13. The Honeymooners
Chapter 13
The Honeymooners
Hawaiian Desire cruise—The next night
H enry eased onto the couch in the living room of Cerissa’s suite. He’d woken with the early moonrise and avoided the sun by using interior elevators and hallways to make his way to the fifteenth floor. Snooping around the cabin, he wasn’t concerned when he didn’t find Cerissa.
Ever since she unwrapped the silver stake, he’d been holding back his alarm, trying not to let the threat upset the joy of their wedding. The likelihood of the perp following them on board was nil. No one on the Hill knew their precise honeymoon plans, and during the drive to San Francisco, he’d kept a close eye on the cars behind them. No one suspicious followed, and now that they were all on the ship, he could finally relax his vigilance.
The suite’s door opened, and Cerissa rushed inside.
Happiness surged through his chest. “That is a beautiful bikini, cari?a .”
“Oh.” She clasped a hand to her throat, halting her trek through the room. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I didn’t intend to startle you by hiding in the open.”
She laughed. “I’m sorry I’m late. We were sunbathing, and I lost track of time and forgot about the early moonrise.”
He more than understood. “Don’t be concerned. The show was well worth waiting for.”
She glanced down at what she wore, smoothing her hands over the fabric. “I wasn’t sure if the tropical pattern would look good.”
“It’s not the colorful fabric, mi amor , but how much of you the bikini so enticingly reveals.” He cocked his head, a faint smile curling his lips. “I should ban you from wearing such a skimpy bathing suit, except when I’m around, of course.”
“Lucky for you, I know you’re joking. I plan on enjoying whatever sunny days we have by the pool.”
He was indeed serious, but he eyed her again and thought through his reaction. Wearing such a bathing suit by a cruise ship’s swimming pool would cause no harm. They weren’t in the Hill community, where other vampires might covet what he had and start a duel over her. “I guess the bikini will be all right here.”
“Good decision.” A light smile formed on her face. “And wow. You look great.”
“Thank you.” He’d packed two outfits specifically for formal nights. This one included a gold and black brocade dinner jacket over a black shirt, open at the neck, and a matching crossover five-button vest. Very stylish, a departure from the stuffy suits of the last century. “Rolf followed my lead and is similarly attired.”
“Have you fed?”
“Yes. I found the box of self-warming blood pouches you hid in the closet of the room Rolf and I are sharing.”
“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get ready.” She scurried to the bedroom door.
“Don’t be in such a hurry.” He whooshed and swept her into his arms, inhaling, then flicking his tongue and tasting the skin along her neck, shoulder, and collarbone. “I love the scent of the sun on you.”
“You may like how I smell, but I don’t think the rest of the guests will, so I better jump into the shower.”
“Very well. Unless you need help?”
“You’re already dressed, and we don’t have time. Our dinner reservation is at six thirty.”
He snuck a peek at his Patek Philippe watch. “Then you should hurry.”
Returning to the living room, he turned on the sports channel and relaxed back on the couch. Thirty minutes later, Cerissa glided from the bedroom, and he stood, his jaw almost dropping. Her navy-blue dress was magnificent, showing off her delightful curves, with an empire waist and the bodice a puffy pleated fabric. A brocade bolero jacket and silver slingback high-heeled sandals finished the outfit. “My beautiful wife, I cannot wait for later.”
She smiled shyly. “I love hearing you call me your wife.”
He raised her hand to his lips, kissing her ring. The symbol of their unity bore ever-present witness to their commitment to each other. Then he opened the door for her and offered his arm. “Shall we?”
They rendezvoused with Rolf and Karen in the corridor and descended one flight of stairs to the restaurant reserved for suite guests.
The ma?tre d’ seated them right away and distributed menus.
Henry crooked his finger at the sommelier, who joined them. “If I may see the wine list?”
The sommelier handed him a brown leather binder embossed with the restaurant’s name.
“Thank you.” Henry skimmed the multi-page portfolio to familiarize himself with the offerings.
“I’m so glad we could get a table for four,” Karen said. “When I booked our dinner reservation, they said they couldn’t guarantee a private table together. We might have been stuck with a table for six or eight.”
“Taking the Honeymoon and Grand Suites certainly didn’t hurt our chances,” Rolf said.
Karen beamed at him.
Henry rolled his eyes. Were he and Cerissa just as annoyingly flirtatious around others? He closed the wine list. “A fairly ordinary selection, but they have one or two acceptable wines in each category.”
“Are they carrying ours?” Karen asked.
“No.”
“Let me see.” Karen reached for the leather binder. “I want to compare how they’re pricing our closest competitor.”
“No.” Rolf brushed aside the wine list, took her hand, and kissed her fingers. “We are not here to work, Liebling . We agreed.”
Henry understood. Karen was their marketing director—but Vasquez-Müller Winery didn’t need her to do market research on her vacation.
Karen gave Rolf a less-than-pleased sidelong glance. “Cerissa, maybe we can get a photocopy, and I can check the list after our vacation is over.”
