Chapter 32
Laurent reappeared in our room late that evening, pulling me from the pages of my book.
I’d curled up on the chaise beside the balcony, letting the day’s events settle while I read.
“Little flower,” he murmured, eyes darting over me.
I found myself doing the same, searching his empty arms for a tray.
I’d come to love the quiet moments we shared at the end of each day when he prepared something just for me.
He closed the distance between us without saying a word.
I sat motionless, a fly caught in his web.
A shiver raced over me as he threaded his fingers into my hair, leaning down, tilting my face toward his until our lips were mere centimeters apart.
“I thought we might try something different tonight, if you are open to it?”
“Oh?” The word came out breathy.
His pupils flared. He kissed me then, the motion of his tongue lazy but possessive. Like he hadn’t a care in the world but to sip on me like a rich wine. I sighed, luxuriating in the taste of him. I was amenable to whatever he wanted.
He sucked on my bottom lip, capturing it between his front teeth. The action had my core clenching.
“May I take you out for gelato? There’s a place down the street—just a short walk.”
“Like…a date?” My stomach filled with butterflies.
“Hmm. Yes.” He disentangled his fingers and stood, staring down at me. I barely had the fortitude to grope blindly for my bookmark before setting my book aside. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. “What do you think?”
He sounded almost…shy. Entirely unlike him. This ancient creature who was always sure of himself.
“Yes,” I breathed.
“Good.” He reached for my wrist and gently tugged me into motion. “Cinna is with Vittorio. He’ll keep her until later.” He eyed my dress. I could almost see the thoughts flitting over his expression. “It’s a temperate evening. You should be fine.”
He escorted me through the townhouse, my heart quickening as we emerged into the vibrant night.
Big homes like Laurent’s rose up along both sides of the street, accessible by canals along the back.
It was nearing ten at night and the city was alive.
People passed in groups, shouting and laughing.
Laurent kept an arm around my waist, holding me flush to his side.
I slipped mine around him, smiling at the simplicity of it.
Like we were simply a normal couple out on a date.
As if the complications trapping us together had never happened. Laurent pointed out businesses and storefronts as we passed, cute little shops selling everything from clothing to perfume, jewelry, and more. There were law offices, restaurants, bars, even a dance studio. I loved Genia immediately.
Braxton was the only big city I knew, but it was modern and impersonal.
Nothing like this—every stone seemed to whisper stories of centuries past, oozing with charm and history.
We slowed near a window where I peered into a bookstore.
It was closed now, its lights dimmed. The display showcased beautiful editions on clear acrylic stands.
Laurent leaned in, kissing my temple as I studied them, more interested in me than anything else.
We continued down the street. I stole glances at him. He’d worn his hair down to cover his ears, so as not to attract attention.
His gaze darted back and forth, his eyes constantly in motion. He tensed several times. Occasionally, he offered a small nod of greeting to other vampires he spotted in passing. I’d gotten better at recognizing them.
The sweet shop—our destination—smelled of fruit and sugar.
A glass display of fine chocolate occupied one area, brightly colored candies lined another wall, and the back section held a whole refrigeration counter with various flavors of gelato.
I froze, taking it all in. My hands clasped in front of me, mostly to keep myself from reaching for the nearest brightly colored display holding lollipops in various animal shapes. I was nearly bouncing with excitement.
This wasn’t something I’d been allowed as a child—expensive candy. Yet another thing I had missed out on. This seemingly normal experience. To me, it felt sacred. I didn’t care that the excitement I felt was, perhaps, a bit overkill for an adult.
Laurent didn’t seem to care, either. He took my excited antics in stride, offering to get me whatever I wanted.
I ended up with an entire bag of sweets purchased from the front of the store before we managed to make our way to the gelato line.
He stood behind me, arms banded around my waist, holding me against him.
His chin rested on my shoulder. “What flavor will you pick?” he murmured.
“How about you pick for me?”
“All right. I like that idea.”
“Would you like to share mine? Or shall I pick for you?”
“You pick,” he decided, arms briefly tightening, like he was giving me a quick hug. I felt the brush of his lips against my pulse before he straightened. He didn’t release me until we were at the counter.
A middle-aged woman greeted us with a smile.
