Lucy
I slide onto the cream leather seats of the Rolls.
“Where are we going?” I ask Dominik.
“I’d like to break your pickles and peanut butter habit, so I thought we’d take tea at the New York Café,” he says.
It is broad daylight. The worst of the Hungarian winter weather is behind us, but the sky is a gunmetal gray. Powerful vamps like Dominik will be unaffected by the light today. Less powerful ones will be slumbering in their coffins.
A habit I am very pleased Dominik has eschewed in favor of being in bed with me. Because a coffin would be an absolute no for me. Comfy or not.
“I’m not going to stop eating pickles and peanut butter,” I say, but I don’t really mean it.
In fact, since I found out about Grace a week ago, I’ve not been feeling much like eating anything.
The Rolls glides through traffic for ten minutes or so before we pull up outside a very grand building. It’s Nineteenth century, like many buildings in Budapest, and it’s been renovated to a very high standard. Dominik slides out of the vehicle and holds out a hand to help me lumber to my feet.
At least I feel like I’m dressed for the occasion in a long burgundy cashmere dress which clings to my every curve. For some reason, it makes me feel incredibly decadent, and I love it.
“You look edible,” Dominik says, every inch a gentleman in one of the bespoke three-piece suits he prefers. He nibbles behind my ear as he puts an arm around my waist. “Almost as edible as the items in the café.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting when he opened the door to the café, even in such a grand building, but the interior is absolutely stunning.
Beautiful plasterwork in a baroque/renaissance style, gilded everywhere with a myriad of colorful paintings on the ceilings and walls.
Twisted columns rise to support the ornate ceilings, and warm tobacco-colored wood panelling makes it feel strangely intimate.
The other reason for the intimate feeling is the place is completely empty. I’d have expected it to be thronged with tourists, but no one is sitting at any tables.
“Welcome, Mr. Király.” A waiter approaches us, his clothing neat as a pin, a long, dark apron wrapped over his suit. “Let me show you to your table.”
Dominik takes the lead, and we climb the grand stairs up to a balcony where we are given the best table in the entire place. There’s a view of the street, as well as the best view of the ornate café itself.
“They do goulash,” Dominik says as a menu is placed in front of me. “And their patisserie is legendary.”
“This is beautiful.” I look around me in wonder. “But is it not any good?”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s no one here.” I gesture around us. “You’d have thought a place like this would be super busy.”
Dominik leans back in his chair looking smug, the gold Phillipe Patek on his wrist glinting in the light from the huge chandeliers above us.
“You’d have thought, wouldn’t you?” he says with a fanged smile. “But then what if you wanted somewhere private to meet with your friend and her new pups?”
I stare at him, well aware my jaw has dropped.
“And in order to convince a werewolf pack leader he should attend and bring his mate, I bought the café for us.”
“You bought the café?” I look around me again. “You bought this place just so I could meet with Grace?”
Dominik nods and then furrows his brow.
“Do you think I should have bought somewhere larger?” he asks. “Grander?”
My jaw is already slack. I don’t think it can drop any further. It’s then I hear the sound of Grace’s voice, accompanied by Ferenc’s deep one.
“Dominik?” My own voice wobbles. “What did you do?”
“I did what you wanted, my dove.”
I stand up and see Grace pushing a large pram down the balcony towards me. Ferenc strides along next to her, his face beaming.
“OH! THERE SHE IS!” Grace bellows, pushing the pram faster in order to get to me.
By the time I’m wrapped in one of her huge hugs, I’m crying so hard I can hardly see her.
“Hey.” She pulls back as I scrub my face with the back of my hand. “Oh, wow! You’ve been busy,” she says, staring down at my bump.
Dominik towers over us both. He’s on edge because I’m in tears. His fangs peep over his bottom lip. Ferenc releases a low, dangerous growl.
“Oh, my god! Is it Dominik’s?” Grace’s eyes widen.
“No,” I say quickly.
“Vampires cannot breed,” Ferenc rasps.
“It was, well…let’s just say the father is not in the picture.”
“But you’re here, with Dominik?” Her brows knit together.
“It’s a long story.” I sigh. “Grace, I’m so…”
Before I can get my apology out, there is a squeal from the pram.
“Duty calls,” Grace says as Ferenc reaches down, and in a moment, he has the cutest pup cradled against him.
Grace lifts another two up against her. They yawn and wriggle.
“Werewolves are born shifted,” she says by way of explanation. “They can take their human form from around six months.” Grace smiles at the gorgeous pups.
“Or in my case, around twelve months,” Ferenc says. “I was a later starter.” He bares his teeth in a sort of smile at Dominik. “We have matters to discuss, vampire,” he adds.
“Oh, dear.” Grace rolls her eyes. “Well, go and get on with it. I have to catch up with Lucy because she’s been super busy.” She eyes my bump. “And I need all the gossip.”