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“As you wish, Dr. Blake.” Jean-Claude bowed from the shoulders and neck with one hand coming to his chest as if he still owned a hat with a plume on it to finish the gesture. It was elegant and old-fashioned and gracious, and in that moment my husband-to-be was being the bigger man than my father. That helped me gain control of myself better than anything else could have, I think. I realized I didn’t want to fight with Dad; I wanted to be right, I wanted to be the grown-up to his child, I wanted to be the logical, reasonable, open-minded one to his illogical, superstitious, prejudiced bastard.
Judith saved the awkward moment as she continued to tug on Dad’s arm. Her voice was even showing no strain as she said, “We’re so glad to finally meet you, Jean-Claude.”
“It is lovely to meet you, as well,” Jean-Claude said, with a nod that looked closer to a bow.
Judith smiled and it was a good smile; charming, as if she felt completely comfortable in the moment. I’d always envied her ability to be at home and even in charge of a party, or a dinner, or almost any social gathering. She would take over from a friend who was floundering at their own party, and she’d do it in such a way that they welcomed her help instead of resenting it. There was a reason she’d done so well in real estate for decades. It was how she and Dad met; she sold him a house. He’d felt overwhelmed by memories of my mom and needed a fresh start to heal. I’d found the memories of mymom comforting, and at age ten it was the only home I’d ever known, but in that moment I saw a woman who had no idea that she’d fall in love with the Indiana veterinarian or try to be a mother to his little girl or help them grieve as she was still grieving her dead husband and trying to raise her little girl on her own. Our family home had just been one more sale to her, a commission. Even if she had known she would fall in love with him, she had to sell the house. They couldn’t start a new life surrounded by the old one.
Tonight, she was wearing her favorite shade of dusty blue that always made her eyes look even bluer. I didn’t need to see her standing up to know the dress would be at the appropriate length: neither too short nor too long, but just right.
I had the weirdest urge to hug her.
“Dad, you’re embarrassing yourself in front of the whole restaurant,” Andria said.
I glanced around and she was right. The people nearest us were looking, including Ethan and Nicky at their table. Then I realized that biggest table near us, a four-topper, was also full of security. The Wicked Truth in suits and ties with Echo in a formfitting navy blue dress with a short matching jacket that would hide the weapons she was wearing, and Fortune in a suit of her own, with her white men’s shirt flared out so the wide collar framed the strong lines of her face. She’d used layers of purple and blue eye makeup to bring out the natural blue in her hair. I couldn’t see if she was wearing a skirt or pants under the table. Wicked wore more suits than his brother, so that Truth was already pulling at his tie to loosen it. They were pretending to be on a double date. Echo looked delicate touching Wicked’s arm, a very convincing smile on her oval face, her dark blue eyes gazing up into his as if hanging on his every word. Since she had been a couple with Fortune for over a thousand years, they had recently had a very quiet ceremony and become wife and wife. They were also part of our poly group.
I fought the urge to look around for more of our security. I forcedmyself to pay attention to our table and the almost disaster that had already happened.
“Andria’s right, Dad, you don’t want everyone near us to be tweeting about Anita Blake’s dad yelling at her and Jean-Claude, do you?”
He glanced around at the restaurant, and I realized that most of the people were looking at us; some were even using their phones, but the waitstaff was urging them to stop. Nicky and Ethan were looking, but they weren’t undercover. The foursome at the table should have been looking; instead they were playing like they were two couples so into each other that they weren’t noticing anything else, not even standing customers having a borderline fight. I’d talk to them about it later, after I’d made it through dinner with my dad.
He sat down with Judith’s hand still on his arm. Jean-Claude pulled out my chair for me, but he allowed me to scoot my own chair in, though he did hover beside me until I was finished with the awkward scooting. I was even more awkward when someone else tried to do it, so this was our compromise. Once I was settled at the table, he sat down gracefully, as he did almost everything. If you were too insecure you couldn’t date Jean-Claude, because after six hundred–plus years he was almost perfect through sheer repetition. Actually, the fact that I’d grown up thinking I wasn’t beautiful, not blond enough, blue-eyed enough, tall enough, white enough to my family meant that I hadn’t even thought to compete with Jean-Claude in the way that some of the beautiful women he’d tried to date had, like Envy. Yes, that really was her name. Jean-Claude was gorgeous, that was just a fact; he was also an extrovert, an exhibitionist, and I was none of these things, so the fact that all eyes went first to him when we entered a room just made sense to me. I didn’t try to outcompete him for attention from strangers because I didn’t care. My family trauma had helped make me the woman who could marry Jean-Claude. I wondered if they’d get the irony.
“Well, we’re all sitting down, so it’s a start,” Andria said.
“Andria,” Judith said, and I wasn’t sure what she meant by it.
“She’s right, sitting down at the table for the meal is a start,” I said.
Andria smiled at me, and I smiled back.
“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” Jean-Claude said, and ended with a smile in Andria’s direction, because she was on the end of the table.
She smiled back at him in her pink dress with the shiny jacket over it, which probably meant it had spaghetti straps. Judith and Dad had never liked us to show too much skin. She’d themed her makeup in pinks and metallics to match her clothes, like she was going to prom or going to be in a music video. It was definitely not the conservative makeup Judith was wearing. Hell, it was more out there by far than mine, but weirdly it worked for her.
“You look great,” I said, “but you should have saved it for Danse Macabre. The makeup will really pop in the lighting there.”
She smiled and it filled her whole face with how much she’d enjoyed the comment. Usually, people only react that much to compliments from family when they haven’t been getting them anywhere else. It made me happy I’d said it, and more convinced that her fiancé was falling down on his game.
“Well, I think it’s too much for dinner tonight,” Dad said.
Andria and I exchanged a look that only siblings can share. “Well, I like it,” I said.
“Me, too,” she said.
The waiter appeared beside us, offering us menus, making sure the water glasses were filled or refilled. Jean-Claude put his arm across my shoulders so we could hold the menu together, his free hand on one side and my two hands holding one side and the bottom of the menu, so it was easier to turn the one page. You always know how fancy the restaurant is by how small the menu is. I leaned into the curve of his arm and the back of the chair while we picked my meal together. He couldn’t eat solid food, but he could taste what I ate.
“I never thought I’d see you let any man pick your meal for you, you were always so disdainful of anything like that,” Andria said.
“Jean-Claude isn’t picking my food; we’re negotiating what I’m getting.”
“Why are you negotiating with him?” Dad asked.
It wasn’t common knowledge that I was Jean-Claude’s human servant, and it definitely wasn’t common knowledge that a human servant could eat for their vampire master on long voyages, or when traveling through hostile territory. Vampires had been in the coffin, or closet, for most of human history, so hiding the fang marks or not having to take blood at all helped master vampires hide.
“Though I cannot consume food, I can enjoy the scent, and other things, asma petiteeats her meal.”
“I can’t believe you are okay with that nickname,” Andria said. “You hated anything that implied you were small when we were in junior high and high school.”
