undid and removed the dress slacks. When he then bent to slide them off and step out of them her gaze slid over his strong shoulders and she thought that she missed the tattoos, but he was still beautiful.
“Well?” he asked, turning to her after folding the slacks over and setting them on her dresser. “How do you like the new vehicle? Want to take it for a ride?”
She chuckled at his teasing, but nodded. “Si, I will ride you hard, señor.”
“All the way to shag city?” he asked as he prowled toward the bed.
Ildaria tilted her head with confusion. “Where is shag city? Is it in Canada? Or England?”
“No, it’s—” G.G. began, and then knelt on the bed and crawled toward her, promising, “I’ll show you.”
Epilogue
“You may not have had them long, but at times like this I really miss your bodyguards, Angelina. It would be handy to have them here to carry the shopping bags.”
Ildaria glanced to G.G.’s mother with surprise. “Are the bags too heavy for you? I can take some if they are.”
“Of course, they aren’t, dear girl,” Mary Guiscard said, amused at the very suggestion. “But they are large, and awkward, and I think I may have ruined my manicure swinging them around to avoid hitting passersby. I don’t think that girl at the salon kept my fingers under that light of hers long enough to set them properly.”
“Not a problem, Mary,” Marguerite said before Ildaria could respond. “We can fix them up before the party. I have a lovely manicure set for just such occasions.”
“Oh, good. I-Is that the boys?” Mary interrupted herself to ask, and then her eyes widened incredulously. “What on earth are they wearing?”
“Leather,” Ildaria said as she spotted the men ahead, moving in their direction. “A lot of leather.”
All three women were silent as they watched their mates approach. G.G. and his father, Robert, were all decked out in leather. G.G. was wearing very tight black leather pants, black combat boots, and a long black leather coat open over a bare chest now looking tanned and tattooed when it hadn’t been that morning. But then neither had he had the high, dark green Mohawk he was now sporting, his real Mohawk had only grown an inch since he’d shaved his head. She was guessing the look was the result of spray tan, temporary tattoos, and some kind of wig. And she thought he looked incredibly hot. His father, Robert, was also wearing the pants and boots, but he had gone for a shorter leather jacket, a black T-shirt, and a red Mohawk. Like son like father, she supposed.
As for Julius, he was the more conservative of the three, wearing a suit made of black leather, with a blue silk shirt under it. He was also wearing some kind of white face paint, delicately applied to make him look pale, and he had his real fangs out. Going for the vampire look, she supposed, noting that some kind of red paint or polish had been applied to his fangs and then dabbed on his cheek to look like a drop of blood.
“My goodness, don’t they look fine,” Mary said, sounding a little breathy.
Ildaria glanced at the woman with surprise. “But Robert is wearing a Mohawk.”
“Yes, dear. I can see that, and it makes him even foxier than usual,” she said, her eyes starting to glow.
Ildaria blinked in disbelief at those words. “I thought you hated G.G.’s Mohawk?”
“No. Actually, I think it’s adorable on my son. It’s hot, though, on Robert,” she added.
“But you were always telling G.G. he would be handsome if he only did not have the Mohawk and—”
“Oh, that was just so he’d feel he was being rebellious,” Mary said, waving away her comments. “Boys need to rebel. It’s in their coding or something. So, I complained about his hair, and he didn’t have to go out and do more drastic things to feel like he was being adventurous and naughty.”
Ildaria stared at the woman blankly for a moment with amazement. She made G.G. sound like a teenager. “You know he is nearing forty now, si?”
“Forty,” Mary breathed with horrified wonder. “And he hasn’t produced a single grandchild for me yet.” Turning on her, she asked, “When are you two going to get busy on that? I expected to be a grandmother by this age.”
“What?” Ildaria gasped with horror as Marguerite burst out laughing. “We are not even married yet.”
“You’re right,” Mary said judiciously. “So when is that going