Night's Promise (Children of The Night 6)

Uncomfortable with the tension between them, she bid him good night and went to bed.

Derek sat there far into the night, thinking about Sheree. After reading her thoughts earlier, he couldn’t blame her for hating him. He had known he would never have children. When he’d turned Sheree, he hadn’t thought about what she would be giving up. He had thought only of what he would be losing, had known, in that instant, that he would rather live with her hatred than exist without her. In spite of her anger, he knew that, deep down, she still loved him. He had assumed she would forgive him sooner or later. Sometimes he thought she was softening; at other times he was certain she was going to stay mad for a century or two.

Then again, women were pushovers at weddings. Maybe a repeat of their vows would remind her of how much she had once loved him.

It was a slim hope, at best, he mused, but at the moment, it was the only hope he had.

Chapter Forty-Three

“The wedding’s set for a week from tonight,” Sheree told her father. “You and Mom will be there, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Brian Westerbrooke said. “I wouldn’t dare miss such a special occasion twice. Just give me the address and the time and we’ll be there with bells on.”

“Bells optional,” Sheree said, smiling, “tux required for walking the bride down the aisle. I don’t have the address for the church, so just meet me in front of the Marchand Hotel at eight o’clock Saturday night. Derek and I will pick you up.”

“Why all the mystery?” Brian asked.

“There’s no mystery. The church is in an out-of-the-way location. It’ll be easier for us to take you there. Derek’s already made reservations for you at the hotel.”

“Very well. I guess a little cloak-and-dagger journey is good now and then.” He chuckled softly. “We’ll see you Saturday night, pumpkin.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too.” He hesitated a moment, then said, “Sheree, I know you’re still upset with your mother, but how about doing your old man a favor and letting it go?”

“All right, Dad.”

“Great! She’s right here, anxious to talk to you.”

Sheree ran a hand through her hair as she waited for her mother to come on the line.

“Sheree, how are you?”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Is there anything you need for your new home?”

“No. I think we have everything we need.”

“Well, I’m sure I can come up with something. See you Saturday.”

Sheree blew out a sigh as she disconnected the call. Her mother always tried to smooth things over with presents—a beautiful porcelain doll when Meredith missed one of Sheree’s ballet recitals, a new bicycle when she missed a mother-daughter tea, a baby blue convertible when her mother missed a high school awards ceremony.

But none of that mattered now. The important thing was to make sure that everything went smoothly on Saturday, and that her parents had no reason to suspect their daughter, her husband, and her new in-laws were all vampires.

Sheree was a bundle of nerves as they drove to the Marchand to pick up her parents.

“Stop worrying,” Derek said. “We’ll all be on our best behavior, I promise.”

“How am I going to explain the fact that nobody eats?”

“You won’t have to. The family will fill plates and cast a glamour on your folks that will make them think we’re eating.”

“You can do that?”

“Easy as dissolving into mist.”

“Might be easy for you,” she replied sourly. “Ohmygosh!”

“What’s wrong?” Derek glanced around, wondering what had put such a stricken expression on her face.

“My father!”

“What about him?”

“He’s a camera bug. He’s going to want pictures. Tons of pictures.”

“What’s the problem? I promise to smile.”

“But . . . we don’t have reflections. Will we show up in the photos?”

Derek laughed softly. “Not to worry, love. Capturing our likeness was a problem in the old days, when film had silver in it, but with digital cameras, it’s no longer an issue.”

Relieved, Sheree slumped in her seat, only to bolt upright when the motel came into view. “Look! There they are!”

Derek pulled up to the curb and put the car in park.

Smiling, Sheree jumped out of the car and hugged her father and then her mother.

“Good to see you again, sir,” Derek said, shaking Mr. Westerbrooke’s hand. He complimented her mother on the dress she wore, and they were on their way.

“How far is it to the church?” Meredith asked.

“Not far,” Derek replied. “How was your flight?”

“A little bumpy,” Brian said. “Gave Mother quite a scare.”

“I can’t help it,” Meredith said, glancing out the window. “You know I don’t like to fly. How did you happen to pick this church, Sheree? It seems rather out of the way.”

“It’s a Cordova/Blackwood family tradition,” Sheree said. “They’ve been marrying here for years.”

“I was hoping you’d get married at St. Timothy’s, surrounded by our family and friends,” Meredith said, a hint of reproach in her voice.

“We can have a reception at home, if you like,” Sheree said.

Ever the diplomat, Brian said, “Of course. That’s a great idea.” He made small talk with Derek during the rest of the drive.

“Oh, my,” Meredith murmured, gazing out at the church and grounds as Derek parked the car. “It is lovely, isn’t it?”

Sheree nodded. Located in a secluded glade well off the main highway, surrounded by tall trees and shrubs, the building might have been transplanted from some medieval setting. Moonlight danced across the stained glass windows on either side of the door. The air was filled with the fragrant scent of evergreens; night birds and crickets serenaded them as Derek dropped Sheree and her mother off at a side door so Sheree could change into her wedding gown.

After escorting Sheree’s father into the vestibule, Derek walked toward the front of the church. His family was already there, half of them seated on the groom’s side, half on the bride’s. He frowned when he saw Edna and Pearl sitting in the back row. Damn, those two always meant trouble.

His mother smiled at him from the front row. Clad in a long green gown, she looked as beautiful as always. He paused to give her a hug before joining the priest and Logan, who were waiting for him in front of the altar.