Page 65 of Vampires of Eden
The rogue tingles intensify, concentrating in my belly and groin. Threatening to make me hard.
What the fuck is going on?
I take a breath. “You can call me whatever you like. Just, maybe not Alejandro, because then I’ll think that I’m in serious trouble.”
Daniel laughs in a throaty sound and wraps his lips around the strawberry to take a bite. I look away from him because my body is doing perverted things that make absolutely no sense.
No damn sense at all.
“Hello honey—how are things? Are you spending lots of time with Lord Cherrington?”
Sheesh. Just… straight to the point. All in one breath.
“Hello Mother, Father—things are fine. Yes, I saw him last week.”
“Last week?” She frowns, her perfectly made-up face is flawless on the tablet screen. Her rich honey-colored hair is tied back, but the length of it hangs over her right shoulder like a horse’s tail. “What about this week? Are there plans?”
“I’m… We’re working on them.”
We are not.
“I’ve been told that he owns a cabin here up north,” she goes on with her eyebrow raised. “Maybe we should invite him? You could come, too, and we could all spend time together?”
Please God, no. “I’m busy with attending events here and representing the house in your absence. I think it’s best if I stay?”
I’m playing with fire, because if she finds out about the multitude of events that I’ve ditched in the past month, in combination with the fact that I’ve only seen Lord Cherrington once since they’ve been gone, I’ll be a dead vampire.
Lying, sneaking around and being disobedient to my parent’s wishes… I’m never like this. Generally speaking, I play by the rules and do everything I’m told (excluding the time I snuck a stray kitten into the house—but Buffy deserves to be an exception to the rules). My life is not a bad one by any means, so I try to be respectful of what my parents provide for me. I’m grateful for it.
But this terrible mess with Oliver—and now thrusting me toward Lord Cherrington? I can’t. Something inside of me has shattered and I don’t want to play this game anymore. I complied with the aristocracy’s terms. I conformed, but they didn’t hold up their end of the bargain.
Now, I can’t help but question the system and its bizarre rules.
“Well, maybe we can find an opening in the schedule?” Mother pushes. “I’m sure we can make it work—even a quick trip would be nice. We’ll need to make the announcement of your pairing before summer, Alejandro. You two should be well acquainted by then.”
“I’ll talk to Raph about it,” I say, desperately wanting to end this topic of conversation. I have something on my mind that’s a bit risky, but… I know my father and I want to try. “Father, do you remember taking me to see that pianist at the Álvarez Estate when I was fourteen? His name was Daniel Lim?”
My father had been silent up to this point, letting Victoria run the show, as always. But his golden-amber eyes perk up and he smiles. “Yes, of course I remember the son of Lim Ming Tao—world renown composer and one of my favorite classical violinists.”
“Really?” I say, genuinely surprised by this information. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, yes,” he goes on, brimming with interest. “The Lim family lived in Eden for many years. I believe Daniel was born and raised here, but his mothers eventually found our culture to their disliking. Such a shame. They moved to America—California. I had assumed that the son left as well. He was wonderfully talented. Why do you ask?”
Look at that. I got an entire backstory from a simple question. “Because he’s still here. I recently ran into him and… he doesn’t play the piano anymore, I don’t think. But he is living in Eden.”
“Where did you run into him?” Mother cuts in, frowning. “Why have I never heard of this vampire? Is he purebred?”
“No, darling,” Father responds. “Ming Tao is purebred, but his second mother is first-generation. He is first-generation.”
My mother’s face contorts as if she’s swallowed something sour. “Wait… I do remember this name—Why are we talking about him? Wasn’t he a servant in my sister’s house?”
Welp, this conversation is officially hurling toward a cliff.
“Darling,” Father pleads, patient as a stone. “He was not a servant, per say. He is the son of a prominent, internationally celebrated classical musician. Daniel himself was a prodigious pianist. He’s the reason why Alexander began playing the piano?—”
“I said I remember him. I’m asking why he’s being brought upagain. After all this time.”
Her tone is sharp. Threatening. The pause that follows is stiff and uncomfortable between the three of us. I roll my shoulders. “My apologies, Mother.”
