3. A Lukewarm Reception
Chapter three
A Lukewarm Reception
Nicolette
J ulian and I walked into the exquisitely decorated reception hall with our fingers interlaced, wearing the smiles of liars. But it was better than dying. Well, sort of.
For now, I was resisting the urge to push Julian against the wall and do things to him I’d only seen in the movies.
As someone with limited romantic experience, I had so many sultry thoughts running through my mind that I felt embarrassed for myself.
What I found weird was that he was the only blood- and soul-sucking fiend to elicit such a response from me.
Which made me think he was doing this on purpose. The jerk.
The chandelier’s glow spilled across the room, showering the guests in warm light. Flowers perfumed the air, mingling with the rich scent of filet mignon. The string quartet’s rendition of “Ave Verum Corpus” floated delicately in the air, mixed with the polite hum of conversation.
Every conversation died the moment we entered. Every head turned. Every eye fixed on us.
The applause and cheers rose, filling my ears, swelling the pit in my stomach. I was lying to them all. To the board members, the civic leaders, and friends of my family. Even to my best friend, who waved frantically from the wedding party table, her smile too wide, too hopeful.
Julian held up our clasped hands as if I were a beloved prize he’d just won. If there were an Academy Award for Best Male Actor in a Horror Movie, he’d have it in the bag.
I forced my own smile wider. Playing my part as a supporting actress, I looked at my father’s now diminutive figure at the end of the wedding table. His thick silver hair lacked its normal luster, his cheeks seemed sunken, and his tan skin paler.
I felt as if I hardly knew the man I was doing this for.
But despite our less-than-perfect relationship, I’d always loved him and wanted to make him proud of me.
I’d thought maybe getting accepted into one of the top medical schools in the country would have done the trick.
Who knew all it would take was a vampire or two stepping into our lives?
It wasn’t that my father was cruel. He just had better things to do than be a father. Until recently, anyway. Or maybe that was a kind of cruelty—choosing a career over the people who loved you.
I swore that if I ever married and had children my family would come first, but this “marriage,” doomed to be loveless and childless, didn’t count.
Vampires couldn’t procreate in the normal sense of the word. I should probably have been grateful for that. Except it meant I would never know the joy of holding a child of my own. My mother had called it the most beautiful gift anyone could be given.
Oh, how I missed her.
Julian lowered our arms and led us through the room, his grip steady on my waist, lending support to my ankle. A year ago, I would have swooned over the gesture. Now it only made me hate him more. Pretend affection was worse than no affection at all.
The gawking was relentless. Guests stared as if I were some rare exhibit, in awe at the idea that Julian Rossi had chosen me. It should have offended me, but I understood. I was unsure of myself, and at times awkward.
I mean, just last week, I’d mistakenly worn a split silk skirt as a poncho. Daphne was the one who pointed it out to me. We had a good laugh about it. So maybe I could see why Julian thought I should get a better wardrobe.
But the defiant part of me, the part that had beat hundreds of candidates to earn a coveted residency at Mount Sinai, wanted to tell my groom where he could stick his designer clothing.
I liked my corduroy jumpsuits and all my wide-leg overalls in various shades of dull colors.
Did I give off hobo vibes sometimes? Yes.
But I was a comfortable hobo. A hide-in-the-background hobo.
In no time, we reached the head table, passing Julian’s family first. His “mother” and “father,” Bianca and Alonzo, beamed at us with fake pride. I could see right through their act. I’d met them twice, only briefly. But let’s just say I could tell they questioned this whole thing—me.
Their bright-white hair, piercing blue eyes, and porcelain skin made them look as though they’d discovered the fountain of youth and guzzled it down.
Bianca reached for me, her hand cool and unnaturally smooth as it closed around mine.
“Hello, bellissima,” she said, her voice lyrical, old world, almost hypnotic.
“Hello, Bianca,” I stuttered, while in my head I whispered, Please don’t eat me for dinner.
While the plasma therapy staved off their human bloodlust, I had to wonder if some of them wanted to snack on humans for the fun of it.
And I had this sneaking suspicion that she and Alonzo didn’t like me.
Or, at the very least, that they didn’t believe for one second that Julian and I were a love match.
“You must call us Mother and Father now,” she gently corrected.
“Yes, yes,” Alonzo agreed. “You are one of us now. A beautiful new addition.” He shot his son a smile.
Wow. They were excellent actors.
“Okay,” I squeaked, not wishing to anger the vampires or disagree with them, even though I didn’t want to betray my mom by calling Bianca mother.
“You will come have tea with me this week in our new home,” Bianca said, not as a request. They’d just moved here from Saint Pierre Island.
I had a feeling that she was testing me, so I swallowed and nodded.
“Excellent.” She let go of me. “We will be good friends, you and I.” It sounded more like a warning.
Great. Just what I always wanted: a fake BFF slash vampire mother-in-law.
Cyrus, seated next to Bianca, made sure to catch my eye before I sat down.
He was forever watching me. Even in the lab, where he spent an inordinate amount of time for a CMO.
Sure, my mother loved getting her hands dirty, as she would say, but she spent her fair share of time doing administrative things in her executive suite.
I felt as if I were a competent lab director, so his presence only made me more suspicious of him, as did the icy stare that seemed to penetrate my thoughts. What did he want to know?
“My love,” Julian’s rich, euphonic voice released Cyrus’s hold on me. “Sit, and I’ll send for some ice.”
I sank into my chair, exhaling as I kicked off the Jimmy Choo heels—champagne colored, sparkly, and utterly unwelcome. Another gift from my groom, another reminder of the life he was scripting for me.
