This Same Earth
Page 30
“If you’ll continue this way, Don Ernesto and his family will meet you on the veranda.”
“Thank you for your help, Enzo,” Giovanni said.
“Yeah, thanks.” She followed Giovanni, taking tentative steps toward the sound of glasses clinking and quiet murmuring voices that drifted in the breeze. She was ambushed by a sudden memory of the wild parties Lorenzo had thrown on the island, and she tensed when she remembered the drained human guests who had been casually flung into the sea when the vampires were done with them. She froze and her heart began to race. Giovanni pulled her closer and whispered in her ear.
“It’s not what you’re thinking. If you feel uncomfortable, we’ll go, but it’s to your benefit if you meet him, Beatrice.”
“No,” she said, nodding, “no, it’s fine.”
He squeezed her waist and they continued walking. When they turned the corner, she saw what could only be described as a very elegant dinner party. Though she saw more than one glass filled with what she thought might be blood and more than one human sitting among the vampires, no one was being bitten, and everyone talked and laughed together.
“Ah, Giovanni!” A short, barrel-chested man rose from the far end of the table. He was small and stocky, but his pale skin was set off by dark hair, a thick mustache, and a pair of startling emerald eyes that made Beatrice catch her breath. She had only seen the unusual shade in one other person in her life, and she smiled automatically to see her grandmother’s eyes wink at her from the face of her ancestor.
He reached over and took her hand in his. Unlike Giovanni’s hands, which were always warm, Don Ernesto’s were cool as they enveloped hers. They weren’t clammy the way she remembered Lorenzo’s when he had touched her, so she was able to relax.
“You have finally brought my granddaughter to me,” he said with a delighted smile, shaking Giovanni’s hand after he released her own. “And what a beautiful young woman she is, and so very accomplished. You are a credit to our family, Beatriz.”
“Well…” She laughed a little nervously. “Thank you. I’m very…pleased to meet you.”
“Giovanni has been hiding you in my own city, my dear,” he cocked his head playfully toward Giovanni, who maintained a position behind Beatrice’s right shoulder. “His prerogative, of course, and I understand you’ve been very successful in your studies and in your career.”
“I have, thank you.”
“Please call me abuelo, or Ernesto, since you are family, mi nieta. Come, sit beside me so we may acquaint ourselves.” He showed them to the long table where he had been holding court and Giovanni pulled out the chair to the left of Ernesto’s for her while he took the seat on her other side.
As soon as she sat, a server brought her a glass of water with no ice, asking her in a quiet voice what else he might bring. She asked for a glass of red wine and waited for Giovanni to speak to the man before she turned back to her grandfather.
“O positive, if it’s available,” she heard him murmur to the waiter.
“And would you prefer a donor or a glass, Señor?”
“A glass, please.”
She flushed, wondering what the correct reaction would have been if he’d ordered a donor. As she glanced around the table, she realized more than one donor sitting next to a guest was feeding them from their wrist. It had none of the darkly erotic feel of the biting she had seen at Lorenzo’s, nor the passionate connection she had felt the one time she had fed Giovanni.
Thinking about that night in his bed made the flush rise on her cheeks, and she was thankful that no one seemed to be paying attention to her. Except for Giovanni, who had placed a hand on her thigh under the table, holding it palm up. She placed her hand in his and felt the slight hum of energy that always buzzed when their bodies touched.
“Giovanni,” Ernesto finally called. “I know you are acquainted with my son, Baojia, but have you met my daughter, Paula, and her husband, Rory?” Ernesto nodded toward the beautiful female vampire sitting at the far end of the table. She was tall and regal, no doubt towering over Ernesto, but her dark eyes were friendly, as was her smile.
The man sitting next to her looked exactly how Beatrice expected a cowboy from the old west would look. He was tan, even with the natural paleness of his kind, and had the lean, wiry look of a man who had been used to working outside. His grey, handlebar mustache drooped on either side of his thin mouth, but his eyes twinkled with a silver light.
“I know Paula by reputation, of course,” Giovanni nodded toward the end where the two vampires observed them. “And I had the fortune of meeting Rory many years ago.”
From the smirk that touched the cowboy’s face, Beatrice had the feeling that their meeting may have been of the violent kind. Nonetheless, they nodded toward each other like old comrades before Paula began to speak.
“Giovanni, your companion looks like a delightful young woman. It’s so lovely to meet another member of the family. You are from Texas, are you not, Beatrice?”
“I am,” she said. “From Houston. My grandmother, who is an Alvarez, was from Guadalajara, though.”
That statement sent the vampires at the table into raptures about the beauty of Colonial era Guadalajara and the music and art it produced. The tone of the conversation had the same nostalgic bent as the dinners Beatrice remembered attending with her grandmother’s friends, and she chuckled in amusement.
