child. Apparently Vivi had inherited her bone structure from my father’s side of the family. Philippe Grimaldi had been over six feet tall, but his mother had only been five-three.
Vivi and I walked in silence toward the Piazza della Signoria. The morning sun brightened the stone façade of the Palazzo Vecchio.
“So, where are we going after Florence?” Vivi asked. “To Venice?”
I hesitated. Raphael lived on Isla Carbonara, a speck of an island between Venice and Murano. After Jude had gone missing, Raphael had brought me to his villa. We’d been friends for the last fifteen years, but from the moment we’d met, we’d been able to converse telepathically. I couldn’t do this with anyone else. Not Jude. Not Vivi. Not Uncle Nigel.
But I wasn’t ready to see Raphael. A few months ago, I began having dreams about him, the kind that left my pulse thumping, my body slick with perspiration, my hips rising off the bed. Our relationship had always been warm but platonic. I wanted to give myself time to sort through these dreams. If I got near him right now, I wasn’t sure what I’d do, and I didn’t want to damage our friendship.
“No, we’re not visiting Raphael,” I said.
Vivi looked surprised. “What? We’re not seeing the Prince of Darkness?”
“Raphael is your godfather. Don’t call him that.”
“Why did you pick a thousand-year-old vamp to be my godfather? Why not Uncle Nigel? He raised you. And don’t say Uncle Nigel is too old. He will be seventy-two forever.”
I didn’t answer. My uncle was the sweetest, most loving man, but he could not stand discord. He hadn’t always been a vampire, and he thought of his “condition” as macabre and inconvenient. He’d wanted to conceal it from Vivi until she was an adult, but I’d told her the truth. I’d told her everything, skimming over the barest details. Now I wondered if facts were just as damaging as lies.
I followed the smell of roasted lamb to the Antoco Faltone. A bald waiter with dark moles on his cheeks led us to a table and set down menus. I was in the mood for a truffle ravioli. Vivi wanted bread soup, zucchini flowers, risotto, and figs.
After we ordered, I straightened my spoon and knife.
“Mom, you’re so OCD,” Vivi said.
“I’m not.” My fingers crept to my lap, and I aligned my napkin with a crease in my pants.
“Why does everything have to be perfectly straight?” she asked.
I’d explained many times, but she didn’t understand. I’d lost control of my life, and arranging the utensils gave me a sense of security.
The waiter set down our food, his bald head dotted with perspiration. I repressed an urge to straighten the plates. I dug into the salad, but Vivi frowned at her soup.
The waiter’s eyebrows shot up. “Is anything wrong?” he asked.
“Not with the food,” she said, flashing a stare that could peel the skin from a tomato.
A blush crept up the waiter’s face, and then he hurried to another table.
“Vivi, don’t be bad-mannered because you’re in a bad mood,” I whispered.
“This isn’t a mood, it’s for real. You’re making me spend the whole summer in Scotland.”
“We’ve gone over this.”
“You rented a castle!” She spat out the word as if it were an olive pit.
“Only for three months.” I forked up a truffle.
“Do we
have
to go?” Vivi asked.
“Yes.”
“Don’t my feelings matter?”
“Of course. But I’ve already leased the castle. I’ve paid a hefty deposit, too. I can’t throw away that money.”
“You’ve got plenty of cash. Raphael helped you get rich on the stock market.”
“We aren’t rich.”
“Huh. You’ve got enough money to buy Innisfair. If you don’t, Raphael would probably give it to you.”
“I don’t know anything about running a thoroughbred farm.”
“The Aussies call them stations, not farms.”
“See?” I waved my fork. “I’m clueless.”
“But we can learn. Keats will help us.”
“I’ve always hoped that you
Vivi and I walked in silence toward the Piazza della Signoria. The morning sun brightened the stone façade of the Palazzo Vecchio.
“So, where are we going after Florence?” Vivi asked. “To Venice?”
I hesitated. Raphael lived on Isla Carbonara, a speck of an island between Venice and Murano. After Jude had gone missing, Raphael had brought me to his villa. We’d been friends for the last fifteen years, but from the moment we’d met, we’d been able to converse telepathically. I couldn’t do this with anyone else. Not Jude. Not Vivi. Not Uncle Nigel.
But I wasn’t ready to see Raphael. A few months ago, I began having dreams about him, the kind that left my pulse thumping, my body slick with perspiration, my hips rising off the bed. Our relationship had always been warm but platonic. I wanted to give myself time to sort through these dreams. If I got near him right now, I wasn’t sure what I’d do, and I didn’t want to damage our friendship.
“No, we’re not visiting Raphael,” I said.
Vivi looked surprised. “What? We’re not seeing the Prince of Darkness?”
“Raphael is your godfather. Don’t call him that.”
“Why did you pick a thousand-year-old vamp to be my godfather? Why not Uncle Nigel? He raised you. And don’t say Uncle Nigel is too old. He will be seventy-two forever.”
I didn’t answer. My uncle was the sweetest, most loving man, but he could not stand discord. He hadn’t always been a vampire, and he thought of his “condition” as macabre and inconvenient. He’d wanted to conceal it from Vivi until she was an adult, but I’d told her the truth. I’d told her everything, skimming over the barest details. Now I wondered if facts were just as damaging as lies.
I followed the smell of roasted lamb to the Antoco Faltone. A bald waiter with dark moles on his cheeks led us to a table and set down menus. I was in the mood for a truffle ravioli. Vivi wanted bread soup, zucchini flowers, risotto, and figs.
After we ordered, I straightened my spoon and knife.
“Mom, you’re so OCD,” Vivi said.
“I’m not.” My fingers crept to my lap, and I aligned my napkin with a crease in my pants.
“Why does everything have to be perfectly straight?” she asked.
I’d explained many times, but she didn’t understand. I’d lost control of my life, and arranging the utensils gave me a sense of security.
The waiter set down our food, his bald head dotted with perspiration. I repressed an urge to straighten the plates. I dug into the salad, but Vivi frowned at her soup.
The waiter’s eyebrows shot up. “Is anything wrong?” he asked.
“Not with the food,” she said, flashing a stare that could peel the skin from a tomato.
A blush crept up the waiter’s face, and then he hurried to another table.
“Vivi, don’t be bad-mannered because you’re in a bad mood,” I whispered.
“This isn’t a mood, it’s for real. You’re making me spend the whole summer in Scotland.”
“We’ve gone over this.”
“You rented a castle!” She spat out the word as if it were an olive pit.
“Only for three months.” I forked up a truffle.
“Do we
have
to go?” Vivi asked.
“Yes.”
“Don’t my feelings matter?”
“Of course. But I’ve already leased the castle. I’ve paid a hefty deposit, too. I can’t throw away that money.”
“You’ve got plenty of cash. Raphael helped you get rich on the stock market.”
“We aren’t rich.”
“Huh. You’ve got enough money to buy Innisfair. If you don’t, Raphael would probably give it to you.”
“I don’t know anything about running a thoroughbred farm.”
“The Aussies call them stations, not farms.”
“See?” I waved my fork. “I’m clueless.”
“But we can learn. Keats will help us.”
“I’ve always hoped that you
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