But if I could swear two oaths to a stranger—in front of a House full of strangers—I could swear a silent one to Charlotte that I would watch over Olivia and her older brothers and sister, and if I stayed alive long enough, over their children. I could promise that I would stand Sentinel for the family that had given me my name, just as I would for the family I’d given a name for.
“It’s taken care of,” I repeated, meaning it, instilling my voice with the sincerity of belief that I’d take a stake myself before I’d let anything happen to Olivia.
She looked at me for a long, quiet time, then nodded, our understanding reached, the deal done. “P.S., that dress is foul.”
Startled by both the abrupt change in conversation and the comment, I shifted Olivia’s weight to the side to look down at my dress.
Charlotte shook her head. “Not yours. Lucy Cabot’s.” She pointed into the crowd at a woman draped in a polka-dotted tent of organza. “Horrendous. No, yours is lovely. I saw it at Fashion Week, can’t remember who designed it. Badgley? I forget. Regardless, your stylist did good.” She cast a sly glance back at Ethan, who was chatting up my mother. “And your accessories are fabulous.”
“He’s not my accessory,” I reminded her. “He’s my boss.”
“He’s fine, is what he is. He could sexually harass me any day.”
I glanced down at the youngest Corkburger, who blinked wide blue eyes at me as she gnawed the end of her burp cloth. “Earmuffs, much?”
“Murf,” Olivia said. I wasn’t sure if that was gas or an attempt to mimic my words. I bet the latter. Olivia adored me.
“Honey,” Charlotte said, “it’s the twenty-first century. Vampires are chic, the Cubs have a pennant, and it’s perfectly acceptable for a woman to find a man attractive. These are all things my daughter needs to know about.”
“Especially the Cubs part,” I said, waving the burp cloth at Olivia to her joyful cheers. She clapped her hands with the slow awkwardness and simple glee of a child.
“If you could live at Wright and Addison, you would,” Charlotte predicted.
“That is true. I do love my Cubbies.”
“And so often for naught.” She smirked, then clapped her hands and held them out to Olivia, who bounced in my arms and leaned toward her mother, holding out her own hands. “It’s been lovely catching up, sister, but I need to get this one home and into bed. Major’s home with the rest of the troops. I just wanted to have a chance to say hi and let you visit your favorite niece.”
“I love all your children equally,” I protested, passing back the heavy, warm bundle of baby.
Charlotte snickered and balanced Olivia on her hip. “I’m going to be a good mommy and pretend that’s true, whether it is or not. As long as you love my children more than Robert’s, we’re good.” She leaned in, pressed a kiss against my cheek. “Night, little sister. And by the way, if you have the chance with Blondie, take it. Please. For me.”
The lascivious look she cast in Ethan’s direction when she pulled back left little doubt about what “chance” she meant me to take.
“Good night, Char. My love to Major. Good night, Livie.”
“MEWH!” she cried, bouncing on her mother’s hip. But the night had apparently taken its toll, and her blond head drooped to Charlotte’s shoulder, her eyelids slowly closing. She fought it, I could tell, tried to keep her eyes open and her gaze on the dresses and partygoers around her. But when she popped a thumb into her mouth, I knew she was done. Her lids fell shut and this time stayed there.
Charlotte said her goodbyes to Ethan, managing not to wrap manicured fingers around his ass, and my mother excused herself to see to the rest of her guests.
“You’re wearing a very serious expression,” Ethan said, reaching my side again.
“I was reminded that I owe certain obligations to my family. That there are services I can provide.”
“Because of your immortality?”
I nodded.
“It does impose a sense of obligation to one’s family and friends,” he agreed. “Just be careful that you don’t give in to the guilt of it. That you have been given a gift, even if others cannot share in it, does not diminish its value. Live your life, Merit, the many years of it, and be grateful.”
“Has that attitude worked for you?”
“Some days better than others,” he admitted, then glanced at me. “I assume you’ll need feeding soon?”
“I’m a girl, not a pet. But, realistically, yes. I pretty much always do.” I pressed a hand to the thin black silk above my stomach. “Are you always hungry? I am
always
hungry.”