“Thank you for your help, Enzo,” Giovanni said.
“Yeah, thanks.” She followed Giovanni, taking tentative steps toward the sound of glasses clinking and quiet murmuring voices that drifted in the breeze. She was ambushed by a sudden memory of the wild parties Lorenzo had thrown on the island, and she tensed when she remembered the drained human guests who had been casually flung into the sea when the vampires were done with them. She froze and her heart began to race. Giovanni pulled her closer and whispered in her ear.
“It’s not what you’re thinking. If you feel uncomfortable, we’ll go, but it’s to your benefit if you meet him, Beatrice.”
“No,” she said, nodding, “no, it’s fine.”
He squeezed her waist and they continued walking. When they turned the corner, she saw what could only be described as a very elegant dinner party. Though she saw more than one glass filled with what she thought might be blood and more than one human sitting among the vampires, no one was being bitten, and everyone talked and laughed together.
“Ah, Giovanni!” A short, barrel-chested man rose from the far end of the table. He was small and stocky, but his pale skin was set off by dark hair, a thick mustache, and a pair of startling emerald eyes that made Beatrice catch her breath. She had only seen the unusual shade in one other person in her life, and she smiled automatically to see her grandmother’s eyes wink at her from the face of her ancestor.
He reached over and took her hand in his. Unlike Giovanni’s hands, which were always warm, Don Ernesto’s were cool as they enveloped hers. They weren’t clammy the way she remembered Lorenzo’s when he had touched her, so she was able to relax.
“You have finally brought my granddaughter to me,” he said with a delighted smile, shaking Giovanni’s hand after he released her own. “And what a beautiful young woman she is, and so very accomplished. You are a credit to our family, Beatriz.”
“Well…” She laughed a little nervously. “Thank you. I’m very…pleased to meet you.”
“Giovanni has been hiding you in my own city, my dear,” he cocked his head playfully toward Giovanni, who maintained a position behind Beatrice’s right shoulder. “His prerogative, of course, and I understand you’ve been very successful in your studies and in your career.”
“I have, thank you.”
“Please call me abuelo, or Ernesto, since you are family, mi nieta. Come, sit beside me so we may acquaint ourselves.” He showed them to the long table where he had been holding court and Giovanni pulled out the chair to the left of Ernesto’s for her while he took the seat on her other side.
As soon as she sat, a server brought her a glass of water with no ice, asking her in a quiet voice what else he might bring. She asked for a glass of red wine and waited for Giovanni to speak to the man before she turned back to her grandfather.
“O positive, if it’s available,” she heard him murmur to the waiter.
“And would you prefer a donor or a glass, Señor?”
“A glass, please.”
She flushed, wondering what the correct reaction would have been if he’d ordered a donor. As she glanced around the table, she realized more than one donor sitting next to a guest was feeding them from their wrist. It had none of the darkly erotic feel of the biting she had seen at Lorenzo’s, nor the passionate connection she had felt the one time she had fed Giovanni.
Thinking about that night in his bed made the flush rise on her cheeks, and she was thankful that no one seemed to be paying attention to her. Except for Giovanni, who had placed a hand on her thigh under the table, holding it palm up. She placed her hand in his and felt the slight hum of energy that always buzzed when their bodies touched.
“Giovanni,” Ernesto finally called. “I know you are acquainted with my son, Baojia, but have you met my daughter, Paula, and her husband, Rory?” Ernesto nodded toward the beautiful female vampire sitting at the far end of the table. She was tall and regal, no doubt towering over Ernesto, but her dark eyes were friendly, as was her smile.
The man sitting next to her looked exactly how Beatrice expected a cowboy from the old west would look. He was tan, even with the natural paleness of his kind, and had the lean, wiry look of a man who had been used to working outside. His grey, handlebar mustache drooped on either side of his thin mouth, but his eyes twinkled with a silver light.
“I know Paula by reputation, of course,” Giovanni nodded toward the end where the two vampires observed them. “And I had the fortune of meeting Rory many years ago.”
From the smirk that touched the cowboy’s face, Beatrice had the feeling that their meeting may have been of the violent kind. Nonetheless, they nodded toward each other like old comrades before Paula began to speak.
“Giovanni, your companion looks like a delightful young woman. It’s so lovely to meet another member of the family. You are from Texas, are you not, Beatrice?”
“I am,” she said. “From Houston. My grandmother, who is an Alvarez, was from Guadalajara, though.”
That statement sent the vampires at the table into raptures about the beauty of Colonial era Guadalajara and the music and art it produced. The tone of the conversation had the same nostalgic bent as the dinners Beatrice remembered attending with her grandmother’s friends, and she chuckled in amusement.
