“Right. Vampire thing.” I cross to him. Take his hands. “Are you okay? After everything you told me?”
“I should be asking you that.”
“I asked first.”
“I asked second.”
“Julian.”
“Fine.” He’s quiet for a bit too long, but I hold off saying anything. “I’ve carried those names for a very long time. Margaret. Corinne. Anya. Telling you about them...” He pauses. “It felt like setting down a weight I’d forgotten I was holding.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m terrified.” His hands tighten on mine. “Because you know everything, and you’re still here, and I don’t know how to protect that without suffocating it.”
“You don’t have to protect me, Julian. You have to trust me.”
“Trusting people has historically ended badly for me.”
“Then let’s make some new history.”
His mouth curves. “You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not. But neither is surviving two and a half centuries, and you managed that.” I squeeze his hands. “We’ve got a wedding rehearsal to get through. One thing at a time.”
“One thing at a time,” he repeats. “I can work with that.”
We head out to the cliff-side pavilion overlooking the ocean. It’s a gorgeous location for the ceremony, and it’s decorated to add to the beauty. White columns. Flowing fabric. The kind of backdrop that looks like it was designed for wedding photography, which it probably was. Late afternoon sun casts everything in gold, and I can already imagine how beautiful Violet will look walking down this aisle tomorrow.
Right now, though, it’s chaos.
The wedding coordinator—a tiny woman named Tammy with a clipboard and way too much energy—is attempting to wrangle fifteen people into something resembling order. Violet’sbridesmaids cluster near the front, comparing nail polish. Chris’s groomsmen are doing that thing where they pretend to be too cool to care where they’re supposed to stand.
And my mother is critiquing the flower arrangements.
“The roses are too pink,” she says to no one in particular. “I specifically requested blush. This is coral. There’s a difference.”
“Mom.” Violet appears beside her, stress-smile locked in place. “The flowers are fine. Everything is fine.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Please don’t.” Violet spots me and her expression shifts to relief. “Poppy! I’m so glad you’re here. Come stand with me before I commit matricide.”
I leave Julian near the back of the venue and make my way to my sister. She grabs my arm like I’m the last lifeboat on the Titanic.
“How bad is it?” I ask.
“The flowers are wrong, the chairs are crooked, and the officiant has a cold. Ugh, Mom has opinions about everything.” Violet takes a breath. “So, you know. Normal.”
“You look beautiful.”
“I look like I’m about to throw up.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
She laughs—a real laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing. “I’m glad you’re here, Pops. I know we don’t always...” She trails off. “I know I can be a lot. The perfect sister thing. The overachiever thing. But you’re still here, and that means everything.”
“Where else would I be?”
