8. Spill the Tea
Chapter eight
Spill the Tea
Nicolette
The three-story red brick mansion stood proudly behind its own courtyard and fountain, complete with a wraparound veranda that looked like it belonged on the cover of a glossy architectural magazine.
It was, without question, the jewel of the street.
And I was about to walk straight into it like I belonged there. Like I was one of the family.
Bianca had insisted that I come today, Thursday, for our little tea party.
I’d been putting her off all week, desperate for some semblance of normalcy—which for me meant burying myself in the lab.
Even though nothing about this week had been normal.
Cyrus was constantly watching me. Even when I was in my office, he’d stroll past every few minutes and peek through the door.
I wasn’t sure if he was being extra vigilant because Julian feared the person who sent the roses might actually try to kill me, or if it had more to do with what I was working on.
During my external audit meeting with Cyrus, his questions had been less about compliance and more about what, exactly, I was researching and even what my mother had been working on before she died.
I’d lied and told him I was simply expanding on my mother’s plasma work.
She’d been hoping to identify therapeutic targets for liver disease, so I said I’d been isolating plasma proteins I believed might have the strongest clinical potential.
The way his brow had furrowed, I wasn’t sure if he was skeptical or disappointed. Both possibilities worried me.
If he thought I was lying, would he decide to handle the problem —as in me—himself, sparing Julian the trouble of dealing with me? Julian swore it wasn’t him who wanted me gone. Part of me wanted to believe him, but as I’d told him, I wasn’t naive anymore.
But if Cyrus had been disappointed . . .
that was worse in its own way. It meant he’d hoped I was working on something else.
Or that he thought my mother had been. What exactly had he wanted from her research?
What had he been hoping to find? Did it have anything to do with the locked files on her laptop that I was still nowhere close to breaking into?
Was he hoping for more treatments for his bloodsucking friends?
What more could they possibly want? My mother’s plasma therapy had already given them the best of both worlds.
They remained immortal but could now walk among us—indistinguishable from humans, able to blend in without raising suspicion.
You know, unless you took their pulse or saw their retractable canines.
The only treatment I had in mind for them was of the deadly variety.
Did I feel guilty about that? Yes. This wasn’t who I was. But it was becoming painfully clear that someone—or several someones—wanted me gone. I needed to be prepared.
Before I even knocked on the double doors with their stained-glass windows, Bianca swung them open wide.
“Bellissima, welcome.” Her voice was lyrical, mesmerizing—far too inviting. That was how they reeled you in. Made you believe they cared. After Julian’s deception, I’d learned it was practically an art form for them. And I knew Bianca had her misgivings about me.
Which meant I couldn’t tell if she was being a gracious hostess or preparing to lure me to my death. Honestly, it felt like a toss-up. But what choice did I have except to play along?
“Thank you, Bianca . . . I mean, Mother,” I stuttered.
Calling her mother felt wrong on every cellular level.
Still, it seemed in my best interest to pretend to be a good daughter-in-law, considering I had no idea who exactly was out to get me.
And I was all alone—save for Amos, who I knew was watching me even though I’d driven myself over.
Not that it mattered. I highly doubted Amos would choose me over “family.”
Bianca smiled at my term of endearment, her blinding white teeth flashing brilliantly. Another reminder that I was stepping into the home of a predator. The deadliest on earth. Animal Planet should do a documentary about them. Lions, tigers, and bears had nothing on this family.
“Please come in.” She swept her hand gracefully toward the foyer.
I peeked inside before committing to a single step.
The walls were covered in a stunning mural—something you’d expect to find in the Sistine Chapel.
Only this scene wasn’t biblical. It looked more like a visual history of the Italian Renaissance.
Beautiful men and women who bore a striking resemblance to the Rossis stood in flowing gowns against a lush forest backdrop.
Ancestors? Or perhaps the artist’s interpretation of younger versions of Bianca, Alonzo, Cyrus . . . even Julian. Or . . .
A gasp escaped me. Had they been alive during the Italian Renaissance? That began in the 1400s.
“You have many questions, daughter. Come in and I will answer them,” Bianca sang. Perhaps even daring me.
I swallowed hard and stepped inside, suddenly wondering if Bianca could read more than my physiological responses. Could she read my mind? Or had my gasp simply been that obvious? Just in case, I tried very hard not to think about how my current research focused on their demise.
The moment I crossed the threshold, Bianca shut the door and locked it. The hum of the electronic deadbolt sounded far too much like a death sentence.
I bit my lip and stared at the door, wondering if I would ever walk through it again.
“We can’t be too careful about your safety,” Bianca chirped cheerily. Or was that . . . sadistically?
Bianca looped her elegant arm through mine. The chill from her skin seeped through her blush-colored linen jacket. The suit—matronly yet undeniably stately—made it clear she was the one in charge here.
“Why are you nervous, daughter?”
The word daughter still felt strange, like something pulled from another century. But I had to remind myself she was from another time. It felt as if she were time itself.
“Um . . .” What was I supposed to say? The truth was, I feared plenty. For my life. For my father’s. For the possibility that I’d become the punch line to everyone’s jokes. Not to mention that I constantly felt like I was being watched. It was unnerving, to say the least.
“I hope you do not worry that I will be an overbearing mother-in-law or that, because you are not of our kind, I won’t accept you.”
I had never thought of that. Especially considering that her son didn’t really love me and my marriage was as fake as they came.
I’d figured her wish for us to be friends was also a sham.
