Daylighters (The Morganville Vampires #15)(104)

Michael gave Eve a quick kiss on his way to the table, sorted out tacos onto three more plates, and took his seat. “I heard squealing. What did I miss?”

“Matching licenses,” Eve said, and displayed them. When he reached for them, she smacked his hand. “Oh, no, you don’t. Your hands are greasy.”

“You’re actually going to marry this taco thief?” Michael said, and shook his head. “Disappointed.”

“Hey, man,” Shane protested. He took the hot sauce when Michael reached for it, and then tossed it in his direction. Michael fielded it with almost as much grace as he’d had as a vampire. “So when’s the do-over?”

“Do-over?”

“What do you call it when you get second-time-fake-married?”

“Excuse me—that’s real married,” Eve said, smacking his hand when he tried to take another taco off her plate. He took it anyway. “When’s yours?”

“Um . . .” He chewed, swallowed, and shrugged. “Actually, I was going to talk to you about that. About maybe . . .”

“Doing it together?”

“Are we back to the orgy talk? Because I’m—”

“God, be serious a second,” Eve said, and rolled her eyes. “Claire?”

“I’d love it if we could have our weddings together,” she said. “If you’re okay with it.”

“As long as Shane gives me the taco he just straight up snaked off my plate.”

Shane solemnly put it back. They all looked at each other, and then Michael took Eve’s hand, and then Shane’s, and Shane took Claire’s, and Claire took Eve’s . . .

...and it was a little like a prayer, and a little like a hug, and a lot like home.

“So,” Shane said after the silence went on just a beat too long. “Tacos, or orgy?”

“Tacos,” the rest of them said, all together.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

? ? ?

Somehow Claire hadn’t expected to be quite so scared.

She’d faced down humans, vampires, and draug. She’d regularly done things that most people would go a lifetime without ever having to deal with even once. And yes, she’d been scared, even terrified from time to time. . . .

But not like this.

“Breathe,” Eve advised her, and tugged slightly at her dress. It felt heavy and close around her, and in the warm air of the church’s dressing room, Claire was afraid she might pass out if she tried to move. The person in the mirror was someone else entirely—someone dressed in a long white gown of satin, with a high-waisted beaded bodice that managed to make her look tall and regal and still gave her curves. A long fall of sheer fabric cascaded from the back, almost touching the floor. Along with the fancy necklace and sparkly bracelet (both lent from Amelie’s no doubt vast collection), and with her hair worn up and fixed with glittering pins, she felt like a princess.

She felt like a woman, and somehow she’d never thought of herself that way before. She’d never stopped being a girl, had she? Well, she had, but gradually, so gradually that she hadn’t even noticed.

Her mother was sitting in the corner of the room, and now she came forward to put her arms around Claire and rock her slowly, side to side. “You look amazing, honey,” she said. “I could not be happier for you.”

“Really?” Claire turned to look at her, trying to remember not to cry. Eve had been very strict about that rule, because of the makeup. “I didn’t think you totally approved of Shane. You or Dad.”

“He’s . . . changed,” her mother said. “And you love him. And I think your dad’s smart enough to know that you’re the second most stubborn person in the world, and he’d be wise not to cross you.”

“Only the second?”

“Well, you did get it from me. Someday, when you’re older, I’ll tell you all about how I convinced your father to marry me,” her mom said. She picked up the bouquet from the table—red roses wrapped with white ribbons. Eve’s bouquet, of white roses wrapped with red ribbons, beautifully complemented her totally nontraditional red dress. Of course, it looked awesome on her and even showed off her tattoos well. “If you’re ready, dear, I just heard the knock on the door.”

“Mom—” Claire didn’t know what to say, or what to do, so she just lunged forward and hugged her mother. Hard. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she forced them away. Because, mascara. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, sweetie,” her mother said, and kissed her cheek, then rubbed the lipstick away in an absent gesture so familiar it melted Claire’s heart. “I’m so proud of you. Always.”

She opened the door, and Claire almost couldn’t take the step, except that her dad was standing right there, looking tall and trim and—for the first time in a long time—healthy, despite his heart condition. Maybe it was the suit he was wearing, or just the pleasure of the day, but she’d take it—she’d take every day she had with her parents gladly.

Her dad gave her the biggest, most amazing smile she’d ever seen, and then offered her his arm.

It wasn’t so much like walking as gliding through a dream . . . Eve was walking ahead of her, vivid in her dramatic red dress with its train. And she had a vampire giving her away, remarkably enough: Oliver. He was wearing some extremely old-fashioned tuxedo thing with a gold sash over it, and he looked feral and handsome and slightly bored, but when he left her at the altar next to Michael, he kissed her hand, and that looked honestly nice. He took his place to the side, next to Amelie. Out of deference to the brides, she’d forgone the white suit she normally wore and instead had chosen a tailored teal blue that still looked like it cost more than the jewels heavy around Claire’s neck.