Page 97 of My Roommate Is a Vampire

“Mother—”

“There is no need to return to New York with me,” his mother cut in. “The Jamesons are arriving in Chicago tomorrow evening. You will speak with them here.” I had no idea who the Jamesons were, but Frederick clearly did. At her words he took a small, involuntary step back. He looked stunned, as though she’d just slapped him.

“I would have thought by returning Esmeralda’s gifts both she and her parents would have inferred my lack of intent to marry her.” He paused. “The last time I wrote I told Esmeralda in no uncertain terms that I would not go through with it.”

It’s a good thing I was standing near the couch. If I hadn’t been, my legs giving out upon hearing the wordsmarry herwould have resulted in my landing on the floor—and would have been a whole lot more uncomfortable.

“The message was received, my dear.” Frederick’s mother glared at him. “You could not have been clearer in your intent if you had announced it at a dinner party full of guests.”

“Then why are they coming here?”

“Because the Jamesons interpret your actions, as I have, as a clear sign that you have not been in your right mind since yourawakening. They agree with me that this matter cannot be left to correspondence, and that a personal meeting is necessary.”

“I am as sound of mind now as I have ever been.” Frederick crossed his arms across his broad chest, adopting what he likely meant as an assertive stance. The effect was undercut by the fact that he was wearing pajama pants with Kermit the Frog on them that Idefinitelydidn’t buy him at Nordstrom. But it didn’t matter. He was still hot.

Mrs. Edwina Fitzwilliam, however, didn’t seem impressed.

“I will leave you to explain that to your in-laws directly. You and I will meet them in their rooms at the Ritz-Carlton tomorrow evening at seven to discuss your impending nuptials.” Mrs. Fitzwilliam sniffed the air and cringed. “Ahuman girl, Frederick.Honestly.”

With that, Frederick’s mother gave a theatrical curtsy to us both and breezed out the front door.

Deafening silence filled the room. I stared at Frederick, willing him to say something—anything—that would turn the chaos of the past few minutes into something that bore some resemblance to sense.

After what might have been eighteen years, he cleared his throat.

“There’s more I haven’t told you.” He had the decency to look sheepish.

“You think?” He flinched at my hostile tone, but I didn’t care. He’d promised me he would never withhold important information from me again. “Frederick, what else is there I don’t know?”

He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “A lot.” He swallowed. “Do you want to hear it, or are you finished with me?”

“Tell me one thing first,” I said, holding up one hand. “Is it true that you told this Esmeralda person you wouldn’t marry her?”

“Yes,” Frederick said, earnestly. “In no uncertain terms, and repeatedly. This whole thing... all of it...” He trailed off and ran an agitated hand through his hair. “None of this should be happening.”

He looked absolutely tormented.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll hear it.”

He reached for my hand, eyes tentative. “Sit with me?”

I nodded, and braced myself for the rest of his story.

He sat beside me on the living room couch, his hands folded neatly on his lap.

As recently as ten minutes ago I’d planned to take him to bed to pick up where we left off this morning. But all that would have to wait. Right now his need to be completely open and honest with me was written all over his face.

And I needed to hear what he had to say.

“In certain segments of vampiric society,” he began, eyes on the floor, “arranged marriage is still a thing. When I left England to move to America—and especially when I left where my people settled in New York and came to Chicago—I thought I had left that nonsense behind me.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “My mother clearly has other ideas.”

I expected him to elaborate. When several long moments passed, and he didn’t, I asked, “Who is Miss Jameson?”

“Someone I hardly know.” His voice was low and sheepish. “We... had a fling, once. Nearly two hundred years ago.” He paused. “And now, apparently, we are engaged to be wed.”

My heart flopped a little in my chest as an irrational pang of jealousy stabbed through me. My reaction was irrational, of course. Expecting someone to be celibate for centuries would beunfair. Whatever happened between him and this Miss Jameson more than a century before I was even born had nothing to do with me.

It still stung, though.

---