“Did you eat breakfast?”
“I had part of a granola bar before training.”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “That might explain something,” he said, but beckoned a waitress in our direction. The young woman, who couldn’t have been more than eighteen, was dressed, like all the waiters, in head-to-toe black. She was pale,
and a flow of straight red hair spilled across her shoulders. When she reached us, she extended a square ceramic tray loaded with hors d’oeuvres toward Ethan.
“What have we got?” I asked, eyes scanning the platter. “I hope there’s something with bacon. Or prosciutto. I’d take anything cured or smoked.”
“You’re Ethan, right?”
I lifted my gaze from what looked like prosciutto-wrapped asparagus (score!) and found the waitress—her bright blue eyes big as saucers—gazing dreamily at Ethan.
“I am, yes,” he answered.
“That’s just . . . that’s just . . .
great
,” she said, her cheeks mottled with crimson. “Are you—you’re like a Master vampire, right? The head of Cadogan House?”
“Um, yes. I am.”
“That’s just—
wow
.”
We stood there for a moment, the waitress, lips parted, blinking doe eyes at Ethan, and Ethan, much to my amusement, shifting his feet uncomfortably.
“How about we’ll just take that,” he finally said, pulling the tray carefully from her outstretched hands. “And thank you for bringing it.”
“Oh, no, thank you,” she said, grinning dopily at him. “You’re just . . . that’s just . . . great,” she said again, then turned to skip away through the crowd.
“I believe you have a fan,” I told him, biting back a snicker.
He gave me a sardonic look, offered his tray. “Dinner?”
“Seriously. You have a fangirl. How bizarre. And, yes, thank you.” I looked over the offerings, hand poised above the tray, and settled on a wooden-toothpick-staked cube of beef accompanied by a greenish sauce. As a vampire, I didn’t care for the staked-meat analogy, but I wasn’t going to turn down what was probably a choice cut.
“I’m not sure if your shock about my having a human fan is insulting or not.”
“Much like everything else about me, it’s endearing.” I popped the beef into my mouth. It was delicious, so I scanned the tray, prepared for a second dive, and nabbed a pastry cup full of a spinach concoction.
It was also delicious. Say what you wanted about my father—and I mean that literally: be my guest—but the man had good taste in caterers. You’d find no whipped shellfish at a Joshua Merit party.
“Would you like me to give you a few minutes with the tray?”
I glanced up at Ethan, my fingers poised over another beef cube, and grinned. “Could you, just? We’d really like to be alone right now.”
“I think that means you’ve had enough,” he said, turning away and setting the tray on a nearby side table.
“Did you just cut me off?”
“Come with me.”
I arched a brow at him. “You can’t order me around in my own house, Sullivan.”
Ethan’s gaze dropped to the medal at my neck. “This is hardly your house any longer, Sentinel.”
I made a sound of disagreement, but when he turned and walked away, I followed. He strolled across the room like he owned it, like there was nothing unusual about a Master vampire sauntering through a crowd of Windy City bigwigs. Maybe, in this day and age, there wasn’t. With those cheekbones, that sleek tux and the unmistakable air of power and entitlement, he looked like he belonged.
We reached a gap in the crowd, and Ethan stopped, turned, and held out a hand.
I stared at it blankly, then lifted my gaze to his. “Oh, no. This is not part of my assignment.”
“You’re a ballet dancer.”
“
Was
a ballet dancer,” I reminded him. I glanced around and saw the multitude of eyes on us, then leaned toward him. “I am not going to dance with you,” I whispered, but fiercely. “Dancing is not part of my job description.”
“It’s one dance, Sentinel. And this is not a request; it’s an order. If they see us dancing, perhaps they’ll adjust to our presence a bit faster. Perhaps it will soften them up.”
The excuse was hokey, but I could hear the mumbles of the people around us, who were wondering why I was standing there, why I hadn’t yet accepted his hand.
I had the strangest sense of déjà vu.
On the other hand, I was at home, which meant a meeting with my father was imminent. My stomach was beginning to knot. I needed something to keep my mind off of it, and dancing with a ridiculously handsome, if often infuriating, Master vampire would probably do the trick.