Cerissa’s eyes brightened as she smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Henry tried to turn the conversation away from work and back to the immediate question. “What are you ladies going to order? I’ll be happy to select the wine for you, if you let me know what you would like.”
“I’m having both steak and lobster,” Karen said. “I just love formal night.”
“Hmm.” Henry opened the portfolio again. “There is one good red that is mellow enough not to overpower shellfish. Or there is a well-regarded champagne on the list.”
“Champagne sounds good. Cerissa?”
“Fine by me.”
“Excellent.” Henry signaled the sommelier, who promptly came to their table. “A bottle of lot one-sixty-four.”
“A good choice, sir.”
“And please send over our waiter.”
The waiter was just as prompt. After Karen and Cerissa ordered, the waiter looked at Henry.
“Rolf and I have already eaten. We are just keeping the ladies company.”
“Very good, sir.” The waiter collected the menus and left.
They’d all agreed in advance on that excuse. It would be easier than trying to pretend to eat and have the plates still full at the end. Too many waiters to bribe to look the other way, and it wasn’t like when they hosted wine dinners, where they moved around enough that no one noticed they weren’t eating, or excused it because they were the hosts and too busy impressing their clients.
While on vacation, the last thing Henry wanted was to eat a heavy meal and then have to regurgitate the food. One of the major disadvantages of being vampire—anything other than blood would rot in his stomach if he left it there.
After the waiter poured the champagne, Rolf lifted his glass. “To my best friend and his beautiful bride. May you have a long and happy marriage together.”
They clinked their glasses, and the two vampires brought the bubbling liquid to their lips but didn’t drink. Rolf wrinkled his nose at the smell. “I don’t see how you imbibe this stuff.”
Karen laughed and took another sip. “Easily.”
“It’s an excellent champagne. Thank you, Henry.” Cerissa set hers down and turned to Karen. “Oh, did you call Luis?”
Henry tried not to smirk or roll his eyes. They’d left Bear at Rolf and Karen’s, so the dog would have the company of Mort and Sang—Rolf’s two German shepherds, and the parents of Bear. Now that he was no longer a puppy—and had been fixed—he could stay with his parents in the fenced run. Luis had agreed to feed all three and walk them twice a day so they wouldn’t be confined all the time.
To say Bear belonged to Cerissa was an understatement—she doted on him, and the dog took full advantage of it.
Karen chuckled. “Don’t worry. I checked in and everyone’s doing fine.”
“Maybe I should text Ari, make sure he went by.”
Ari had volunteered to check in on the dogs and take over as the king of entertainment—throwing the ball for them at least once each day to supplement their walks—and while Ari could be impetuous and irreverent, he was extremely reliable.
Henry landed his hand on Cerissa’s, stopping her. “There is no need to text Ari now. You can call him during the day.”
She gave in gracefully and put her phone back in her clutch.
Dinner was a pleasant occasion, made enjoyable by the conversation and company. Cerissa cleaned her plate and complimented the chef. Henry felt pleased they’d spent the money on top-shelf meals and accommodations. The waiter poured French press coffees, then placed a decadent-looking dessert in front of Cerissa, shaped like a long tube, covered in smooth dark chocolate, a raspberry sauce surrounding it. Cerissa sank her fork into the covered mousse, and when she took her first bite, her expression looked orgasmic.
Henry tried not to be jealous. “How is it?”
She ate another bite and took her time answering. “To die for. Rich, smooth, with crunchy crisped rice in the center. The taste and textures are fantastic.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
Henry glanced up at the approach of a uniform-wearing man who stopped by their table, holding a small plate.
“Excuse me,” the officer said.
He wasn’t a waiter, but he wore some sort of insignia on the shoulders of his crisply starched white uniform, matching the insignias on officers’ epaulettes. His brass name badge read SMO Martinez . He had jet-black hair, cut short, and skin a similar brown to Henry’s. Perhaps the officer was the restaurant manager, checking on the quality of the meals. But why the plate? Then a despised scent hit Henry’s nose.
“I realize you’ve finished your dinners, but I see you still have some bread left. I thought you might enjoy it with this.” The SMO—whatever that meant—set the plate on the table next to Henry’s arm.
Chopped garlic in olive oil. Adrenaline shot through Henry’s blood and his pulse spiked. He scooted his chair back, ready to fight, and dropped his hand into his lap. The garlic oil was pungent enough to start an angry rash on the back of his hand. This couldn’t be a restaurant manager. No sane manager would offer garlic after dessert was served.
Cerissa reacted immediately. She snatched the offending dish, whisked the garlic off the table, and rushed over to a nearby busboy, who took it away.
When she returned to her seat, she glowered at Martinez. “I’m allergic to garlic.”
The officer shook his head. “I don’t believe it’s you who has the allergy, ma’am.” He grabbed an empty chair from another table and brought it to theirs. “But the two gentlemen definitely have a problem.”