Page 135 of My Big Fat Vampire Wedding
Being with you has taught me that real love lies in embracing every part of who we are. Today, I vow to celebrate all that makes you unique, to cherish your heart, and to love you for all the time we’re blessed to share …
“I’m afraid to see what’s behind this door,” Victor said as they followed a trail of dried red rose petals up the grand staircase and toward one of the doors on the second floor. “What are the chances we won’t be sleeping in coffins?”
She’d mentioned the need for human beds to Uncle Reginald. But, well, as much as the man had the memory of a steel trap when it came to ancient Greece or every war mankind had struggled through, he had a remarkable ability not to remember things told to him just moments before.
“Worst case, we build a fort,” Pandora said, not caring where they slept so long as they were together.
“That sounds quite romantic,” Victor said. “Ready?” He reached for the brass doorknob in the shape of a human hand.
She’d thought she was prepared for anything when it came to a vampire home, having spent so much time in different ones throughout her life.
This one, though, was straight out of gothic fiction.
The room was colour-washed – walls, moldings, ceiling – in black. The old windows were hung with thick black velvet drapes that blocked the sun and kept out cold drafts.
The stone floor was covered in various rugs. Likely just for the aesthetic. But it worked to keep the chill from creeping in through the floor as well.
There were massive canvases on the walls with gilded frames, half a dozen gorgeous women looking down at Pandora and Victor as they stepped inside.
“The brides, I presume?” Victor said, looking around at them.
“Kind of creepy, if you ask me,” Pandora said, feeling like their eyes watched them as they moved.
“But at least there’s a bed.”
There was.
It was bigger than any she’d ever seen before, a black four-poster bed with crimson crushed-velvet drapery and black silk and linen bedding.
“We can close the fabric if the portraits get too creepy when we try to sleep,” Victor said.
In sconces on the wall, candles flickered as if with a breeze, their wax dripping down their pillars to hang off of their holders. There were even some old drips on the stone floors and carpets.
“The petals are a sweet touch,” Pandora said, seeing the way they led to the bed, but didn’t cover the fabric.
“Guess Drachmar is a romantic,” Victor said.“Something else I feel needs to be found in fiction about him somewhere.”
“Maybe you should write it.”
“Hmm?” He reached for her suitcase and brought it to the foot of the bed.
“Write it. I was saying that maybe you should consider writing it yourself.”
“I already submitted my thesis.”
“I didn’t mean a thesis,” Pandora said. “Ever since I read that, though, I’ve been thinking that maybe you should write fiction.”
“Fiction? Me? What gave you that idea?”
“Well, I think we can both agree that I’ve been around a while.”
He smiled. “We could say that.”
“And in that time, I’ve done a lot of reading.”
“I did see your reading app,” he said.
“And before I figured out how much I love a good romance, I tried out all the other genres. I ultimately decided that most nonfiction books weren’t for me because they can be so dry. But your thesis was so rich and engaging. It read like fiction, it was so inviting. I just think that if you can make nonfiction that interesting, then something fictional would be unputdownable.”
