Chapter 20 #2
There are pomegranates split open, jeweled seeds glistening like rubies and a cake layered with dark chocolate and scarlet jelly, gleaming under a sugar glaze.
Honey glazed buns dusted with cinnamon sit next to a ripe, juicy-looking pear.
And in the center is something exotic—a black tart filled with crimson custard and topped with sugared rose petals.
It’s all served on fine bone china edged in gold, with cut-crystal goblets and silverware polished so I can see my reflection. A linen napkin embroidered with a crimson rose lies folded beside the plate.
My stomach growls loud enough to be heard over the crackling fire and my mouth is watering.
Looks like it’s time to eat! And I have to hand it to Lucian—this isn’t the kind of feast you send to a woman unless you really do like her curves.
Because aside from the pear and pomegranate, absolutely nothing on the big silver tray is remotely good for you.
I try the exotic tart first—a tastes that’s sweet and silky and faintly tangy rolls over my tongue. I think of Lucia, who always says she craves something rich and decadent after a long day at court. She would absolutely lose her mind over this.
The honey buns? Tasha would demolish three before anyone else got a bite. The cured meats? Naomi would call it “charcuterie chic” and take pictures. Hanna would be all about the cheeses, dissecting each flavor like it was fine wine. And Yelena would love it all—but especially the pastries.
I try everything. A bite of this, a spoon of that, my body reminding me I haven’t eaten since Book Club which seems a lifetime ago. The Cuban bread and key lime pie I had melted away hours ago.
Before long, I’m stuffed but strangely comforted. There’s something about having a good meal that makes even the weirdest circumstances seem bearable. And these are definitely the weirdest circumstances I have ever been in.
As I dab my lips with the embroidered napkin, I feel a spark of curiosity. What else has Don Fangtastic stocked away in his boudoir? Maybe it’s time to snoop around a little.
I get up from my cozy little chair and take a walk around the room.
It’s very clear that a man lives here. The dresser yields neat stacks of starched shirts, silk ties, and heavy, expensive looking cufflinks—most of them gold with rubies.
I notice the silver chalice filled with red on several of them—the Chalice that I heard Lucian swear by.
Does it have some kind of religious or cultural experience?
I’m sure the red liquid is supposed to be blood…
And then, tucked in a velvet-lined drawer, I find something that makes me freeze.
It’s a ring—heavy, gold, and etched with roses.
But the design etched on the top of it is that same Chalice filled with red.
When I think about it, I realize it’s the exact same design that was on the little silver disk Whistler flashed when he dragged me past all the guards.
What did he call it? The signet? The sigel?
Anyway, this ring in my hand looks exactly like the kind of ring a Lord or a King would have. He’d use it to seal letters, and he’d make the peasants bow and kiss it. (How do I know all this? Because at Book Club we went through quite a long Romantasy phase.)
I pick up the ring and am surprised by its weight. It must be pure gold, (except for the red liquid in the Chalice, which appears to be ruby chips.) I roll it in my palm and think how the guards all let Whistler pass with no trouble at all when he showed the same sign and mentioned Lucian’s name.
Interesting. Very interesting.
Sliding the ring back into its place, I decide to explore the closet. The door glides open with a whisper and my jaw hits the floor.
Half the space is Lucian’s—endless rows of dark, tailored suits, black coats, and crisp white shirts. But the other half? Women’s clothes. And after a moment I realize—they all appear to be my size.
I run my fingers over a slinky black gown, the kind that would hug every curve.
It’s cut low in the back and even lower in the front.
Next I finger a green silk blouse cut to bare serious cleavage.
Is Lucian a breast-man? I’m beginning to wonder.
Then I see a skirt short enough to make me blush.
Okay, that’s not the kind of thing I’d choose for myself—I’ve always been kind of shy about having thick thighs and meaty calves.
But maybe the Vampire Don is into those too.
The final items of clothing hang at the end of the line—lingerie so delicate the pieces are basically see-through. You’d have to be a real exhibitionist to want to walk around in those.
So why do I want to try them on?
I restrain myself and look further. Guess what I see?
Shoes! God, so many shoes.
Red stilettos with jeweled heels that sparkle in the light…black thigh-high boots with delightfully chunky heels…silver sandals strung with chains. I lift one pair—blood-red pumps with a wicked spike heel—and examine them gleefully.
I’ve always loved shoes. I think a lot of curvy girls do. Shoes don’t care about your waistline. You can be a size 22 and still rock a size 8 heel.
But then I have a sudden thought. Did Lucian buy these for me? Or did some other curvy woman wear them before me? Was she told she was his Queen too? Did she have that special whatever it is in her blood? The Sanguis something…I can’t remember the whole name.
My throat tightens. Maybe this is all some elaborate prank—a hoax to hurt me. And it’s not like I haven’t had experience with that kind of thing before.
In high school, they called Daren Hastings a “chubby chaser” when he asked me to prom. They teased him so badly he told everyone he only invited me to “make fun of the fat girl.” Then he took Melony Jennings, who was a cheerleader instead.
Ever since that, part of me has believed big, handsome guys only look at girls like me as a joke.
It’s so funny to break the fat girl’s heart, right?
Because we’re nothing but comic relief. We can never be the heroine—we’re always the best friend who makes everyone laugh.
Show me a Mafia romance with a chubby FMC—go on, I’ll wait.
They’re all skinny eighteen-year-old virgins which isn’t fair.
Curvy girls deserve to be the main character too, damn it!
So what about Lucian? He says I’m his Queen. But he also says he wants my blood.
And he wants to tie you up in that harness, whispers a traitorous little voice in my head.
I shove it down. I can’t go there right now—I just don’t have the strength to deal with it, I tell myself.
A knock at the door startles me. Is Lucian back? will he be upset if he finds I’ve been snooping through his things?
Hastily I shut the closet door and scurry back to the chair by the fire before I call,
“Come in!”
The door opens and another prim and proper servant appears. He bows low.
“My Queen, Don Lucian regrets to inform you he will be detained for some time on a matter of utmost importance. He hopes you will not mind sleeping alone tonight.”
I force a tight smile.
“Uh, sure. Alone is fine.”
“Thank you, my Queen. I will relay your message.”
He bows again and the door closes but as it snicks shut, I’m already planning.
Sleep? Not happening—not tonight.
Because if Don Tall, Dark, and Fangy thinks I’m going to just accept being kidnapped and leaving my whole life in the Human Realm behind, he’s wrong.
He’s busy working and probably won’t be back for hours.
By then, I’ll be long gone.