“But Mimi . . .” Just as Schuyler said her name, she sensed a presence at the front doorway. Mimi was home, or just about to be. Quicker than a blink, or at maximum vampire speed, Schuyler left the living room and ran to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
When Mimi entered mere seconds later, carrying several shopping bags with her, she found Jack reading a book by himself.
Schuyler and Jack weren’t alone again that evening. The entire family gathered for their mandatory dinner a few hours later. Once a week, Trinity Burden, their mother, required that the children be home to join their parents for dinner. Schuyler had once dreamed of a nuclear family, of a life that included a loving mother, an attentive father, and siblings who would tease each other over the meat and potatoes.
Of course, the Forces were nothing like this.
Meals at home were served in the formal dining room, on a table so large and intimidating, each person was seated a good two feet away from the other. Each entrée was served by a butler on a silver tray, and the menu never varied—it was always French, it was always rich and complicated, and it was always perfectly delicious. Yet Schuyler missed Hattie’s no-nonsense slapdash cooking, and longed for simple, unpretentious servings of macaroni-and-cheese or a pot roast that didn’t require a red-wine reduction and an accent to pronounce.
Conversation was stale or nonexistent. Charles continued to be lost in his own world, while Trinity tried to engage the twins in perfunctory chatter about their lives. Jack was courteous while Mimi was simply curt. At least someone other than Schuyler thought these dinners were a farce and a waste of time.
“So, Jack and I have an announcement,” Mimi said, when the dessert course arrived, a flaming peaches jubilee. “We’ve decided on the date of our bonding.”
Schuyler tried to compose her face but found she could not help staring at Jack, who looked as impassive as ever. Their bonding! So soon . . .
Mimi reached out to hold her brother’s hand in hers.
“It’s a little early, don’t you think?” Trinity asked, looking concerned. “You have a lot of time.”
Yes, Schuyler thought. Lots and lots of time. Possibly forever.
Charles coughed. “Remember that age is an illusion among us, Trinity. You are starting to think like a Red Blood. The sooner they bond, the stronger they will be. A toast is in order. To the twins.”
“To us!” Mimi crowed, clinking her glass against Jack’s. The crystal rang like a deep booming bell.
“To the twins,” Schuyler whispered. She sipped but found she could not swallow the wine in her glass.
Later that night as Schuyler dreamed, she received a message from Lawrence. The sending was easier in the dream state, he explained. It was not as shocking to the senses, and asleep her mind held no distractions.
“Corcovado secure. All is well.”
TWENTY-ONE
Hiring Lizbet Tilton was the best decision she could have made, Mimi thought, congratulating herself on her savvy. Lizbet ran a very tight ship, and in short order the venues were locked in on the requested dates, contracts drafted, budgets balanced, deposits made. Earlier that afternoon Trinity and Mimi had gone over color schemes and menus with the caterer and the interior designer. Everything was operating like clockwork; although you’d think it was the doomsday clock, the way Jack was acting. “Do you know what this is about?” he asked, meeting Mimi in Trinity’s sitting room the next evening. Their “mother”—Mimi always thought of the word in air quotes, since Trinity was as much her mother as Jack was her brother—had requested their presence before dinner. She had intimated that she wanted to talk to them about something important concerning their bonding.
“I have a feeling.” Mimi smiled. She ruffled Jack’s hair, and in return he put a hand on her waist and drew her close to him. They had always been affectionate, and even though she was aware of his continuing duplicity, she could not harden her heart against him. Jack hadn’t agreed to bonding so early in the cycle, but on the other hand, he hadn’t done anything to stop it either.
Perhaps the dalliance with Schuyler was simply that. Jack was just using her as an amusement. A side dish. Mimi certainly understood. She had found a tasty new familiar, and had been so voracious in her appetite she had almost killed the boy the other day. He would be all right; nothing that rest and a week away from a certain blond vampire couldn’t cure.
Mimi looked around with approval. Trinity’s home office was famous among her set for being the most lavish and impeccable. Hung on the velvet walls were life-size portraits of seventeenth-and eighteenth-century aristocrats by Vigée-LeBrun and Winterhalter. There was an Erard piano in the corner—the very same one Chopin used to compose his études. The bonheurs du jour, a small, elegant writing table where Trinity wrote her one-word thank you cards (“Bravo!” was her usual exhortation after attending a friend’s dinner party) was originally commissioned for the Grand Trianon.