Crimson Death (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter #25)(53)

That was the point. He didn’t care enough. Because he didn’t love me then.

And he didn’t love me now.





17


“Now we need one in front of the fireplace,” Mom said, dropping her phone down by her side. Lara and I were standing in the living room, ready to head to the dance, and we were quickly realizing the dance was still quite a while away at this rate. Mom had already taken photos of us on the front porch (to take advantage of the golden hour), by the back door (because the pane has a really lovely design), and sitting together on the couch (because I just like the way those kind of photos look, Oliver). “Oh, but just wait, I need to put the vase back up. I took it down to dust, now where is it?”

“No one’s going to be looking at the vase, Cathy,” Aunt Linda said from the couch, cuddling the faux mink blanket around her. “Not with these two sexy young things front and center.”

Lara grabbed her powder-pink skirt and ruffled it for Aunt Linda, posing for a picture no one was taking. Aunt Linda held up a finger and pulled out her own phone. “Hold on, we need some photoshoot music if we’re taking this seriously.” A few seconds later and the opening bars to “Can’t Fight the Moonlight” played.

“Little vintage, don’t you think?” I asked.

“Watch yourself, I danced to this at my prom,” Aunt Linda said.

“Exactly. Vintage.”

“I’m ignoring that.”

Mom came back into the room with a vase full of fresh flowers she’d stolen from the neighbor’s yard that had grown over into ours. “Here. Perfect. Now, I’ll just get you two to stand over here.”

Mom adjusted us like props while Aunt Linda merrily belted out LeAnn Rimes in the background. She was in particularly good spirits today. Aunt Linda, I mean. Mom was a ball of stress.

Mom took a few more photos of us—flash on and off— while instructing me to smile “more naturally, no, naturally, you look like you’re in a political hostage video.” Lara got no criticisms or critiques. Lara was made for the camera, apparently.

“Ollie couldn’t have gotten a more beautiful date, Lara,” Aunt Linda said when we were finally set free.

“She means because you’re beautiful, I assume, not because I’m so hideous you’re the best I could possibly do,” I said.

“You sure she didn’t mean because I’m hopefully the last time you’ll have to take a girl to a dance?” Lara asked innocently.

“Partly,” Aunt Linda replied, holding up a finger. She struggled to sit up straighter on the couch for a moment, then, panting, she clasped her hands together. “But also, Ollie, are you hoping to get married one day?”

“Ah, yes, ideally, but we’ll see. Why?”

She paused and turned LeAnn off. Apparently she meant business. “Because one day you’ll be all dressed up and taking photos with the person you love more than anything in the world. And I just want you to know that I’ll be there. Maybe physically, maybe not, but I’ll be there either way. So when the day comes, you’ll be getting a huge hug from me at some point. Be on the lookout for it.”

“I won’t need to be on the lookout for it, because you’ll be there physically, and I’ll know exactly when you’re hugging me.”

“You’ll know either way,” she said. Her voice was strained, and her eyes were glassy.

Seeing Aunt Linda cry made me tear up a little.

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” she said, flapping her hands then wiping under her eyes. “Argh. Sorry. You’re just so handsome. I’m glad I got to see it.”

Okay, so I was tearing up more than a little now. “I’m glad you did, too.”

Even Lara’s bottom lip started wobbling a bit. Huh. So she did have a heart. Then she smacked my arm. “Come on, perk up. You don’t want to be blotchy in the photos, do you?”

Ah. That was more like it.



Lara and I managed to arrive fashionably late.

The school gym was spilling over with students, and the room was a sea of color. Interestingly, that color was mainly yellow. Dresses and ties, not decorations. Apparently it was the shade of the season. Not that I’d gotten the memo with my cobalt-blue tie.

Most of the room was dimly lit, with disco balls set up to mimic the effect of snowflakes falling. Along the walls hung glittery white flower arrangements, and about twenty large round tables filled the far end of the room. Half the seats were taken already, the places held by strategically placed clutches and handbags.

Not far away from us, Renee stood with a group of her friends. She was wearing a form-fitting, honey-colored dress, and had her auburn hair curled and scooped into a half-ponytail.

“A lot of people, here,” I commented to Lara, who was too busy objectifying Renee to reply.

I had to scan the room for a surprisingly long time before I spotted Will. He stood over by the tables with Matt, leaning against a chair and laughing about something, with Jess nowhere in sight. He’d paired a tailored blazer with dark gray pants and a light gray T-shirt. Even though I wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing a T-shirt to a dance, he didn’t come off as informal, somehow. Just sexy as hell. Why was it that guys like Will were able to play chicken with the rules and come out on top? If I wore a blazer and a T-shirt, I’d look like I’d gotten disoriented halfway through dressing.