CHAPTER 27
POPPY
I’m so ready to leave when the rehearsal dinner is over.
But then I spot my mother standing alone outside with a glass of wine.
She’s staring out at the water like it holds answers she’s been searching for.
I should leave—every instinct screams at me to keep walking and go back to my room with Julian.
Instead, I hesitate, caught between escape and obligation, between old wounds and the impossible hope they might someday heal.
I touch Julian’s arm to stop him. “Can you give me a moment?” My voice sounds strained even to my own ears.
“Of course,” he says with an understanding nod.
What am I doing?
The odds of this going well are definitely stacked against me. Despite all that, I turn and head outside.
“Mom.”
She turns. For a second—just a second—I see something unguarded in her face. Something that looks almost like exhaustion.
“Poppy. I needed a break from the noise.”
“I understand, mom.”
Almost out of gut instinct, I want to immediately abort and retreat inside to Julian’s side, where I feel safe. Instead, I find myself walking to the railing and standing beside her.
We stand in silence for a long moment. The ocean stretches out before us, dark and endless.
“Your father would have loved this view,” she says finally. “He always chased beautiful things. Beautiful ideas. Beautiful promises.” She takes a sip of wine. “Never could hold onto any of them.”
I don’t know what to say. We never talk about Dad. It’s the silent agreement our family made years ago—pretend he doesn’t exist, and the wound doesn’t have to heal because we never acknowledge it’s there.
“I know you think I’m hard on you,” she continues. Her voice is quieter than I’ve ever heard it. “I am. I know I am.”
“Mom—”
“I watched your father chase every dream that glittered. Every opportunity that excited him. And when it all fell apart—when he realized Singapore was just another fantasy—I was the one left holding everything together. The mortgage. The girls. My entire life, rebuilt from rubble because I trusted someone who couldn’t tell the difference between passion and delusion. ”
No wonder “influencer” sounded like “mistake” to her ears. She wasn’t trying to crush my dreams. She was trying to protect me from repeating hers.
My throat tightens. “I’m not Dad.”
“No.” She looks at me then, really looks at me, and I see something I’ve never seen before: fear.
“But you have his spark. That terrifies me, Poppy. Because I remember what it was like to believe in someone’s spark, and I remember what it cost me when it burned out.”
She turns back to the water. “I don’t want you to end up—” She stops. Shakes her head. “Never mind. You’re an adult. You’ll make your own choices. You always have.”
She finishes her wine and walks back inside before I can respond.
I stand at the railing, trying to process what just happened.
My mother didn’t apologize. She didn’t take back years of criticism or suddenly declare her support for my career. But she’d shown me something she’d never shown me before.
The fear underneath.
I always knew my mother loved me. Her possibly drunken confession just let me know she’d been trying to save me from becoming my dad.
I head back in, except now I have to pass Preston and Serenity to get to Julian.
This night isn’t getting any better, is it?
Preston gives me a look I can’t quite read as Serenity steers him toward the elevators. Violet hugs me tight and whispers, “I’m so glad you’re here,” which almost makes me cry. “Don’t forget that the bridesmaids are meeting at nine sharp for hair and makeup. Mom will flip out if you’re late.”
“I know, I know,” I do my best mom impression. “‘Sharp means sharp, Poppy, not nine-fifteen.’”
We laugh, and then a guest pulls Vi away.
It nearly bums me out, then I feel Julian’s hand on my lower back. Steady. Present. A reminder that I’m not navigating this alone.
We walk back to our suite in comfortable silence. The tropical night is warm, thick with the scent of jasmine and sea salt. I can hear the waves somewhere in the darkness, rhythmic and eternal.
I love you.
He said it. At the dinner table, with Damien watching from the bar and my family oblivious around us. He looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered in two and a half centuries of existence, and he said those three words.
And I said them back.
My phone buzzes in my clutch. Then buzzes again. And again.
Julian’s mouth curves. “Sage?”
“How did you know?”
“The vibration pattern. She texts in bursts of six to eight messages. No one else does that.”
“You’ve memorized my best friend’s texting rhythm?”
“I’ve memorized everything about you.” He says it simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “The way you breathe when you’re nervous. The way your pulse changes when you’re thinking about something that makes you happy. The way you hum under your breath when you’re choosing an outfit.”
“I still haven’t decided if that’s either incredibly romantic or incredibly creepy.”
“I’d hate to say it, but it might both. I heard it after I said it—but it’s all true.”
We reach our suite. Julian holds the door for me—257 years of gentleman training on full display—and I slip inside, already reaching for my phone.
