I nodded, feeling my eyes widen at the thought of being expected to take what they offered. “It’s just…”
Celia remained silent, but she radiated an encouraging kindness.
I took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be in their debt. I could never pay them back.”
“Who could?” she said with a snort. “You’re Julian’s guest, so you should be prepared for what that means. But don’t worry about all of this.” She gestured to the room around us. “They have more money than they could spend in an eternity. Objects mean little to them.”
My mouth went dry as I looked back at the room I spent the night in. All I could manage was a small nod.
Celia patted my hand. “Let me see about those clothes and get Julian his cup before he returns.”
Almost instantly, she was at the bedroom door, and I barely caught her in time to ask, “Where is he?”
“He’s speaking with his mother. I’m certain he’ll be up here soon.”
I wasn’t. It seemed like his mom wanted to talk to him a lot. Even worse, I realized as Celia disappeared into the hall and closed the door behind herself, she probably wanted to talk about me.
After all, I was supposed to be his excuse for avoiding whatever courting ritual these insane Rites were all about. But last night? Last night had complicated things.
My body hummed from how many times we’d complicated things.
It was like I’d woken up and found myself in a surreal fairy tale. I was dating a vampire. An insanely rich vampire. But I also wasn’t dating him. That part still confused me, especially after he’d spent last night giving me orgasm after toe-curling orgasm. Maybe he saw it as part of the payment package for being his decoy. Not that I’d needed the incentive after what he’d offered me, but it certainly made it easier to put up with him when he was being grumpy.
I shivered in the misty morning, last night’s dress no match for the weather. Everywhere in San Francisco was near the water, and everywhere near the water was cold. I decided to take Celia’s word for it and make myself a cup of coffee. I poured from a highly ornate, silver teapot into the delicate, bone china cup. Next to the pot there were a number of folded newspapers from all over the world. I glanced to find Le Monde, Corriere Della Sera, The Guardian, The New York Times, and several that appeared to be written in languages I didn’t recognize.
How many languages could he freaking read? He hadn’t wasted the last nine hundred years doing nothing. I dug out the crossword from the Times and padded back inside his bedroom with it and my precious coffee.
I’d been too distracted to appreciate the room last night. Now I felt overwhelmed. Paintings with signatures that made my head spin filled the walls. Books were piled next to the chairs around me and crammed into shelves next to the fireplace. In the corner, a large desk sat covered in papers and notebooks. I put my coffee on the side table and went to look for something to write with. A crossword would distract me from my ever-fraying nerves.
A collection of papers and letters were strewn across the desktop. I resisted the urge to look through his things. I didn’t need any more proof that he was out of my league. Reaching for a pen sticking out of a leather wallet, I accidentally got a glimpse of what looked like a bank balance. Except that there was no way it could be because, as far as I knew, numbers didn’t go that high. Before I could stop myself, I picked up the checkbook and looked, convinced I was seeing things.
I wasn’t. I tossed it back down like it was a snake that might bite.
What was I doing here? I didn’t fit into his life, and that had nothing to do with him being a vampire. And everything to do with the balance of our bank accounts. Mine probably had twenty bucks in it. His? I didn’t even know what category that number fell into. Not millions. Not billions. I mean, why bother even keeping track?
I took the pen, which turned out to be a Montblanc, of course, and returned to the crossword puzzle. Sipping my much-needed coffee, I tried to concentrate, but I’d only filled in a few answers when Celia returned.
“These should fit you, and they’re brand new, so there’s no need to worry about Julian,” she added as she laid a sweater and pants across the bed.
I got up, ready to change. Being in an evening gown was only adding to the trippy sensation I felt here. I picked up a creamy sweater and knew from its buttery softness that it had to be expensive. The price on the still-attached tag proved it.
“Cashmere,” I murmured. I’d never felt anything so decadent in my life. No wonder it cost a small fortune.
“Would you prefer something else?” Celia asked, misunderstanding me.
“No,” I said quickly. I shot her a sheepish grin. “I’ve never worn cashmere before. Maybe I shouldn’t. What if I spilled something on it?”
“It’s been sitting in a closet for over thirty years,” she told me. “Better to wear it than to waste it. May I?” She gestured to my dress.
It had been a battle to get the dress zipped, so I nodded.
“How are you doing?” she asked kindly as she unzipped me and helped me out of the gown. It felt a little weird to be in my underwear in front of her. But since everything about this situation was strange, I tried to shrug it off.
“This is a lot,” I confessed to her.
Celia placed my gown on the bed and picked up the sweater. When she went to remove the tag, I realized she was going to help me get dressed.
“Oh, you don’t…” I trailed off, stopping myself from making the mistake I’d made earlier.
“Good girl,” she murmured with approval. “You’re learning.”
She helped slip the sweater over my head.
“You don’t have to help me get dressed,” I said quietly.
“I don’t mind.” She adjusted the sweater’s neckline to fall over my shoulder. “I used to be a lady’s maid.”
“Camila’s?” I guessed.
“No.” She shook her head, sadness glinting in her eyes. “Before I became a vampire. Since Julian turned me, I’ve worked only for him.”
“Oh.” Jealousy I didn’t quite understand flared inside me. I did my best to shrug it off as I tugged on the leggings she’d found me. “Um, I feel a little bad asking this, but when did Camila die?”
The clothing she’d brought me, while older judging from the tags, was in remarkably good condition and not nearly as old-fashioned as I expected.
“It was recent,” she admitted in a low voice. “She was taken from us in the early eighties. Far too young. I’m afraid the family is still grieving.”
I was wearing the clothes of a woman who had died before I was born. I expected to feel freaked out, but instead, there was only sadness.
