Vampire, Interrupted (11 page)

She stiffened, and scowled. “That doesn’t mean anything. I told you, I’m out of blood and it helps build my own. Besides I’ve been sitting with you at each meal for three weeks, I have probably just picked up the habit.”

“You didn’t eat in California when we all did,” he pointed out.

Marguerite blinked at his words, then sank weakly back in her seat. For a moment horror overcame her, but then she rallied and—positive he didn’t know about the sausage—lied shakily, “It was just one meal, Tiny.”

“One meal
and
you can’t read him,” Tiny pointed out.

Marguerite waved that away as unimportant. “He’s obviously older than me. It’s difficult to read immortals older than oneself. And,” she added grimly as he opened his mouth to speak, “Just because
I
can’t read him, doesn’t mean
he
can’t read me.”

Tiny closed his mouth on whatever he’d been about to say at that comment. He knew about her relationship with Jean Claude. Nodding in understanding, he let the subject go and sank back in his seat.

Marguerite bit her lip and was silent for a moment, her gaze sliding toward the men’s room, and then she leaned toward Tiny and whispered, “If it turns out you’re right—about Christian encouraging Julius, I mean—could you…er…run intervention.”

“You mean interference?” he suggested dryly.

Marguerite nodded. “I would appreciate it.”

Tiny nodded.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Don’t thank me. We work together, and you’re really in training. It’s kind of my job to look out for you.”

Marguerite blinked at the words as she realized how ridiculous it was for her to even put him in that position. The truth was he couldn’t possibly look out for her against an immortal like Julius. Of course, she didn’t hurt his pride by saying as much, simply sinking back in her seat and forcing a smile as a waitress appeared to take their orders.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Julius leaned against the counter in the men’s room, his eyebrows drawing together as he watched Christian check the stalls to be sure the room was empty.

Finished with his search, Christian paused and propped his hands on his hips, looking for all the world like a parent confronting a naughty child. “I mean what are you
doing
?” Christian repeated with exasperation. “You’re supposed to be wooing Marguerite. Getting her to like and trust you so she won’t run when she realizes the two of you are lifemates.”

“I
am
wooing her,” Julius said defensively, turning away to peer in the mirror. He didn’t really see himself, he was just trying to avoid having to meet his son’s gaze anymore, but ran a hand through his hair as he watched his son’s reflection.

“You aren’t wooing her. You’re staring at her. You’ve been staring at her all night. You should have
danced with her when we were at that mortal club.”

“Danced?” Julius asked with horror.

“Yes.
Danced
. Why did you think I was elbowing you on the dance floor? Jesus!” He turned away with disgust and paced the length of the stalls and back.

“I
don’t
dance,” Julius said with dignity. “At least not the kind of dancing that was happening there. Marguerite dances well, though, doesn’t she?” he added with a small smile as he recalled the few moments she’d danced before throwing her hands up with exasperation and returning to their table. She’d been incredibly agile, her hips swaying, body undulating, and breasts jiggling as she’d—

Julius blinked and scowled at Christian when he snapped his thumb and finger in front of his eyes.

“Snap out of it,” Christian growled. “This is no time for mooning.”

“I was not mooning,” Julius said stiffly and turned away from the mirror. Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared at the younger man resentfully and wondered if Christian really was his son at all.
He
never would have been so disrespectful to his own father.

“Okay,” Christian said with a great show at maintaining his patience. “So you don’t dance. But you could at least talk to the woman.”

Julius frowned and avoided his gaze. “I am talking.”

“You aren’t,” Christian insisted. “You haven’t said more than a handful of words.”

Scowling, he admitted, “I’m practicing in my head.”

Christian blinked at this. “Practicing?”

“Well, you don’t just blurt out the first thing that
comes to mind,” Julius said with exasperation. “I have to approach this carefully, so I’m practicing.”

“In your head?” Christian clarified.

“Yes.” Julius nodded. “In my head.”

“Right…Good, good,” he nodded, and then said, “but you know what would be even better?”

