m Poppy, Violet’s little sister and one of her bridesmaids. And yes, I know that I didn’t have to give a speech, but who’s going to tell you all the weird stuff about Vi?”
Scattered laughter.
“Don’t worry, sis, your secrets are safe with me. I won’t tell them how you burned pasta.”
“That was you!” Violet yells.
“I know, but they didn’t. Thanks for ruining it! By the way, that is a great story, so you should have just went with it.”
Everyone laughs this time.
“Seriously, the thing is, Violet and I weren’t always close.
” I look at my sister, who is already tearing up.
“Growing up, we were so different. She was the responsible one, the achiever, the one who knew what she wanted and went after it. And I was figuring things out. Making mistakes. Taking detours.”
I take a breath.
“But here’s what I learned this week. The detours aren’t always wrong. Sometimes you have to get lost to find what matters. Sometimes you have to make mistakes to recognize the real thing when it shows up.”
My eyes find Julian’s. He’s watching me.
“Violet found Chris when she wasn’t looking for him. She told me once that he just appeared in her life one day, and everything made sense. The chaos settled. The questions had answers. She didn’t have to pretend anymore, because he saw her—really saw her—and loved her anyway.”
I raise my glass.
“To the people who see us. The good parts and the messy parts and the parts we try to hide. To the ones who show up when things get hard, who stay when it would be easier to leave, who choose us over and over again even when we give them reasons not to.”
My throat tightens. I push through.
“To Violet and Chris—may you never stop seeing each other. May you always choose each other. And may your love story be as beautiful and unexpected and imperfect as you both deserve.”
I raise my glass higher. “To the bride and groom.”
“To the bride and groom!” the room echoes.
Violet is crying. Chris is crying. My mother has gone through two handkerchiefs.
And Julian is looking at me like he knows exactly who I’m really talking about.
I walk over and hug Vi.
“That was beautiful,” Violet whispers, grabbing my hand.
“I meant every word.”
“I know.” She squeezes my fingers. “I’m glad you found him, Pops. Whatever this is—I’m glad.”
“Me, too.”
“If I can get our newlyweds out on the dance floor,” the DJ announces. “It’s time for their first dance.”
“Got to go, Pops. I love you.”
We hug again…
“I love you, too, Vi.”
…and the lovebirds run out onto the dance floor.
I am so caught up in Violet and Chris that I don’t notice someone walk up behind me until I feel a hand on my shoulder.
My mother.
She's been crying—I can see it in the careful way she's holding her face, trying not to smudge her makeup. The same trick I use when I'm filming after a hard day.
"That was a beautiful speech," she says.
"Thanks, Mom."
She hesitates. Catherine Gable doesn't hesitate—she commands, she critiques, she controls. But right now she's hesitating, and I don't know what to do with that.
"Julian seems... solid," she says finally.
From my mother, that's practically a marriage blessing.
"He is," I say.
She nods. Looks out at the dance floor, where Violet and Chris are swaying together, lost in their own world.
"Your father was charming," she says quietly. "Exciting." A pause. "But he wasn't solid. I think..." She takes a breath. "I think I've been so afraid you'd pick charm over substance that I didn't notice when you found both."
My eyes sting. "Mom—"
"I'm not good at this," she interrupts, and there's something raw in her voice I've never heard before.
"Saying the right thing. Being supportive without being controlling.
Your sister makes it easy—she chose the path I understand.
But you..." She shakes her head. "You've always terrified me, Poppy.
Because you're brave in ways I never was. "
I don't know what to say. Twenty-eight years of waiting for my mother to see me, and now that she's finally looking, I can't find the words.
So I do something I haven't done since I was twelve years old.
I hug my mother.
She stiffens. Then, slowly, her arms come up around me.
"I love you, Mom," I whisper.
"I love you, too." Her voice is thick. "Even when I don't know how to show it. I am proud of both my girls. I know I don’t always show it, but I’ll try harder to be more supportive."
We stand there for a moment—not fixed, not healed, but something. Something that feels like a beginning instead of an ending.
Then she pulls back, dabs at her eyes with her signature handkerchief, and says, "Now go dance with that man before I embarrass myself further."
There she is. My mother. Critical and controlled and doing her best.
I smile. "Yes, ma'am."
Days like this one come with their own balance sheet—gains and losses, good and bad. Julian crossed a line he never thought he would, but it seems to have lifted a weight off his shoulders. Even with all that, the night isn’t over.
The DJ earns every penny of her fee.
By 9 PM, the dance floor is packed. What began as a carefully selected playlist has given way to one crowd-pleaser after another, and even my mother is doing some sort of dignified sway near the edge of the crowd.
I dance with Violet. Dance with Chris. Do a mortifying group dance with the bridesmaids to a song that was popular when we were fourteen. My feet hurt, my hair is escaping its updo, and I haven’t stopped smiling in hours.
And then—
A commotion near the edge of the dance floor.
I turn just in time to see Lucas—stoic, professional, “I’ve been guarding you all night” guy—drop into a windmill.
“Oh my,” I breathe.
Bastine follows half a second later, hitting the floor in a backspin. The crowd forms a circle around them, cheering. The children from Table 12 are screaming.
“Did you know they could do that?” I ask Julian, who appears out of nowhere.
“I did not.”
“Is breakdancing a standard part of security training?”
“No, but maybe it should be.”
We watch as Lucas and Bastine trade moves. Nathaniel wades into the circle and is doing some kind of choreographed routine with them—when did they have time to practice this?
Even Elena is laughing. Elena. The Russian vampire who’s probably witnessed the fall of empires. She’s standing at the edge of the circle with a glass of champagne, laughing, while Sofia tries to look unimpressed and fails.
“This is the strangest wedding I’ve ever attended,” I say.
“You’ve never been to a vampire wedding.”
“Are those a thing?”
“They are. Of course, they involve more blood.”
“I’ll stick with human weddings, thanks.”
The song ends. The crowd cheers. Lucas and Bastine stand up, look at each other, and bow in unison—which suggests this is not the first time they’ve done this.
And then the music changes.
Something slow. Something soft. The kind of song that makes couples drift toward each other.
Julian turns to me. Holds out his hand.
“I believe I owe you a dance.”
“I thought you didn’t dance.”
“I don’t.” His eyes are warm. “But I’m learning to move outside my comfort zone.”
I take his hand. Let him lead me onto the floor.
His arm wraps around my waist. My hand finds his shoulder. We move together—not gracefully, but together.
I press my cheek against his shoulder and close my eyes.
“Poppy?”
“Mm?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this week. For not running. For choosing me.”
I pull back enough to look at him. This man who’s lived for centuries, who’s loved and lost and shut himself away from the world.
This man who opened the door for me.
“You chose me first,” I say. “You took a job from a desperate influencer with a terrible plan, and you stayed. You told me the truth when you could have lied. You fought for me. You came back.”
“I’ll always come back.”
“I know. That’s why I chose you.”
The music plays on. Lights glow overhead. Through the windows, the turquoise sea stretches out dark and endless.
My family is safe. My sister is married. The monster who hunted us is gone.
And I am dancing with a vampire.
A vampire who looks at me like I was worth waiting for. Who holds me like I matter. Who loves me with everything he has.
“Julian?”
“Yes?” His eyes find mine.
“I love you.”
Julian pulls me closer, his touch gentle but certain. A kiss lands softly at my hairline, another at my cheekbone, the last hovering at the edge of my lips.
“I know,” he whispers. “I love you, too.”
The song plays on. We sway together in the golden light, surrounded by people who have no idea what we’ve survived to get here.
But we know.
And that’s enough.