Mercy's Danger: Montgomery's Vampires Trilogy (Book #2) (Montgomery's Vampires Series) by Sloan Archer

caramel and whipped cream—forget it! He was so outraged by the concept of “bastardized coffee” (his actual term) that I thought he was going to incite a riot in Starbuck’s one morning by holding up the line. They did not prepare it that way in my day! was what he’d bellowed, to my great embarrassment. He looked especially crazy because he didn’t look a day over thirty.
    Now that Robert was consuming human food and drink, I’d heard that phrase more times than I could count on all my fingers and toes. They did not prepare it that way in my day! At first I couldn’t figure out why he was so shocked, as he’d ordered plenty of human cuisine as a vampire to keep up appearances. But, as Robert had pointed out, ordering meals and actually consuming them were two entirely different things.
    I pecked Leopold on the cheek. “Good to see you again. Thanks so much for having us. Your home is a-mazing!”
    Leopold kissed me back. “Darling, it’s my pleasure.”
    The swankiest households I’d toured in my whole life had been Marlena’s, who resided at Dignitary headquarters, and Robert’s. Growing up in a trailer park, I did not associate with the ultra wealthy. For a home to be deemed “fancy” in my old neighborhood, it needed nothing more than air conditioning and natural hardwood flooring. The swankiest hotel in Pelville, Marine Tides Inn (a misleading name in view of how far from the ocean it actually was), was a shack compared to Robert and Marlena’s. (Let’s face it, Marine Tides Inn was a shack compared to Motel 6.) But compared to Leopold’s, the homes of Robert and Marlena looked like crack dens. To state that the inside of Leopold’s dwelling was extravagant would be like calling Dolly Parton just a little bit busty.
    Locating a space wider than three square feet that wasn’t embellished was a challenge. The three sofas in the main sitting room all had dramatic scalloped edges, and the chairs had high backs and swirling arms suitable for royalty. There were also mirrors with gold frames, lamps with carnival glass, bureaus with marble tops, and throw rugs with muted flower patterns—in the rooms without floor mosaics, that is. After being alive for centuries, I presumed it would have been difficult not to amass a lot of possessions.
    None of the items in Leopold’s home were to my personal taste—the excess and frilliness of it all made the rooms feel claustrophobic—but I could still appreciate the craftsmanship required to create such treasures. Everything was the real McCoy—none of this offensive replica nonsense for our dear Leopold. No, his items were true antiques: stuffed with horsehair, not foam, and crafted by hand, not machine. It was the sort of furniture you’d never feel comfortable kicking back on while reading a book, a steaming cup of tea pinched between your thighs. It was stuff that would probably start to smell musty fast if not properly attended to—not that this would ever apply to Leopold’s wares. If I would have put on white gloves and caressed the surface of every statue and painting in the place, my fingers wouldn’t have greyed in the slightest.
    “You two made excellent time!” Leopold exclaimed. His tiny hands flitted to his hair and smoothed it down. “I’m afraid I had to put myself together in a hurry!” If this was him disheveled, I thought, he must look downright swanky when he made an effort.
    Leopold’s look matched his swish home. He looked smashing for somebody who’d just gotten out of bed (or coffin), though it was difficult to imagine Leopold being the type to loaf around in shapeless sweatpants. He wore a burgundy velvet jacket, a plush brushed cotton tee that gleamed of luxury origins, tailored navy trousers, and black patent leather oxfords. Around his neck was a navy and mustard yellow dotted silk cravat. Pinned to the lapel of his jacket was a tiny gold rocket pin, the Seraphim Blythe streetwear logo. The outfit was a bit much because of