“Your parents are in New Orleans.” Dimitri said the words as a statement, telling me exactly how much of the conversation he had heard.
I simply threw my head back and began lathering my hair with shampoo. There was no need to respond - not when Dimitri had heard everything - had heard my mother scold me like a child.
“How long will they be staying for?” His enquiry was completely cordial - the tone of his voice at such odds with the feel of his naked chest pressed against my back.
“I don’t know.”
“They’ll stay with us.” He threaded his fingers through my wet hair, massaging my scalp in a way that was wholly relaxing.
“What?” My eyes flew open of their own accord. I could think of nothing worse than having Emily Rand stay here - in this house - with us. Even if it was only temporary, Dimitri’s house had somehow become my safe haven - a place where I dressed how I chose - a place where I could leave out my various jars and bottles and not panic. This is what I imagined a home felt like, and it was a dangerous thing to consider Dimitri's house a home.
"They don't know that I'm a Witch - that I read cards - that I can do things." I spluttered, my words only half-sensical. The cold grip of panic clawed at my soul as my lungs burned, fighting for air.
"Okay."
"Okay?" I whirled on him, clutching the shampoo bottle in my hand as if it were my only line of defense. "Nothing about this is okay."
Dimitri's fingers brushed against mine as he plucked the bottle from my hands.
"They will stay here, Corinne, and they will be none the wiser about your abilities."
"And you?" I was nearly hysterical in my panic. "You think they're not going to notice what you do - who you are?"
Dimitri merely arched a brow at me. Cool, unaffected, and utterly infuriating.
"I am a businessman, now hurry, we need to meet them for breakfast shortly."
"You're coming with me?"
"Of course. You're my Vedman."
Dimitri
Corinne wore a different version of the houndstooth dress I first met her in. Her hair was tied back low, her makeup pristine. And while she looked good - fuckable, even, she didn’t look like my Vedman.
These past few weeks, I had enjoyed coming home to find her wearing those ratty cut-off jeans and whatever shirt she had chosen for the day. It wasn’t part of what I normally went for, but seeing her look so content like that had somehow made me not care - at least not at home.
But now she was stiff and monotone, and if we had more fucking time on our hands, I would have spread her on the kitchen counter and fucked her senseless, because I couldn’t stand seeing her like this. Meeting her parents was bound to be a delight, but I needed to meet them - needed to know where my little vedam hailed from - needed them to fucking like me.
Because if they liked me, it would be a fuck ton easier. If they didn’t, I would have to deal with them and I didn’t want to do anything to Corinne’s parents that might upset her.
The sedan hummed beneath us, depositing us directly outside the hotel - the same hotel I had watched Corinne leave in anger. I slid out first and held the door open for her. She didn’t know it yet, but this was a public appearance for both of us. I saw one of my men across the street, standing guard and watching, just as I felt the eyes of the city upon me - upon us.
The French Quarter was about to meet its Empress.
As Corinne stepped out, I slid my hand into hers, uniting us as we entered the building. She blinked once - the only evidence of her surprise, but she didn’t fight me on it.
The cool, air conditioned lobby was a welcome relief from the Louisiana heat. Even at this hour, the sun was relentless.
Corinne smiled shyly at the concierge before tugging us towards the restaurant that took up most of the ground floor. I hated seeing her like this - hated seeing her reassemble herself into this shy, reserved person. Not when I knew who she truly was.
Emily Rand sat stiffly in her seat, her gaze flaring when she saw that Corinne was not alone. It lasted only a minute before her Society smile slid into place. I watched both her and her husband raise themselves from their seats as they stood to greet us, and wondered if they would have done the same had Corinne met them alone. The thought irked me.
Her father smelt of desperation, with waspy graying hair, and fingers that reminded me of some of the boys who pickpocketed the streets of NOLA. His suit was finely made - but then, so was mine, but that didn’t take away the stench of desire. He pushed for a life that his wife craved - something that I wasn’t even certain he knew he was doing, was probably so caught up in the expectation of it all that he simply didn’t know better.
“Corrine.”
Although her mother tried to hide her annoyance, her too tight smile and high pitched voice betrayed her.