“And until me,” Dominik says with a flash of fang.
“Until you.” I laugh. “Until I found an immortal vampire who would put up with my shit.”
“I’ll put up with so much more.”
“Are you telling me I can’t get rid of you?”
“Not a chance, especially if I can arrange for you to meet up with your friend.”
“I can’t hide this.” I tap my stomach. “And I’m not sure I’m ready to explain…everything.”
“When is a good time?” Dominik asks. “You’ve got two months, and you’ll have a newborn yourself.”
A shiver runs up my spine when he puts the timeline this way. I still don’t know what’s going to happen after I’ve given birth. I remain terrified of the birthing process itself.
I need to see Grace. I need my friends. I can’t hide from this forever.
“Okay,” I say finally.
Dominik grins at me. For such a possessive vampire, I would have expected some push back on meeting up with Grace, especially as no doubt her mate will be present. But I get no sort of vibe from him as he pulls out his phone and starts making calls, every inch the mafia businessman.
Lucy
I slideonto the cream leather seats of the Rolls.
“Where are we going?” I ask Dominik.
“I’d like to break your pickles and peanut butter habit, so I thought we’d take tea at the New York Café,” he says.
It is broad daylight. The worst of the Hungarian winter weather is behind us, but the sky is a gunmetal gray. Powerful vamps like Dominik will be unaffected by the light today. Less powerful ones will be slumbering in their coffins.
A habit I am very pleased Dominik has eschewed in favor of being in bed with me. Because a coffin would be an absolute no for me.Comfyor not.
“I’m not going to stop eating pickles and peanut butter,” I say, but I don’t really mean it.
In fact, since I found out about Grace a week ago, I’ve not been feeling much like eating anything.
The Rolls glides through traffic for ten minutes or so before we pull up outside a very grand building. It’s Nineteenth century, like many buildings in Budapest, and it’s been renovated to a very high standard. Dominik slides out of the vehicle and holds out a hand to help me lumber to my feet.
At least I feel like I’m dressed for the occasion in a long burgundy cashmere dress which clings to my every curve. For some reason, it makes me feel incredibly decadent, and I love it.
“You look edible,” Dominik says, every inch a gentleman in one of the bespoke three-piece suits he prefers. He nibbles behind my ear as he puts an arm around my waist. “Almost as edible as the items in the café.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting when he opened the door to the café, even in such a grand building, but the interior is absolutely stunning. Beautiful plasterwork in a baroque/renaissance style, gilded everywhere with a myriad of colorful paintings on the ceilings and walls. Twisted columns rise to support the ornate ceilings, and warm tobacco-colored wood panelling makes it feel strangely intimate.
The other reason for the intimate feeling is the place is completely empty. I’d have expected it to be thronged with tourists, but no one is sitting at any tables.
“Welcome, Mr. Király.” A waiter approaches us, his clothing neat as a pin, a long, dark apron wrapped over his suit. “Let me show you to your table.”
Dominik takes the lead, and we climb the grand stairs up to a balcony where we are given the best table in the entire place. There’s a view of the street, as well as the best view of the ornate café itself.
“They do goulash,” Dominik says as a menu is placed in front of me. “And their patisserie is legendary.”
“This is beautiful.” I look around me in wonder. “But is it not any good?”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s no one here.” I gesture around us. “You’d have thought a place like this would be super busy.”
