Smolder (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, #29)(40)
“Then allow me to escort you, my lady,” Ru said.
“If someone sees her walking on any man’s arm tonight, especially dressed like this, the rumors will start about you, dear brother.”
“I hate to agree with Rodina, but she’s right,” Ethan said.
“If I escort her it will look like two girlfriends out for a night of fun; any man on her arm is the next rumor. For all the wokeness of your media now, they are still terribly heteronormative.”
“Some of the women in my life are noticing that,” I said.
“Then allow me to protect not only your body but your reputation.” She held her arm out to me in an exaggerated manner.
I looked at Ru; he was studying his sister but finally nodded and moved me forward so I could take Rodina’s arm. I took it and I swear she flexed her arm like she was a guy and wanted to impress me. I understood the moodiness now, even the hostility about their brother’s death and the shared birthday, but it still didn’t give me a clue to where the emotional roller coaster would end. The biggest plus was that it had helped me get a handle on my own roller coaster. Seeing her come so close to losing it while I was wearing shoes that made it impossible to fight or run had put me very solidly in the now, because that’s where you survive. Past trauma is past. I’d already lived through my
family’s tender loving care, but if one of the Harlequin truly went apeshit on me, that might not be a survivable moment. I knew Jean-Claude had felt I’d be safe because of the bodyguards, but when one of them is the danger . . . he and I would be having a serious talk about fashion versus safety soon.
“Anita, are you okay with me getting the car and meeting you inside the club?” Ethan asked.
“I’m good, see you inside.”
He looked at all of us one more time as if he was picking up more than I would have seen if the situation were reversed, but in the end he just went for the SUV.
“Since I’m dressed like a butch to your lipstick femme I might as well play the part,” she said with a smile I could only describe as rakish.
“You’re too femme to be butch,” I said.
That earned me a better smile.
“I’ll share my lipstick with you,” I said.
The smile changed slightly, not less or more, just different, but her eyes held sorrow the way they usually held anger. I let go of her arm and her eyes filled back up with their usual cynicism. I got the lipstick out of the tiny designer purse and offered it to her.
There was a moment of uncertainty in her eyes before she took it. Ru handed her his phone with the video on so she could use it as her mirror. She put the scarlet lipstick on and I realized I’d never seen her in anything close to my favorite color of lipstick. I’d seen her in full Goth with black lipstick or nearly colorless lip gloss, but never red. It looked great with the black eyes and dark eyebrows and lashes. Her pale blond hair looked almost white suddenly, as if she was just doing a different Goth color scheme.
“It looks good on you,” I said, and she knew I meant it because she could feel what I was feeling.
Those newly red lips curled into a smile that filled her eyes with a fierce joy. I gave her a smile that was equally fierce and said, “Let’s go watch one of the most beautiful men in the world take off his clothes.”
She gave a little shake of her head but was still smiling as she said, “You really don’t mind if other people lust after him.”
“If that kind of thing bothered me, we’d have broken up years ago.” I tucked the lipstick back in my purse and curled my arm through hers. “Let’s go see the show.”
She smiled and flexed her arm for me again. “Whatever my queen wishes, so shall it be.”
I smiled and did my best to believe her and hide my doubts deep enough that she wouldn’t feel them. Next year I’d see that they had their birthdays off.
15
WE WALKED PAST the line of people still hoping to get into the club until the crimson neon glow of the Guilty Pleasures sign painted everything reddish and sparkled in the beads of my dress so that it didn’t look blue anymore. There were complaints behind us in the line per normal; no one likes a line cutter. I must have looked different enough in the showier makeup and dress that even the black-shirted security guards at the door stopped me with a “Sorry, miss, but you’ll have to wait in line.”
I looked up at the man who’d spoken. “You must be new here,” I said. A woman in line called out,
“It’s Jean-Claude’s fiancée!” Yep, not even my name, just his name and what I was to him, so damn patriarchal.
The new security guy said, “Shit,” then apologized for that, too.
The crowd did remember my name, though, because they started calling out, “Anita! Anita! Look this way!” They didn’t just want my attention, they wanted my picture; once I would have darted inside head down, but Jean-Claude had dressed me to be seen and we’d had enough practice this year for me to turn, smiling. Rodina smiled with me, then moved away so I stood on the steps alone for a moment, I even managed a little wave without grimacing or giving the pop of flashes from the phones the finger. My eyes were dazzled, my vision full of spots when I turned away and the security at the doors let us through. Ru took my elbow so I didn’t trip in the heels with my vision ruined. If you ever wonder why celebrity security guards wear sunglasses, it’s not to look tough, it’s so the camera and phone flashes don’t blind them. Only us celebrities get to go blind for a few seconds; okay, only those of us dating celebrities.