My heart hurts remembering that there’s a big secret his parents don’t know. One that’s completely changed Nolan’s life.
“Thank you, Mr. Campbell,” I mumble back.
“Robert, please,” he corrects with warmth. “Or Rob, if you prefer. We’re rather informal around here.”
I think his definition of informal versus mine are very different.
I nod again, because apparently, I’ve become mute. It’s been so easy with the guys that I forgot how awkward I am around new people. The situation reminds me too much of old dinner parties my father dragged me to so I could perform the role of perfect daughter. It’s difficult to fight the survival instinct to be as invisible as possible.
“So how did the gala go?” Nolan jumps in, before any more uncomfortable conversation can ensue.
The question quickly leads into his parents talking excitedly not only about the event, but funny anecdotes that include everything from outrageous requests from the client to the scandals of whom they found canoodling in behind not so closed doors.
I’m so grateful for the subject change that I have to fight the urge to reach out and hold Nolan’s hand. Though to be honest, it’d be as much to draw strength from him as it would be to thank him. His nonchalant behavior regarding these small physical contacts has helped greatly toward my goal of enjoying these intimacies. I’m finding I really enjoy hugs.
His parents gesture wildly, speak in exaggerated voices, and have dramatic expressions as they share their stories. Soon my nervousness is gone, and I’m laughing so hard my face hurts. Despite their fine clothes and refined features, they’re just like their son-- full of light and good humor.
Nolan is a perfect blend of his parents in both wit and looks. The sharp model like features, with broad shoulders and lean frame come directly from his father, whereas his hair, eyes, and lithe movements come from his mother. I’m envious of their relationships, but it’s no longer such a stabbing ache as it was the first time. Maybe because I’m developing a loving family of my own?
Time flies, and before I realize it, an hour has passed and my dinner and dessert plate, a lemon raspberry cheesecake with a chocolate drizzle, has long since been empty.
When they finish their story about how the Ambassador of France took quite a shine to a very flustered Senator from New Hampshire, they signal for the waiting servants to clear the table.
With a suggestive purr in his wife’s ear, he asks, “My love, would you accompany me for a private nightcap?”
She giggles and coos, “That’s sounds wonderful, light of my life.”
“You’re impossible,” Nolan mutters, rubbing at his eyes.
They both smile back at their son, obviously enjoying flustering him. They’re so unabashedly in love, that for the first time, I wonder if one day that could be me.
Once the servants take away our empty plates and are out of earshot, Mrs. Campbell looks over at her son and stage whispers, “Darling, you’re looking a little peckish. There’s a fresh supply of blood in the private refrigerator.”
“Mom!” Nolan chides, eyes wide. “We have a guest.”
She makes a dismissive flapping motion with her hand. “Please, she’s a witch and it’s not like it’s a secret. Callie won’t mind. Will you, dear?”
I shake my head and clear my throat. “No, I don’t mind.”
A flash of pain crosses his features, before they’re schooled back into an affable smile.
“Dinner was so good that I’m stuffed,” he says, lightly patting his stomach, “but I promise to grab a bag before bed. First, Callie and I are going to go watch a movie.” He gets up, kisses his mother on the cheek, and gives his father an over the shoulder hug. “Night... And for the love of god, keep it down.”
They both smile up at him with amused grins and wish us both goodnights. Their affection for their son is clearly visible on their faces.
I mumble my own farewells, and quickly follow Nolan out.
Once we’re in the elevator, I ask, “What are you going to do when they see you in the morning and can tell you haven’t fed?”
Nolan runs a hand through his hair and releases a heavy sigh. “I’ll tell them I forgot… that I fell asleep or something.”
It’s at the same moment I realize I’m not supposed to know about the curse that he gives me a sharp look. Like a predator zeroing in on their prey, he inquires, “Why are you so sure I won’t feed before bed?”
“Uhhhhh…” I stammer, backing up into the metal wall of the elevator, and there’s a sinking free fall sensation in my stomach.
“Callie…” He purrs, caging me against the wall with hands braced on either side of my head. His arctic blue eyes pin me in place. “Why wouldn’t I feed?”
The door slides open when we’ve reached the proper level, but he doesn’t move.