Julius raised his eyebrows with interest. “What?”

“Talking to her
out loud!
” Christian snapped. “Jesus Christ, Father, you’re as old as the earth. You run a huge corporation, dealing with people—even women—day in and day out. Surely you can string a couple of words together and manage a little conversation with the woman?”

“I am not as old as the earth,” Julius growled. “Besides, you’re the one who said that I scare all the maids and secretaries and—”

“Oh, hell,” Christian interrupted with a sigh.

“What?” Julius asked warily.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it? I shook your confidence with those comments.”

Julius glared at him briefly, then let out a slow breath and nodded the admission. “I was fine until you and the twins started spouting that nonsense about how long it had been since I’d bothered with women and that I—Are the maids and secretaries really scared of me?” he interrupted himself to ask with a frown.

Christian avoided his eyes as he assured him, “No, of course not.”

“You’re lying,” Julius said with a heavy sigh. “You never could meet my eyes and lie, and you won’t meet my eyes now. They
are
scared of me.”

Christian shrugged helplessly. “You can be a bit
sharp and grumpy. I’m sure you wouldn’t be with Marguerite, though. In fact, I think she can help you find the fun, laughing, jovial guy you used to be before I was born.”

“How would you know what I was like before you were born?” Julius asked, his eyes narrowing on his son with suspicion.

Christian shrugged. “The aunts talk. When you’re at your grumpiest, they shake their heads and lament how ‘wonderful and easygoing and happy’ you were before ‘that woman’ ruined your life. They like lamenting a lot,” he added dryly. “I’d say it’s an Italian thing, but most of them weren’t born in Italy.”

Julius smiled at his grimace, but said quietly, “She didn’t ruin my life. She gave me you and that was a hell of a gift.”

Christian’s eyes widened slightly, and then he glanced away, uncomfortable with the emotional moment. “Yeah, well,” he said after allowing several minutes of silence to pass. “Too bad she didn’t agree, but instead tried to kill me.”

“She didn’t try to kill you,” Julius said quietly, troubled by the pain he saw flash on his son’s face.

Christian glanced up sharply. “But Marcus said—”

“She told her maid, Magda, to kill you,” he explained.

Christian considered this news. “The maid told you this? Could she have been lying?”

Julius hesitated and then shook his head. “No, Marcus and I both read the memory in Magda’s mind. Your mother definitely told her to kill you and bring your remains to me with the message that she never wanted to see me again.”

“Magda?” Christian said the name slowly. “But she didn’t kill me.”

“No. She brought you straight to me…and your mother killed her for the act of mercy.”

Christian’s eyes widened incredulously. “You didn’t take the woman in? You let her go back to be killed?”

“Of course I took her in,” Julius said with irritation.

“Then how could my mother kill her?”

Julius shifted uncomfortably and then admitted, “The day after Magda brought you to me, we found her dead at the bottom of the stairs…with you in her arms. Your mother was seen at the house and the maid was clutching your mother’s pendant in her hand when we found the two of you. She’d obviously ripped it from her neck as she was pushed.”

“She pushed the maid down the stairs while the woman was holding me,” he repeated dryly. “What a charmer.”

“Yes, well, the fall wouldn’t have killed you so at least she didn’t try to kill you herself.”

“Oh, thanks for pointing that out, Father. It makes me feel loads better,” Christian said sarcastically and shook his head. “Honestly, the more I hear about the woman, the less I really want to find her.”

“I
told
you, you were better off without her,” Julius said with exasperation. “But did you listen? No. You just
had
to find your mother. If you had only listened to me—”

“Marguerite wouldn’t be here,” Christian interrupted dryly.

Julius grimaced, but nodded. “True.”

“So…” Christian tilted his head and said, “You
never told me how it went in The Foyer. Surely you two talked then? You didn’t just sit there silent, did you?”

“No, of course not,” he growled, but then admitted, “It didn’t go very well, though. I asked her about Jean Claude and she—”

“Definitely not the right topic to inspire a happy conversation,” Christian interrupted with exasperation and then sighed and shook his head. “Okay, why don’t we practice your talking with Marguerite?
Out loud
. I’ll be her.”