Julian settled beside me, summoning a server with the ease of a man who expected the world to obey him.
Daphne, sitting on my other side, leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Did you and Julian make a stop upstairs first?”
I knew exactly what she meant—the penthouse suite where I was supposed to live with Julian. In reality, I’d be sleeping on the couch and spending my nights researching ways to rid myself of him.
I shook my head, faking a laugh in that you’re so funny way.
I felt so awful for all the lies I’d already told Daphne. She thought Julian and I had this hot love life, because, well, look at the man. But really, I’d been describing scenes from Bones , an old TV show I was obsessed with in college.
The main characters, Booth and Brennan, had amazing chemistry and some pretty steamy scenes. I wasn’t an over sharer, but I’d borrowed a few snippets here and there to make my . . . supposed romantic life . . . with Julian sound realistic.
“Sure.” She didn’t believe me. She leaned in closer. “Is Cyrus with anyone? He’s mucho caliente.”
I grabbed her arm before she said anything else. The freaking plasma suckers could hear every word we said, no matter how quiet we were. “You can’t date my boss,” I teased, hoping she would drop it. That was wishful thinking.
“Um . . . you’re sleeping with the big boss.”
Crap. Maybe I’d been too descriptive.
“True,” I giggled, wishing I could crawl under the table. “But Cyrus is just so broody. Not your type.”
Daphne sneaked a peek past me at Cyrus. “Honey, I’ll take broody if it comes in a package like that,” she trilled, her Southern drawl tangled with Spanish flair.
I risked a glance. Cyrus’s stare was glacial, his disdain so sharp it made me feel like a peasant caught gossiping above my station.
Apparently, Daphne didn’t catch the vibe. She wiggled her fingers in a wave, tittering like a schoolgirl at him. Or maybe she couldn’t help herself, just like how I turned into take-me-now Barbie whenever Julian touched me.
Cyrus turned away, dismissing us as if we were beneath his notice. Daphne’s cheeks flamed red, and I squeezed her arm, aching for her. My marriage to Julian had given her hope. Hope for girls like us, the ones with noses buried in books, overlooked by most of the male species.
If only she knew the truth. Julian didn’t love me. And someday, one of us was probably going to kill the other.
“It’s his loss,” I said, loud enough for every vampire at the table to hear. Let them chew on that.
“Darling.” Julian’s hand settled on my thigh, his touch deceptively gentle, his voice rich and warning. “It’s time to begin.”
“Okay, shnookums.” I batted my eyes, daring him to test me. If he thought for one second I’d let anyone in his family treat my best friend unkindly, he had another think coming.
Julian grimaced, then rose smoothly, signaling the string quartet to silence.
“Welcome, honored guests.”
The words rolled from him like velvet, commanding instant obedience. The room hushed, every gaze locked on him.
Say what you want about the guy—he knew how to command a room. No one even blinked at the oddity of the groom, not the father of the bride, taking charge. They were too mesmerized by Julian Rossi, the enigmatic man who could bend a crowd with a single word.
“Thank you for coming to share in the joy of this day with me and my lovely bride, Nicolette.”
Julian’s smile was dazzling, his eyes on me as if I were the center of his universe.
“I knew the day I met her she would change my life,” he said, voice dripping with conviction so flawless no one would doubt him.
No one except me. And my father.
Daphne squealed beside me, practically bouncing up and down with happiness. The guests oohed and aahed, their faces glowing with admiration, eating up every word Julian fed them.
My eyes, trapped in Julian’s unyielding grip, brimmed with tears. I fought to keep them from spilling, desperate not to let the crowd see what his hollow lies were doing to me.
Didn’t he realize all that he was stealing from me? Didn’t he understand that the day I met him, I had actually believed? Believed that his attention was genuine. Believed there was a spark. Believed it could turn into something real?
And now, for him to twist that fragile hope into something fake and grotesque and parade it before a room full of strangers made the betrayal cut deeper.
I had begged him for a simple courthouse wedding. Quiet. Private. Something that wouldn’t feel like a spectacle. But Julian had insisted it must be public and worthy of both our last names.
“I count myself the luckiest man to be married to this beautiful creature,” he continued the humiliation. “So, please enjoy yourselves. Eat, drink, and laugh with my bride and me on this joyous day.”
Uproarious clapping erupted as servers, in a well-synchronized dance, filled the room with plates of pretty food and bottles of wine.
Julian sat down, pleased with himself.
A server brought a bag of ice over and handed it to me.
I waved my hand. “No, thank you,” my voice unnaturally hitched, full of stupid emotion. “I don’t need it.”
Julian tilted his head. “Darling, take it. I would hate for your ankle to hurt while we dance.”
“I’m tired. There will be no dancing for me tonight.” Or ever with you. I refused to take any further part in this charade.
Julian’s eyes blazed for a moment, but then it was as if he finally noticed the tears in my eyes. For someone who had the keenest senses on the planet, he sometimes seemed to see only what he wanted to see.
“Nicolette,” he whispered, reaching up to wipe away my tears.
As imperceptibly as I could, I shook my head. I couldn’t bear his touch. And not only because it made me crave him.
He curled his fingers and dropped his hand. “As you wish. There will be no dancing.”
“Well, maybe for you, but I’m totally getting my freak on tonight,” Daphne lightened the moment.
I turned to her with a bright, fake smile.
She grabbed my cheeks, bursting with joy. “Look at you. You’re so happy, you’re crying.”
Yeah, look at me. “I’m just a lucky, lucky girl.”