Smolder (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, #29)(113)
a vampire, that was still up for debate. Hell, my family was only now agreeing to meet Jean-Claude.
They might not even be coming to our wedding.
Ru turned away, putting the magazine back and sighing so heavily that his body language said just how bored he was with the magazine, being in the airport, waiting for some stupid relative, or . . . I had no idea how he and all the Harlequin did it, but they were some of the best covert operatives in the world, maybe the best, I hadn’t met enough covert-ops people to judge.
I looked at Nicky. “I was going to say, I was not scared-scared, maybe nervous enough that it’s a type of fear, but if Ru broke cover to try and reassure me, he’s picking up on more than just nerves.”
“The three of us can feel it, Anita, it’s more than just nerves.”
I frowned up at him and in the five-inch heels I was five-eight, only a few inches shorter than him, so I didn’t have to strain my neck. I almost said what most of us say: Aren’t you scared of your family? Most people say it as an offhand remark, a joke almost, but Nicky looked down at me with his one blue eye, and an eye patch where the other eye should have been. I wouldn’t joke with Nicky about scary families because his mom was still in prison for what she’d done to him and his siblings.
My family had its problems, and some of them had screwed me up pretty bad, but compared to Nicky’s childhood mine had been a cakewalk on Sesame Street.
“I don’t think I’m afraid of my family,” I said, shifting my weight again in the heels; they’d been a mistake, but I looked fabulous in them, and my family made me insecure enough to want to look fabulous. Nicky gave me a look that said plainly he didn’t believe me, but I believed me, so it was okay.
Was I really afraid of my very Catholic family meeting Jean-Claude for the first time? I ran my fingers down the pleats of my skirt. I was regretting it like the heels. The skirt was short, which made my legs look long and beautiful, according to the loves of my life. I wasn’t usually a pleat kind of girl, but it made the skirt swing as I moved, and it was the nicest skirt I had that wasn’t skintight. Somehow skintight and short wasn’t a meet-the-family outfit. So, pleats with a royal-blue silk shell blouse that matched the blue in the plaid of the skirt. The short bolero jacket was black, which matched the rest of the color in the plaid. The jacket didn’t quite hide the badge clipped to my waistband but did hide the gun that was in an inner “pants” holster just behind the badge, and the extra magazine/ammo holders on the other side of the skirt. I had a tailor who reinforced all the waistbands on my girlier clothes, otherwise the skirt would never have held up to this much equipment.
I was even in full makeup, which I almost never wore. I looked like I was ready for a hot date instead of seeing my family for the first time in years. I knew why I had dressed up and thanks to being metaphysically connected to Nicky and other people in my life, they knew, too. I’d been prepared to see my dad and stepmother, Judith, to discuss if he was walking me down the aisle or if they were even coming to my wedding, but I hadn’t expected that my stepsister Andria would be coming with them. She and I were both over thirty. She was a lawyer, and I was what I was; she was even engaged to another lawyer. Of course she’d get engaged if I was engaged. I couldn’t beat Andria at anything that mattered to my family.
Andria was the girly one. The perfect blond, blue-eyed, straight-A student. She was even tall like her mother. I got good grades, but not as good. People told me I was pretty when I cleaned up or wore
makeup or dressed nice. She was always dressed up, always perfect. She had a sense of style and what clothes matched and flattered her that only dating Jean-Claude had taught me. Fashion was neither natural nor a strength for me and I found the fact that Jean-Claude didn’t have any comfy clothes disturbing. What kind of person didn’t have any sweats, or lounging jammies? He had pajamas, but they were all silk and he never slept in them. I wasn’t complaining about sleeping in the nude, and silk looked great on him and felt even better next to my skin, but I had old jeans and sweatshirts I’d had since college. I had clothes to do yard work in, or paint something. He didn’t.
Centuries of being judged constantly by the other vampires so that any sign of weakness was used against him and using his beauty to survive had made him always be on, always aware, like some wandering photographer would come by at any second. To me it would have been a terrible pressure; to Jean-Claude it was normal. Dressing up made him feel better. It had taken me a long time to realize that fashion was part of what made him feel comfortable. Dressing up was his comfy clothes somehow. I knew that now and accepted it, but it would never be my version of comfy. I wanted my clothes to cover me and to serve a purpose. Today’s purpose was to be the beautiful swan instead of the ugly duckling. Sad but true that my family’s opinion of me still mattered that much to me. I’d really hoped I’d grown past the need for their approval since I was almost certainly not going to get it. I was marrying a vampire; to them I might as well be marrying a demon straight out of hell. If they’d ever met a real demon they’d understand the difference, but they hadn’t seen real evil with a capital E.
They lived in ignorant bliss while people like me risked everything to fight against the forces of evil, so they could come here and be self-righteous and tell me I was corrupt and going to hell.
I caught a glimpse through the crowd of people coming our way. Did I recognize that blond head?