The messages are exactly what I expected.
SAGE: HOW WAS THE REHEARSAL DINNER
SAGE: Did your mom behave
SAGE: Did PRESTON behave
SAGE: More importantly did YOUR VAMPIRE BOYFRIEND behave
SAGE: I can’t believe I just typed that sentence with a straight face
SAGE: Actually I didn’t type it with a straight face
SAGE: I’m sitting here grinning like an idiot because my best friend is living a romcom that might be a paranormal romance
SAGE: ANSWER ME POPPY
I kick off my heels—finally—and sink into the couch, tucking my legs beneath me.
ME: The dinner was... eventful.
The response is immediate.
SAGE: EVENTFUL???
SAGE: Define eventful
SAGE: Good eventful or bad eventful
SAGE: “Someone made a passive-aggressive toast” eventful or “vampires attacked” eventful
ME: The first one. Mom gave a speech that was basically “Violet is perfect and Poppy exists,” but then we had a really nice moment together.
ME: Preston gave a speech that was basically saying “Serenity is so much better than my last girlfriend,” and “I see through performances unlike SOME people.”
SAGE: Ugh! What is wrong with him
SAGE: What did Julian do
ME: He gave his own speech. Defended me. Defended influencing. Made Preston look like a smug hypocrite.
SAGE: I love him
SAGE: I mean I know he’s YOURS and also possibly UNDEAD but I love him
ME: Speaking of love...
ME: I have fallen for him 100%
SAGE: No doubts
ME: None
ME: And he loves me
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. This goes on for an unnervingly long time.
SAGE: POPPY
SAGE: POPPY ROSE GABLE
SAGE: ARE YOU TELLING ME
SAGE: THIS IS THE ONE?
SAGE: I feel weird typing that last one.
SAGE: You know how I feel about all that
SAGE: But I’m super HAPPY for you!!
I glance up. Julian is standing by the window, watching the darkness like he’s daring it to make a move. The moonlight catches the sharp lines of his profile.
ME: He’s standing by the window right now looking all broody and protective
ME: It’s doing things to me
SAGE: THINGS
SAGE: What kind of THINGS
SAGE: Actually don’t answer that
SAGE: Wait no ANSWER THAT
ME: I need to go
SAGE: Don’t you DARE leave me on read
SAGE: I have QUESTIONS
ME: I’ll call you tomorrow. Promise.
SAGE: After the wedding?
ME: After the wedding.
SAGE: If he breaks your heart I will so hurt him back
ME: That’s the most romantic threat you’ve ever made.
SAGE: I know. Love you.
ME: Love you too.
I set down my phone and cross to where Julian stands. He doesn’t turn, but I see his shoulders relax slightly as I approach—like my presence is a comfort even when he’s scanning for threats.
“Sage threatened to hurt you if you break my heart,” I say.
“I’d expect nothing less.” He turns to face me. “She’s a good friend.”
“The best.” I lean against the window frame, studying him in the moonlight. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“It’s a vampire question.”
His mouth curves. “Those are my favorite kind.”
“You said you have enhanced senses. Hearing, smell, sight. But earlier, you said you memorized my breathing patterns. My pulse.” I tilt my head. “Just how much can you hear?”
“How much do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
He considers this. “I can hear your heartbeat from across a room. When you’re calm, it’s steady—around seventy beats per minute. When you’re nervous, it jumps to ninety. When you’re...” He pauses. “Excited. It goes higher.”
“Define excited.”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
I do. My cheeks warm. “What else?”
“Your scent changes with your emotions. Fear has a sharp edge. Happiness is warmer. Attraction...” His eyes darken. “Attraction is unmistakable.”
“So you always know what I’m feeling.”
“Not always. You’re remarkably good at controlling your physical responses when you want to. That night at the cocktail party, when Damien approached—your heart was racing, but your face was perfectly composed. Most humans can’t separate the two.”
“Years of influencer training.” I smile. “Smile for the camera even when you’re dying inside.”
“It’s impressive. And occasionally infuriating.”
“Good.” I step closer. “What about strength? You carried me into the ocean like I weighed nothing.”
“You do weigh nothing. To me.” He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers are cool against my skin. “I could lift a car if I needed to. Bend steel. Break through walls.”
“You’re like Superman. That’s...” I search for the word. “Hot. That’s actually really hot.”
He laughs—a real laugh. “That’s not the usual response.”
“What’s the usual response?”
“Fear. Concern. Questions about whether I might accidentally hurt them.”
“Would you? Accidentally hurt me?”