Although Julian had warned me that morning that I needed to make sure his mother believed we were madly in love with each other.
It was imperative, he said, that his family believe that what we had between us was real.
At this point? I could hardly tell what was real anymore.
“I didn’t think that.” It wasn’t a lie.
“I’m glad. So, let me show you some of our history.
I know you must be curious. And I know my son is guarded about his past. I believe he doesn’t wish to give his lovely bride any reason to regret choosing him.
” She paused, her thoughtful voice shifting to something more menacing.
“Though I do have to say, your relationship is curious.”
This was no random comment. It appeared we had landed on the reason she had really invited me over. She was questioning the validity of my marriage and the nice vampire gloves were coming off.
Did I blame her? Not at all. It wasn’t as if I’d presented myself as a blissful bride at our reception. And I may have said a few things to the mayor’s wife that were . . . decidedly not wifely. No doubt Julian’s parents—and the rest of his ancient, hyper observant family—had heard every word.
I cleared my throat. “How so?”
She tilted her ethereally gorgeous head; her silver hair practically glowed, as did her fine features. Her cheekbones alone were a work of art.
“For one, everything transpired with remarkable speed. And Julian was . . . reluctant to introduce you to us.”
“We knew each other for over a year before we got married,” I defended myself weakly. “And I’m not getting any younger.” What was I even saying? It’s not like we could have children together. My age was irrelevant.
Bianca drew me closer. “Yes, that is another matter entirely. As a woman of science, why would you choose to bind yourself to a being who will never age? Who will never experience your human frailties? Tell me—is this an experiment for you? Have you given him false hope?”
I blinked, confused and—fine—terrified. “False hope?”
“I will warn you only once, child—do not trifle with me or my family.”
My life flashed before my eyes. And in that split second, I realized how much I still wanted to do. How had it all come to this? I was a nice girl. Well . . . except for wanting to exterminate my husband. But honestly, ask anyone other than him, and they’d vouch for me.
All I’d ever wanted was to help people and meet Legolas—or as some people call him, Orlando Bloom.
Oh, and see all seven wonders of the world.
I still had five to go. I didn’t ask for much.
I certainly hadn’t asked to become a vampire wife or get dragged into some ancient, shadowy world.
Sure, it sounded intriguing on paper and may have had a starring role in my teen fantasies, but the reality? Not nearly as glamorous as advertised.
Well, if I was going to go out, I was going to go out with my head held high. That’s what all my favorite heroines in my fantasy novels would do.
I leaned away from her—at least as much as she allowed. Her grip on my arm remained vigilant, though almost leisurely. Like a cat toying with a mouse.
“Bianca, I’m not a child, and you are not my mother.
It’s clear you invited me here under false pretenses, and you have no real wish to build a relationship with me.
And if you believe I’m trifling”—I echoed her word—“with your family or your son, then do whatever you feel you must. I would be powerless against you.”
Bianca’s startling blue eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me, but then the faintest smile curved her lips—painted in a deep, classic red.
“Perhaps I am mistaken about you,” she said softly. “There is a fire in you. One I can see would be very attractive to my Julian. Yet answer me this—why do you not smell of my son? It is clear you have not mated.”
Was she for real? They could smell that?
That felt like a massive invasion of privacy.
A nice heads-up from my husband would have been appreciated.
Just a casual, By the way, honey, everyone in my world will instantly know we haven’t slept together.
Just one more humiliation to add to the list. Also?
Who even says things like that? I wasn’t some animal.
“Mated?” I choked out. “I assume you mean sex?”
“Being mated is far more than sex,” she replied, her tone reverent.
“It is a sacred bond between a vampire and his or her chosen mate. A bond that does not exist between you and my son. I found it peculiar at the wedding that I could not smell him on you. But I know some women choose to wait until marriage to engage in such intimacies. Tell me—why are you still waiting?”
My jaw fell open. This was the last topic I had expected to discuss today.
“First of all, our sex life is none of your business. And I resent that you’re questioning Julian’s and my relationship. Why would I choose to be with someone like him? Someone who can’t give me a family? Someone I would watch stay young while I age—if we didn’t love each other?”
I did my best not to choke on the word “love.” Julian’s warning kept replaying in my head—how important it was that his family believe we were in love. I hadn’t believed him until this moment. Apparently, vampire families lived by an entirely different set of rules than I was used to.
But now, more than ever, I wanted out of this insane family. What happened to I hope you don’t think I would be an overbearing mother-in-law or refuse to accept you because you’re not a bloodsucker ?
“Hmm.” She scoffed, clearly not buying what I was selling. “I do hope you speak the truth. And that you are worth the risk we have all taken to protect you. That you will, in time, give my son what he has been searching for all these years.”
What was he searching for? I didn’t dare ask, and she didn’t seem inclined to reveal it. So I lied. Again. I hated it—it was so unlike me.
“I love Julian,” I said, with all the conviction of someone whose life depended on it—because I was fairly certain mine did. “And I will do whatever it takes to give him his wish.”
Whatever that wish was. Knowing my luck, he had always wanted to sacrifice his bride on a pagan altar. At that point, I might have gone willingly. Honestly, I’d bring the matches myself.
“Well, then,” she sang cheerily, flipping the crazy switch off. “Shall we have tea? I still hope we will be good friends.”
Her dizzying array of emotions was giving me whiplash. With friends like her, who needed enemies? Unfortunately, I was pretty sure I had those now too.
Enemy number one being my husband—who had a great deal of explaining to do.