The reception was held in a different grand hall. My brother, Lydia, Bridget, and I formed a receiving line by the entrance to thank and greet our guests. Damon put it on a bit, bowing and pretending to know people he didn't. Compelling them into thinking he was an old friend, no doubt. While Bridget showed off her ring, Lydia gave everyone warm kisses or handshakes or smiles, whatever their relationship dictated. She even laughed when Bram tried to snatch a "farewell" kiss. Bridget stood by her side, beaming with what looked like genuine joy.
"Thank you for coming today," I said time and time again, the words tasting like chalk on my tongue. "We're so glad you could come celebrate with us. My thanks for being here today. Pleased to meet you, thank you so much for being here."
"Stefan Salvatore?" demanded a matron in an almost unmoving thick gray silk dress and pearls, holding on to my hand for longer than was strictly necessary. She pronounced the e at the end of my last name and fixed me with an eye as stony as her skirts.
"Yes, ma'am," I said, giving her as warm a smile as I could.
"Of the Florentine Salvatores? Prince Alessandro?"
"I'm not rightly sure, ma'am," I answered, trying to keep my smile. "When my father came to this country he declared himself an American. He didn't keep up with our old relations."
Her eyes widened and her grip on my hand became loose. "An immigrant. How charming." She didn't smile and pulled her hand out of my grasp, moving on.
Several hundred people later we finally got to sit down. The bride and groom's table was festooned with palm fronds and garlands of huge flowers, and was covered with every expensive delicacy you could want to eat - or show off that you could afford. There was a seafood appetizer of oysters and other delicacies including Scottish smoked salmon and Russian caviar. Then came a main course that consisted of an absolutely staggering number of dead animals: roast beef, quail, venison, pheasant, woodcock, duck, lamb, roast pork, hot and cold, braised and grilled, minced and sauteed, sliced and in pies.
It was all crowned off by a wedding cake, five tiers of the finest fruitcake covered in fondant and decorated with scrolls, swoops, columns, and sugar birds. The black-jacketed waiters poured glass after glass of champagne, and everyone chatted gaily. But my muscles were tied in knots. The "wedding" was officially over. Damon and I were legally married into the Sutherland family. It was only a matter of time before he began the next phase of his plan - whatever that ended up being.
"Darling, get me a glass of water, would you?" Lydia was asking my brother, touching him tenderly on the cheek.
"In some ceremonies, it's the lady's place to love, honor, and obey. Shouldn't you be getting one for me, little wife?" he smiled, but in a way I didn't like.
"Of course! Anything for you, dear," Lydia said. "Water, wine..."
"Blood?" Damon prompted.
Lydia laughed. "If you wish, it's my command."
Bridget didn't eat any of the expensive repast, leaping up from the table constantly to talk to her friends, holding out her hand and showing off her ring. I spent most of dinner nervously pushing very expensive food around a very expensive plate with a very expensive, very heavy silver fork, never taking my eyes off Damon.
As dessert came out, Bram took pity on me and sat down in Bridget's place for a moment.
"Congrats, old chap," he said, shaking my hand. "You and Damon snagged two of the best New York has to offer."
I nodded miserably.
"Mr. and Mrs. Sutherland are just terrific. And Margaret... well, she's a spitfire, but I trust you'll be able to win her over eventually."
My head snapped up. "Have you noticed anything, er, odd about Margaret?" Bram had known the Sutherlands since he was born. Perhaps he had some insight into what made Margaret able to withstand Damon's charms.
Bram scratched his floppy black curls. "Odd?"
"Yes, she's different from the others. Stronger," I said leadingly.
Bram let out a rueful laugh. "That's for sure. One time when we were younger, I stole her favorite doll to use it as a nurse in a war game with my brother. I swear, the look she gave me! She didn't even have to touch me to send a painful shock through my entire body. Needless to say, I never played with her toys again."
"She was able to hurt you without touching you?" I pressed, trying to put the pieces together.
But just then, Winfield tapped me on the shoulder and nodded toward a back room. Damon came with us, a mock-serious look on his face. As we quietly filed past the guests and down a side corridor, I strained to look out the windows. Through trees and towers I could see the mighty Hudson and the Palisades, a golden sun shining down on the sparkling river, the green forests, boats and barges parading slowly up and down the water. I almost did feel like a king surveying his countryside, since marrying into this family set me into the top of New York's highest society.
We entered a dark-paneled smoking room, and Winfield immediately set about pouring some ruby-red sherry. Damon pulled out a silver flask and right there in front of Winfield spiked his drink with blood. Human blood.
"To marriage eternal," Damon said, raising his glass.