“Mmm?”
“Will you marry me?”
Her heartbeat stuttered, and she froze for an instant against his chest.
“What?” she asked, sounding breathless.
“Will you marry me, querida?”
She leaned back enough to stare up at him, her eyes wide. “Really?”
Vincent laughed, then taking her left hand in his right, he dropped to one knee. The music faded away. So did the crowds, the talk, the laughter. Only Lana remained.
Sliding his hand into one pocket, he produced the ring he’d had custom-made, and held it out to her.
Her eyes went impossibly wider, and filled with tears, as she dropped to her knees next to him and threw herself into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” she was whispering.
Vincent snugged an arm around her back and pulled her close. “No god, mi amor. Only me.”
“Only . . . I love you,” she choked out.
“And?”
Lana blinked in a moment’s confusion, then laughed happily. “Yes! Of course, yes!”
Vincent slipped the ring on her left hand, then stood, helping her to her feet along with him, as everyone around them started cheering. Resting a hand on Lana’s hip, he pulled her close, then leaned down and whispered in her ear. “You know I love you, right?”
She tsked loudly, and elbowed him in the side. “Of course I know that.”
It was Vincent’s turn to laugh as he met Camille’s eyes over the crowd, and winked. She grinned back at him, and shook her head. Bastard, she mouthed at him.
“MAYBE IF WE GET married here, your dad won’t come,” Vincent muttered two hours later. The party was over, the congratulations rung, and the sun was looming.
“Vincent,” she chided, slapping his arm. “Of course, he’ll be here. I’m his only child.”
“And you’re marrying a vampire.”
“He likes you.”
“He’s afraid of me. And for good reason. If he hurts you—”
“He won’t hurt me. When should we do this? And can we invite Cyn? Will Raphael let her come?”
Vincent snorted. “Right, like Raphael dictates where Cyn goes.”
“You know what I mean. Vampire politics. You’re a lord, he’s a lord . . . it’s all very twisted.”
“Haven’t you heard? We’re all buds now.”
“Uh huh. What was that phone call you got earlier?”
Vincent watched as she stepped out of the red dress, leaving her in nothing but a matching bra and a pair of barely-there silk panties. And those shoes.
“Vincent?”
His attention snapped back to her face. “Sexy,” he commented. “Come here, wife.”
She made another tsking sound. “Not yet,” she said, coming into his arms. “Tell me about the phone call.”