She said something in Italian and Laurent answered, then waited for my order.
“Pistachio, please,” I said. She nodded, then set about scooping.
“Which did you pick for me?” I whispered, craning my neck to better see him.
A smile pulled at the corner of his lips but he didn’t answer.
Two cups were set atop the counter, generously filled. Laurent payed, and then we were strolling from the shop, my bag of candy dangling from my wrist. Unable to resist, I scooped a mouthful of gelato and groaned. “Hazelnut?”
“Indeed. Do you like it?”
“I love it.” The words came out slurred around my mouthful.
We found a bench beside the canal and sat shoulder to shoulder, eating in companionable silence. “All right. Trade,” Laurent said, halfway through.
“You don’t like yours?”
“Oh, it’s divine. But I love hazelnut. It’s my favorite.”
“Well, good. Because pistachio is my favorite.”
We both chuckled like kids. Something about the experience called for it. As if eating gelato brought out the inner child in a person.
“Shall we see how they taste mixed?” Laurent’s grin was wicked.
“Mixed?”
He showed me what he meant, leaning in to kiss me. I huffed against his lips. His tongue stroked against mine and I let out a breathless sound. The cold of our mouths and the sweet flavor of the gelato made for the perfect kiss.
We traded cups and ate more slowly. Laurent asked me casual questions about my time at BU and a few more private questions about my past, carefully navigating my reactions.
In turn, I also asked him things, mostly about Italy and his time here.
Just because I had a growing collection of his memories didn’t mean they made a lot of sense.
Especially since most came without context.
The experience felt normal, exactly how a date ought to feel.
I learned that Laurent was made here, in this exact city, where his father found him.
He left the details out, but I knew enough from his memories to put the pieces together, that he’d come from the slums. His father had needed an heir and hadn’t wanted to pick from any of his children—something about sibling rivalry and creating rifts in the family.
He chose to find someone he could specifically groom.
“I was shaped for one purpose,” Laurent explained.
“How long have you been the head of your household?”
How long since you killed your sire.
He fell quiet. “Nearly three hundred years.” I made a humming noise.
“And you come back here every year?”
“Usually. I don’t always bring my entire family. Sometimes I’ll send Marco in my place.”
“He’s your heir.”
“Correct.”
I considered that. “How did you choose him?”
Laurent finished his gelato. I’d already finished mine, so he collected our cups and deposited them in a trash bin, then took my hand and led me along the canal. A casual stroll between lovers. We certainly weren’t the only ones with this idea in mind.
“It wasn’t an easy decision,” he said at last. “There were many things to consider. Zola seemed the most suitable in some ways, but she was one of my youngest. I had a few older children. I didn’t want to do as my father had—pick some human and groom them from the time of their making.
I wanted someone I knew well, someone I could trust.”
“And Marco fit the bill.”
“Precisely. There was…another. I think he was quite angry about it. That hurt me. But it’s in the past.”
“Who?”
“You do not know him,” he said. “He died.”
“Oh. I’m…sorry. What was his name?”
“Lio.”
The name tugged at something in my memory—Laurent’s memories bleeding through. I caught sight of blond hair and blue-green eyes, and felt an echo of Laurent’s affection for this man, deep and genuine. “He’s the one who owned the piano you gave me.”
“Yes. The very same. He purchased the manor in Braxton and I settled there to be closer to him. He died, not long after.”
I wanted to ask how. How did one kill a vampire?
I’d seen Laurent rip Henrietta’s heart out, but there were other ways.
Who and what had killed Lio? And how much had Laurent suffered for it?
The careful way Laurent spoke his name told me the wound was still tender, even after all these years.
We reached the townhouse. In the foyer, Laurent pulled me close, burying his nose in my hair and inhaling.
He’d been doing this more often lately. As if he needed to assure himself that I was right here—
“Sire?”
Laurent sighed but didn’t pull away. “What is it, Marco?”
“I believe we found him.”
Laurent froze against me. “Where?”
“Exactly where we thought. The night market.”
“Good.”
“Who?” I blurted.
Laurent pulled away, framing my face with his hands. His palms were cool against my skin. “Drazgus.”
“The demon prince?” My brows knitted together.