Page 15 of Bad Luck Vampire

Sophie bit back a chuckle at the teenaged boy’s look of disgust and followed when Alasdair and Colle moved toward the aisle.

Six

“Well,” Marguerite said as they stepped out of the tent into the cool night air a few moments later. “That was lovely.”

“Yes,” Sophie agreed, looking around for Tybo. He’d said he’d collect her for the meal, but she didn’t see him anywhere. She didn’t see the bride and groom either, though. The group must have moved on quickly to the other tent. Sophie was just thinking she should probably find him when a tap on her shoulder had her turning to see him next to her.

“Oh, hi,” she said with relief. “I was just looking for you.”

“I had to slip around the outside of the crowd to get back to you,” Tybo explained.

Sophie nodded in understanding, but narrowed her eyes on him. He was looking a little nervous, like he had bad news he wasn’t looking forward to giving.

She understood why when he said, “I’m sorry, Sophie. I have to go back into the tent for pictures. We’re just waiting for the last of the guests to leave for the reception tent and then they apparently want pictures of the wedding party, and family and such.”

“Oh. Of course.” She nodded with understanding.

“And then,” he added with a wince, “again, I’m sorry. I thought we’d be able to sit together for the meal, but it turns out I’m expected at the head table with the others. It’s a very small head table,” he said apologetically. “There’s just room for the six of us.”

“Six?” Marguerite asked, joining the conversation. “Natalie, Valerian, Mia, Jan, you, and...” She raised her eyebrows. “Not Jan’s husband?”

“No. The minister,” Tybo explained. “Jan’s husband is sitting at the table with Natalie’s friends and employees. He knew ahead of time, and was fine with it, but I didn’t think to ask about seating arrangements for the meal,” he explained apologetically. “Sophie, I’m sorry. But—”

“She can sit with us,” Marguerite interrupted soothingly, and then asked her, “You don’t mind keeping us company a little longer, do you, Sophie?”

“No, of course not,” she said politely. What else could she do? She didn’t want to kick up a fuss, and it wasn’t like she had other options. If she’d known more about weddings, she supposed she would have seen this coming.

“Thank you,” Tybo said with obvious relief. Taking her hands, he gave them a squeeze and bent to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll see you after the dinner. The first dance is for you,” he promised. “We’ll dance the night away.”

Sophie nodded.

When he stepped back, she saw Alasdair and Colle had been standing behind him, watching and listening. Colle’s eyebrows were slightly raised, as if surprised that Tybo had kissed her, but Alasdair looked like stone, as if he took offense at the tame show of affection. Sophie found that a bit surprising considering Tybo had kissed her on the forehead, which was more a fatherly or even grandfatherly gesture than anything that could be considered racy. It wasn’t like he’d French kissed her mouth or anything.

Speaking of which, she thought now, what was with that peck on the forehead business anyway? Certainly, it was their first date, and no they hadn’t kissed yet other than that peck, but he was her date. He could have placed the peck closer to her mouth, or even on it and she wouldn’t have taken offense.

“Well, I suppose we had best head over to the other tent and see where we are sitting,” Marguerite suggested. “Alasdair, will you escort Sophie? The ground is a little uneven and she—like the rest of us ladies—is wearing high heels.”

Alasdair was at her side and taking her arm before Marguerite even finished speaking, and Sophie—who had just opened her mouth to politely refuse his aid—stilled at the tingles his touch sent up her arm and through her body, stirring some intense reactions from her. She then closed her mouth and withheld her protest. Purely because she’d already crossed the grass once that night and knew Marguerite was right, Sophie told herself. Negotiating grass in high heels was tricky. The heels were likely to sink into the grass and dirt. The last thing she needed was for a heel to get stuck and her to fall flat on her face and embarrass herself more than she already had with her squawking during the ceremony. That was the only reason she allowed it, she told herself. It had absolutely nothing to do with the warm tingling sensation that was making her nipples pebble under her gown, or the liquid heat sliding down to the apex of her thighs like warm caramel.

“Liar,” she breathed under her breath.

“What was that?” Alasdair asked, and Sophie glanced up at him quickly and then kind of froze like a deer in headlights because while his question suggested he hadn’t heard what she’d said, something about his eyes and expression told her he’d heard her perfectly and perhaps just didn’t understand the reference. Deciding it was better off if he didn’t know, she simply shook her head and then turned quickly forward as the cool night air was replaced with light and warmth. They were entering the second, larger tent, and now that they had she was getting her first real look at the setup.

Sophie had seen part of the tables with place settings and accompanying chairs through the opening on first arriving; what she hadn’t seen was that they were set up with a rectangular table in the center of the far wall across from where they were entering. The head table, where the wedding party would sit once the pictures were done, she knew, her gaze moving on to the rest of the tables. Large round tables that sat eight or nine people filled up the rest of the space, except for a large square in the middle left for dancing. At least that was what she assumed it was for when she saw the shiny white tiles on that area where the rest of the floor of the tent was some kind of woven rug of rattan.

The tables were lovely with white chairs, white tablecloths, white dishes, what looked like real crystal wineglasses and champagne flutes, and beautiful pink, white, and mulberry floral arrangements in the center of each round table. The warm air was coming from outdoor heaters at each corner of the tent and spaced out along the sides. It was the latter half of October and while the last couple of days had been unseasonably warm, the nights were growing cooler, so the heaters were handy, but they were also somewhat concerning to her. What if the material of the tent got too hot and caught flame?

“The tent is made of fire-retardant cloth,” Colle said, stepping up on her right side, the opposite of where Alasdair was holding her arm.

“Oh, right,” Sophie said with a nod, but her attention had already moved on to the ceiling of the tent where chandeliers hung. Good Lord, there must have been twelve of them spaced out across the ceiling. Six running down either side. There were also four ceiling fans running down the center peak between them. The fans were one thing, but chandeliers? In a tent? Crazy, she thought, and then frowned, pointed up at them, and asked, “How are they powering those?”

Both brothers peered up at the chandeliers, and then Alasdair shrugged and said, “Electricity.”

Sophie rolled her eyes with exasperation. “Well, I know it’s—”

“Sophie dear! Boys! Come along now, I found our seats.”

Giving up her curiosity about electrical issues, Sophie headed toward Marguerite, who stood by one of the round tables closer to the right side of the head table. Presumably the bride’s side again, she thought as she led Alasdair and Colle to Marguerite.

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