“You owe me,” I muttered, but took his hand, just as the quintet began to play “I Could Have Danced All Night
.
”
I slid a glance to the members of the quintet, who grinned like they’d made their very first vampire joke. And maybe they had.
“Thank you,” I mouthed to them, and they nodded back at me in unison.
“Your father hired comedians,” Ethan commented, as he led me to a spot in the middle of the empty floor. He stopped and turned, and I placed my free hand on his shoulder. His free hand, the one that wasn’t clutching mine, went to the back of my waist. He put pressure there, pulling me closer—not quite, but almost, against the line of his body. His body around mine, it was hard to avoid the scent of his cologne—clean, crisp, irritat ingly delicious.
I swallowed. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. On
the other hand, best thing to do was keep the mood light. “He has to pay people who have a sense of humor. Since he’s lacking one,” I added, when Ethan didn’t laugh.
“I understood the joke, Merit,” he quietly said, sparkling emerald eyes on me as we began to sway. “I didn’t find it funny.”
“Yes, well, your sense of humor leaves something to be desired.”
Ethan spun me out and away, then pulled me back again. Stuck-up or not, I had to give him props—the boy could move.
“My sense of humor is perfectly well developed,” he informed me when our bodies aligned again. “I merely have high standards.”
“And yet you deign to dance with me.”
“I’m dancing in a stately home with the owner’s daughter, who happens to be a powerful vampire.” Ethan looked down at me, brow cocked. “A man could do worse.”
“A man could do worse,” I agreed. “But could a vampire?”
“If I find one, I’ll ask him.”
The response was corny enough that I laughed aloud, full and heartily, and had the odd, heart-clenching pleasure of watching him smile back, watching his green eyes shine with the delight of it.
No
, I told myself, even as we danced, even as he smiled down at me, even as his hand at my waist, the warm weight of it, felt natural. I looked away, saw that the people around us watched us dance with obvious curiosity. But there was something else in their expressions—a kind of sweetness, like they were watching a couple’s first wedding waltz.
I realized how it must look. Ethan, blond and handsome in his tuxedo, me in my black silk ball gown, two vampires—one of whom was the daughter of the host, a girl who’d disappeared from society only to reemerge with this handsome man on her arm—locked together, smiling as they shared a dance, the first
couple to take the floor. If we’d actually been dating and had wanted to announce our relationship, we couldn’t have staged it better.
My smile fell away. What had felt like a novelty—dancing with a vampire in my father’s house—began to feel like a ridiculous theatrical production.
He must have seen the change in my expression; when I looked back at him, his smile had melted.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Why,” he asked, “should we not be dancing?”
“It’s not real.”
“It could be.”
I snapped my gaze up to meet his. There was desire in his eyes, and while I wasn’t naïve enough to deny the chemistry between us, our relationship was complicated enough between Sentinel and Master. Dating wasn’t going to make things easier.
“You think too much,” Ethan quietly said, approbation in his voice.
I looked away at the couples finally beginning to join us on the dance floor. “You train me to think, Ethan. To always think, strategize, plan. To evaluate the consequences of my actions.” I shook my head. “For what you’re suggesting—no. There would be too many consequences.”
Silence.
“Touché,” he finally whispered.
I nodded almost imperceptibly, and took the point.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AN OFFER THEY CAN’T REFUSE
We’d eaten, danced, and sipped champagne for nearly an hour, and still saw no sign of my father or the Breckenridges. It was hard to play Nancy Drew without evidence.
When I caught the interested rise of Ethan’s brows, I looked automatically in the direction of his gaze, expecting to see Joshua Merit nearby.
But instead of my father, in the midst of a circle of laughing men, stood the mayor.
At thirty-six, Seth Tate was in the beginning of his second term. He’d named himself a reformer, but hadn’t been able to produce the economic renaissance he’d promised when campaigning against the Potter political machine that had ruled Chicago before his election. He’d also given my grandfather his position as Ombud, thereby officially opening the city’s administration and enforcement wings to Chicago’s sups.