she started to babble away in Spanish, her hands suddenly leaving her throat to fly about in a way he’d never seen from her before as she began what sounded like either a rant, or possibly a plea. He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t understand a single word she was saying. But Spanish sure was a pretty language, he thought. And her hands looked like little birds as she waved them around. Beautiful.
Stopping abruptly, she frowned and said, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’ve just never seen you get excited about anything before,” he said with a slow smile, and then added, “Well, outside of sex.”
Ildaria flushed bright pink and moaned, “They will hate me.”
“No, they won’t,” he assured her. “They’ll love you to bits. My mother has been waiting for you for nearly twenty years.”
“She has been waiting for an immortal who would make you want to turn. I am not that. I failed her,” Ildaria wailed, dropping her head onto the island surface.
G.G. shifted uncomfortably and frowned. “You haven’t failed anything. My not turning has nothing to do with you.”
“Of course it does,” she said, sitting up with irritation. She scowled at him briefly and then closed her eyes and groaned. “She will come here and she will—” Ildaria shook her head and then launched into another spate of Spanish.
It made G.G. wish he understood the language. Or, maybe he was better off not knowing. Her suggestion that she wasn’t enough to make him want to turn had been guilt-inducing. He’d never imagined she would take it that way, and it was ridiculous. Because if anyone could have convinced him to turn, he was one hundred percent positive it would have been Ildaria. He’d even considered it, if only briefly before his more sensible side had reminded him he was perfectly happy being mortal and living a mortal life.
“When are they coming?”
The sudden English caught his attention, and G.G. blinked and shifted his thoughts to answer her. “Well—”
“This would not be considered an emergency by the Council there, so surely they could not arrange a flight before tomorrow, could they?” she asked hopefully.
“Er . . . well, Robert is on the Council,” he admitted reluctantly. “And he called me after talking to Scotty—he’s the head of the UK Council,” G.G. explained, and then continued. “Scotty has agreed to accompany him and my mother here to handle the situation with Villaverde.”
Much to his surprise that seemed to ease her concerns somewhat. “Oh, good, good. As the head of the Council I am sure this Scotty cannot just drop everything and fly out right away. It could be days before they leave. Si?”
“Er . . .” G.G. shifted on his feet uncomfortably, but finally said, “It won’t be days, Ildaria. Scotty is a good friend of my parents and he knows how worried they have been about my finding a life mate, or being a life mate to someone or whatever,” he muttered, and shook his head. “He won’t make them wait days. In fact, they’re probably—”
A knock on the door interrupted him.
“I’ll get it,” Ildaria said, suddenly solemn and grim.
Nodding, G.G. turned back to his bacon. It was done, so he began lifting it out piece by piece onto the paper towel covered plate he’d prepared ahead of time. He was getting the eggs out of the refrigerator when Ildaria led Lucian into the kitchen. G.G. eyed the man briefly and then shifted his gaze to H.D., expecting the usual barking and hullabaloo, but the dog was sitting still and tense where he’d been lying just a moment ago. He was also eyeing Lucian Argeneau with wariness, not looking the least interested in drawing the man’s attention his way by barking.
That was a new reaction from the dog, G.G. thought, and turned back to the refrigerator to grab the second pack of bacon he’d brought over with him. He’d brought it along thinking to offer some to Mirabeau and Tiny, but they’d once again said they were good when he’d stopped to mention it to them on the way across the hall, so he’d only cooked the one package. Lucian, however, never turned down food. The man was always hungry. G.G. was sure that if he didn’t fry the second package, he and Ildaria would be lucky to get a piece of bacon each. Lucian Argeneau would eat every last slice of what he’d just finished cooking.
“Lucian,” he said in greeting as he carried the eggs and bacon