“I love it, and I love having something that belonged to you before . . . well . . . and to your family.” Nerissa paused. As I shifted gears and maneuvered onto the street that would lead us to Roman’s mansion, she let out a long sigh. “I wish we could just go about our lives. I want the war to be over. I want to settle down with you and just live life.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” I flashed her a grin. “Yes, I’ve actually been thinking over the future. What do you think . . . when—not if, but when—we defeat Shadow Wing, what if we buy a house of our own? Camille and her men will be moving soon enough, along with Vanzir. Delilah loves our house, so she could live there with Shade and Rozurial. After all, at some point the Autumn Lord is going to decide it’s time for her to have his child.” It hurt me to say it . . . I loved the house as much as Delilah, but I wanted Nerissa to know I was all in. That I was looking forward to life with just her.
But she turned around and surprised me as well. “I like the idea, but you know what? What about if we stay there? Delilah’s never been that great with running a household, and I don’t think she particularly enjoys the responsibility. You and I are good at that sort of thing. There’s room enough for all of us, and once Camille leaves, we could fix up the second floor to be an office for me, and a guest room. If you don’t think Kitten would mind.”
I pulled to a stop in front of Roman’s mansion, a crazy grin spreading across my face. “That makes tonight almost bearable. I love that house, to be honest, and that you love it as well makes me very happy.” As I glanced up at the four-story mansion that loomed over us, I shivered. “Let’s get this over with. Probably nothing to worry about, but you know . . .”
“I know,” she murmured. And as the valet took my keys, we approached the fortress of vampire nobility.
*
The house, four stories high, was surrounded by a long porch that encircled the entire mansion. Gleaming columns lined the porch, Corinthian in nature, and the steps leading up were marble. We rang the bell and a maid answered, curtseying deeply. She was a vampire, dressed very crisp, and the moment she saw me, she knelt in a low bow. By now, Roman’s staff knew who I was, and I’d made the effort to learn as many of their names as possible.
“Good evening, Elthea.” I smiled at her. She was a young vampire and very nervous.
“Lady Menolly, good evening.” She turned to Nerissa. “Madame Nerissa, if I may presume?”
So Roman had told them we were both on the way.
Nerissa looked a little out of her element but nodded graciously. “Yes, I’m Nerissa.”
“Please come in. The Master has asked me to escort you to the Grand Parlor.”
The Grand Parlor? That was what Roman called a small ballroom-slash-parlor that he held soirees in. And I do mean soirees. Roman didn’t throw just any run-of-the-mill parties. He produced events. Balls. Soirees. Evenings of symphony or small theatrical parties. The smaller events were held in the Grand Parlor. The larger ones were in the Grand Ballroom.
Nerissa’s eyes widened as we followed Elthea through the house. Roman was also a collector, and—much like Carter—his house was overflowing with exquisite objets d’art. He almost crossed the line into excess, but it never quite bordered on gaudy. I found it rather claustrophobic, but he loved it and given his nature, it seemed natural for him to live in what was essentially an art gallery.
“I can’t imagine what his insurance rates run to cover all this.” Her whisper was light, but Elthea heard it and she glanced back at us, a faint smile on her face. Nerissa blushed, and I reached for her hand, but the moment I stepped near her, a burning sensation repelled me. The silver. Well, at least it was doing its job.
We came to a set of double doors and Elthea opened them, giving Nerissa a wide berth as we entered the room. The massive room had a marble floor, highly polished, with tapestries on the walls. Crimson drapes were held back by gold tasseled pulls. The art on the walls was original—I knew that much—and harked back to an age long before either my time or Nerissa’s. Divans and fainting couches; elegant, ornate tables that held vases with a single flower, or fruit bowls, or statuary—all were scattered about the room in a deliberate and yet effortless fashion. A massive fireplace with a hearth that had to have been at least six feet wide and at least as tall rose along the back wall. The mantel was polished ebony, like most of the wood.
“Lady Menolly and Madame Nerissa,” the maid announced.
Roman was waiting at the opposite end, near the fireplace. He turned, and—seeing us—blurred very faintly and the next second was at our side.
“Thank you, Elthea. You may go.” He was casually dismissive, but Elthea gave him a radiant smile and dropped in a low curtsey.
“Yes, Sire.”