Page 39 of Her Vampire, His Ruin

“You had no idea? This is just getting better and better,” she snaps, her eyes narrowing at me. “I asked you to watch over her, not let her watch you copping a feel with some man.”

“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t ask him inside precisely because Nina was here with me. He turned up unannounced late at night⁠—”

“So now you have random men popping around for late night nookie. Are you shitting me, Edie, you’re not twenty anymore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. So, because I’m now a middle-aged divorcee, I’m supposed to just shrivel up and die, whilst my ex-husband can do whatever the hell he wants because it’s okay for a man to have a whole new life after a divorce, but I’m supposed to turn into a fucking spinster, spending her evenings knitting scarves and chatting to her five cats.”

“You don’t have any cats,” she annoyingly points out.

“You know what I mean, Elizabeth,” I snap, throwing my hands up. “That’s a bullshit view, and you know it.”

“I—I didn’t mean. Shit. I’m sorry,” she says, reaching for me and squeezing my arm. “You have every right to happiness after how that arsehole treated you.”

“You think?” I add, more than a little sarcastically.

“Listen, I was just caught off guard, and whilst I still think it’s too soon to be jumping into a relationship with another man⁠—”

“I’m not jumping into anything,” I protest, cutting her off.

“This is a me thing, not a you thing,” she continues, sighing. Her shoulders drop, and sympathy overwhelms me as I pull her into my arms, hugging her.

“I get it,” I reply, my tone softening as I ease backwards. “I know you’ve been terribly hurt in the past, and trusting any man is difficult for you. But for future reference, I would never do anything to put Nina at risk. I love her like she’s my own. You know that.”

“I do.” She gives me a soft smile. “So, do you want to tell me about your new man, Dorian?”

“He’s not really my new man. I’m not certain we’re anything anymore, actually—” I begin, but the insistent shrill ring of the doorbell prevents me from saying anything further. “Oh, what now?” I mutter.

“Don’t think you’ve been saved by the bell, Edie. I want to know everything,” she calls after me as I head towards the door. Whoever is on the other side better have an emergency, because the way they’re jabbing at my doorbell is beyond rude.

“What?” I yell, yanking open the door to find Henrietta on the doorstep, her arms filled with a huge bouquet of dark red, velvety roses wrapped, not in cellophane, but in silk and tulle. There are so many I can barely make her out behind them. Hanging from her fingers is a gift bag in the same dark red as the roses.

“Why are you yelling?” Henrietta trills, shoving past me and into the hallway. “Did you know these were sitting on your doorstep? Aren’t they the most beautiful roses? There must be at least fifty of them. But you need to watch the thorns, they’re sharp,” she reels off in quick succession as she storms into my kitchen.

“Come in why don’t you,” I mutter as I follow her.

“Oh, hey, Beth. I haven’t seen you for a while. How are you?” Henrietta asks, placing the roses and the gift bag onto the kitchen island before pecking her on the cheek.

“Are those for me?” Elizabeth jokes.

“I’d love to say yes, but that card clearly has Edie’s name written on it,” Henrietta says, snatching the card up and handing it to me. “Open it then.”

I take it from her, not certain I want to, actually.

“Well, who are they from?” Elizabeth demands, jerking her chin impatiently.

“Oh, I bet I know who they’re from. They scream Dorian. He’s definitely a red rose kind of man. Suave, sophisticated, passionate, and a little deadly,” Henrietta says, taking a seat and wiggling her brows at me.

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me open this later?” I ask, huffing out an exasperated breath.

“Get on with it,” Henrietta urges, grinning from ear to ear as she plonks into a seat at the kitchen island.

“Fine,” I mumble, opening the envelope and pulling out the card.

To my beautiful Edie, I’m sorry. You have every right to be disappointed with my behaviour. I would like the opportunity to explain. Please come to dinner next Saturday night, 8pm. I have an apartment at the hotel. The concierge will be expecting you. If it makes you feel more comfortable, bring Henrietta, too. Logan will be there. Yours, Dorian.

“Well, what does it say?” Henrietta persists.

“They’re from Dorian,” I say, tucking the card into the back pocket of my jeans.