Julius stared at him blankly. “Now?”

“No, I was thinking maybe next April. Then you could maybe give her a call, arrange a date…” He arched an eyebrow in question, and snapped, “Yes,
now
.”

“Oh, right,” Julius glanced around uncertainly.

“Just pretend I’m her,” Christian suggested. “I’m sitting at the table out there and you and I come out of the bathroom. You take your seat, lean to her and say…”

Julius waited, and then frowned and asked, “What? What do I say?”

Christian’s shoulders slumped and he leaned back against the counter. “
You
were supposed to tell
me
what you would say to her.”

“If I knew what to say to her, I wouldn’t have been sitting staring at her all night,” Julius pointed out impatiently.

“Right,” Christian sighed. “Okay, well let’s try a different tactic. We’ll think of subjects you can discuss with her.”

Julius nodded and then asked, “Like what?”

Christian cursed with exasperation. “Father, you aren’t this stupid. There must be something you want to know about her.”

“Of course there is,” he said with frustration. “I want to know what her life has been like all these centuries.”

“Well, there you are!” Christian brightened.

“No.
There
I’m not,” Julius corrected. “If I ask her that, it will bring up her unhappy marriage to Jean Claude and—as I’ve discovered—that will hardly encourage her to relax and consider another relationship.”

“Well, maybe you could ask about her children then. She loves her children.”

“Yes, her children with Jean Claude, which will remind her of their unhappy union and—”

“Her job, then,” Christian interrupted desperately.

Julius looked doubtful. “It will be a very short conversation. Your case is her first.”

“Yes,” he sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Well, we have to think of something.”

They were both considering the matter when a deep voice growled, “It sounds to me like you’d be better off letting
her
talk.”

Julius and Christian glanced sharply to the door to see G.G. watching them with amusement.

“How long have you been there?” Christian asked with irritation.

“Long enough to know that—as old as you both probably are—you two don’t know a thing about women,” G.G. said with amusement. Pushing himself away from the wall where he’d been leaning, he crossed the room to the urinals.

“And you do?” Christian asked dryly.

“Yep.” He spoke to the wall as he unzipped and began to relieve himself. “Tons of them pass through this place every day and it’s always the same thing. Take a look around when you go back out. The men all stand or sit around in little groups looking serious and saying very little, but
maybe
making the odd comment that
sometimes
brings a round of nods or laughter. But the women?” He finished, gave himself a shake, tucked himself away and moved to the sink to wash his hands, glancing at them as he added, “The women talk. And it’s like a dance to watch.”

“A dance?” Julius asked with interest. G.G. nodded, his tall green Mohawk unmoving on his head. “They lean forward, they reach out to touch a hand, an arm, or a knee, then they lean back to laugh before leaning forward again; eyes sparkling, smiles wide as they chatter on with whatever story they are telling.”

The man was speaking with great admiration. For all his scary looks, he obviously loved women.

“Women like to talk,” he continued. “Men don’t. It works out very well because then they are not both trying to talk at once. The woman talks, the man grunts every once in a while and everyone is happy.”

Christian was staring at him with wide, rather horrified eyes, but Julius nodded and admitted, “I was hoping that she would speak, but she is showing a distressing reluctance to do so. She is quieter than I re—would expect.”

G.G. nodded as he turned off the taps and moved to dry his hands. “You have to get her alone. She’s a lone female with six silent men and she’s old enough to
know men aren’t big talkers. Besides, from what Jeanne Louise and Mirabeau have told me, she was dominated by that Argeneau she was married to. It’s not a natural state for her to be submissive, but it was forced on her. She’s only started to come out of her shell and start managing things since his death. That’s more natural for her, but new at the moment and she will be intimidated by so many males. Get her alone. Ask one question and she will bloom for you.”

Julius frowned. “I have talked to her alone, and did ask her questions and she shut down.”

“You didn’t ask the right question, then,” G.G. said with certainty.