understatement. “Like a life-size Ken doll.”
“I can’t believe you even know what a Ken doll is,” he said, laughing. “If I’m a big Ken, you’re a miniature vampire Barbie.” She’d been called worse things. She’d always admired Barbie’s wardrobe and fashion sense.
“See you in a few minutes,” she said, and went to get dressed.
Hanging over the door to the closet in Dahlia’s little room was the bridesmaid dress. After a prolonged struggle with Taffy, Dahlia had talked her out of ordering pale pink with ruffles or pale blue with artificial roses sewn across the bodice. And no big bow on the butt. And no hat with veil. In fact, her nest-mate Fortunata came in just as Dahlia shimmied into the gown. Fortunata smiled at Dahlia’s cautious look down the length of her body.
Taffy, despite her strange lack of judgment about this marriage, had finally had the sense to realize vampires would look ridiculous in innocent ruffles, girlish flounces, and insipid colors. The bridesmaids, four of them, were wearing dark blue square-necked long dresses that were form-fitting but not sleazily tight, and the spaghetti straps ensured that no one would lose whatever modesty she might possess.
There were a few glittery sequins strewn across the chest to give the dress a little sparkle, and they were all wearing black high heels and carrying bouquets of pale pink and creamy white roses. Fortunata had just come from adding a little extra item to the bouquets, at Dahlia’s request.
“Mission accomplished. Now I’m ready to fix your hair,” Fortunata said, finding Dahlia’s brush in the clutter on the dressing table.
Fortunata had had a way with hair for centuries, and she brushed and pulled and twisted until Dahlia’s black tresses were a model of sophisticated simplicity, with a couple of ringlets trailing here and there carelessly, to add just that touch of sensuous abandon.
“Not too shabby,” was Fortunata’s verdict when she and Dahlia stood side by side, and Dahlia had to agree. She felt a pleasurable tingle when she thought of Todd seeing her in the complete ensemble, and she hurriedly suppressed the reaction. Every time she viewed herself in a mirror, she felt a thrill of pleasure that the old canard about vamps having no reflection simply wasn’t true.
The two bridesmaids united with the rest of the bride’s side of the wedding party in the large common room at the back of the mansion. Taffy was in full wedding regalia, a pale redhead dripping in ivory lace. “She looks like a big white cake covered in icing,” Fortunata muttered, and Dahlia, who actually agreed, said, “Hush. She looks beautiful.” The long sleeves, the lace, the veil, the coronet of pearls … “We’re lucky we’re bridesmaids,” Dahlia muttered. She drifted across the enormous, opulent room to gaze out the French doors at the scene outside. The French doors led out onto the flagstoned terrace, and from the terrace down onto the lawn. The scene looked very familiar, with white chairs in two groups of orderly lines, with a red carpet bisecting the groups. Either the catering company Cedric had hired was the same one that had had the concession at the wedding Dahlia attended a couple of weeks before or the arrangement was standard operating procedure. Dahlia had dispensed with the doves, fearing some of the Weres would eat the birds before they could be released.
A fairy or two mingled with the crowd, carefully staying over on the groom’s side. Fairies were notoriously delicious to vampires, and though everyone was sure to be on his or her best behavior, not every vamp had the same threshold of self-control. Dahlia recognized a goblin or two that Cedric did business with and assorted shape-shifters, including one dark exotic who changed into a cobra. (That had been a memorable sight on a memorable night. Dahlia smiled reminiscently.)
Just then, a chorus of howls outside announced the arrival of the groomsmen, all decked out in their tuxes. Dahlia could distinguish Todd even at a distance. His burnished head was shining in the torches that had been set at intervals up and down the lawn. His glasses glinted. Dahlia sighed.
The music, provided by a Were rock band that was a favorite of the groom’s, was surprisingly pleasant. The lead singer had a wonderfully tender voice that wrapped itself around love songs in an affecting way. He began to sing a number that she knew was called simply “The Wedding Song,” because Taffy had dragged her along when she picked out the music.
Of