Moe’s). “He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”
“And he’s eager to settle down.” My mother smiled. “He was just about to a while back—about ninety years ago—when his intended was involved in a car accident and the steering column pierced her you-know-what.” She held a hand to her own chest. “Anyhow, he just hasn’t gotten out much since then. Since you aren’t getting out either, we thought the two of you could join forces and get out together.”
“A date.”
My mother frowned. “Our kind don’t date, dear. We discuss. One good solid conversation is all that’s necessary to know if he’ll make a decent eternity mate. You ask him the important questions, such as how much money he makes and his fertility rating, he’ll ask you the pertinent stuff, and that’s that.”
No kissing. No holding hands. No flirting or teasing or enjoying each other’s company. Just two people discussing fertility ratings and “pertinent stuff.”
Okay, so this is, like, my heritage and all. But sometimes I think being a born vampire bites the big one.
Now was definitely one of those times.
“I’m not ready to settle down, Mom.”
“Because you haven’t met someone who’s viable material. Tonight that’s all going to change.”
“No, it’s not. I don’t need you to fix me up.”
“Of course you do, dear. Otherwise, I’d have a grandchild by now. Why, Loralee Hoffmeyer has twenty-nine grandchildren. And sixty-eight great-grandchildren. And one hundred and three great, great-grandchildren. And one hundred and sixty-two great, great, great-grandchildren. And…”
My mother went on, her normal pale complexion pinking around the cheeks and nose. “…want is one. One grandchild to carry on the Marchette name and continue the bloodline. Is that too much to ask?”
“Couldn’t you ask it of them?” I pointed to my brothers, who were busy discussing the hindrance of big boobs (Tammy had them) when trying to pierce the lower jugular during a sex/eating fest.
“Your brothers will settle down when the time is right.” My mother said this with such faith that I couldn’t help but wish I’d been born with a penis. “It’s you we’re worried about, dear. At least they’re trying out different women and looking.” She motioned toward the handsome trio. “But you”—she shook her head—“ you haven’t found one decent prospect for yourself.”
I wanted to point out that Tammy was human, and the only thing decent about her was the Antonio Mellani handbag she carried, but I knew my mother would just make another excuse. Jack’s young. Jack’s in his prime. Jack’s perfecting his carnal skills.
Jack Schmack.
“You have to start thinking about the future. Our future. Our kind would have died out ages ago if all females were as picky as you, dear.”
“I’m not picky. I just have high standards.”
“Then you’ll love Wilson.” The sound of a doorbell punctuated her sentence. “That’s him.” She nailed me with a stare. “You’ll meet Wilson and talk fertility ratings, and I’ll be that much closer to little Annabella Jacqueline Marchette.” My grandmother was Annabella and my mother was Jacqueline, and I was shit out of luck.
“Wouldn’t that be Annabella Jacqueline Marchette Harvey?”
“Argueing semantics will not get you out of this, Lilliana.” She said my name with a stern look that had me closing my mouth before anything else came out.
Wilson Harvey was tall, dark, and handsome with vibrant green eyes and a statuesque nose that hinted at good breeding (is there any other kind among us born vamps?). He wore his dark hair short and neat. He had high cheekbones and a GQ face. A three-piece suit molded to his perfect physique. He smelled like decadent rum sauce. Rich and sweet with a potent edge.
Rum sauce and cotton candy?
Not.
I smiled as my mother made the introductions and went to pour Wilson a glass of wine.
“So.” I smiled and resisted the urge to
“And he’s eager to settle down.” My mother smiled. “He was just about to a while back—about ninety years ago—when his intended was involved in a car accident and the steering column pierced her you-know-what.” She held a hand to her own chest. “Anyhow, he just hasn’t gotten out much since then. Since you aren’t getting out either, we thought the two of you could join forces and get out together.”
“A date.”
My mother frowned. “Our kind don’t date, dear. We discuss. One good solid conversation is all that’s necessary to know if he’ll make a decent eternity mate. You ask him the important questions, such as how much money he makes and his fertility rating, he’ll ask you the pertinent stuff, and that’s that.”
No kissing. No holding hands. No flirting or teasing or enjoying each other’s company. Just two people discussing fertility ratings and “pertinent stuff.”
Okay, so this is, like, my heritage and all. But sometimes I think being a born vampire bites the big one.
Now was definitely one of those times.
“I’m not ready to settle down, Mom.”
“Because you haven’t met someone who’s viable material. Tonight that’s all going to change.”
“No, it’s not. I don’t need you to fix me up.”
“Of course you do, dear. Otherwise, I’d have a grandchild by now. Why, Loralee Hoffmeyer has twenty-nine grandchildren. And sixty-eight great-grandchildren. And one hundred and three great, great-grandchildren. And one hundred and sixty-two great, great, great-grandchildren. And…”
My mother went on, her normal pale complexion pinking around the cheeks and nose. “…want is one. One grandchild to carry on the Marchette name and continue the bloodline. Is that too much to ask?”
“Couldn’t you ask it of them?” I pointed to my brothers, who were busy discussing the hindrance of big boobs (Tammy had them) when trying to pierce the lower jugular during a sex/eating fest.
“Your brothers will settle down when the time is right.” My mother said this with such faith that I couldn’t help but wish I’d been born with a penis. “It’s you we’re worried about, dear. At least they’re trying out different women and looking.” She motioned toward the handsome trio. “But you”—she shook her head—“ you haven’t found one decent prospect for yourself.”
I wanted to point out that Tammy was human, and the only thing decent about her was the Antonio Mellani handbag she carried, but I knew my mother would just make another excuse. Jack’s young. Jack’s in his prime. Jack’s perfecting his carnal skills.
Jack Schmack.
“You have to start thinking about the future. Our future. Our kind would have died out ages ago if all females were as picky as you, dear.”
“I’m not picky. I just have high standards.”
“Then you’ll love Wilson.” The sound of a doorbell punctuated her sentence. “That’s him.” She nailed me with a stare. “You’ll meet Wilson and talk fertility ratings, and I’ll be that much closer to little Annabella Jacqueline Marchette.” My grandmother was Annabella and my mother was Jacqueline, and I was shit out of luck.
“Wouldn’t that be Annabella Jacqueline Marchette Harvey?”
“Argueing semantics will not get you out of this, Lilliana.” She said my name with a stern look that had me closing my mouth before anything else came out.
Wilson Harvey was tall, dark, and handsome with vibrant green eyes and a statuesque nose that hinted at good breeding (is there any other kind among us born vamps?). He wore his dark hair short and neat. He had high cheekbones and a GQ face. A three-piece suit molded to his perfect physique. He smelled like decadent rum sauce. Rich and sweet with a potent edge.
Rum sauce and cotton candy?
Not.
I smiled as my mother made the introductions and went to pour Wilson a glass of wine.
“So.” I smiled and resisted the urge to
Similar Books
