Stakes & Stilettos - Michelle Rowen [25]
“Toronto mostly.”
“What does he do for a living?”
“Uh… he owns a nightclub.”
He gave me a look that informed me he didn’t consider that a worthy or respectable occupation. Until five years ago when he retired, my father was on the Abottsville police force. He was well known for his excellent interrogation skills.
“How old is he?”
I swallowed. “He’s thirty-six. Just turned.”
“Eight years older than you? That is a significant age difference, Sarah.”
Right. If only he knew the truth. “It doesn’t make a difference to me.”
“He’s wearing a very expensive suit. He has money?”
“Sure.” I gulped another mouthful of wine.
“Have you gotten another full-time job yet?”
“Um, no, not yet.”
“So are you saying that this new rich boyfriend of yours is supporting you?”
“More wine, please!” I hollered. My mother came by and topped off my glass.
My father’s expression softened a bit and he put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry if it seems that I’m being judgmental, but I only care about what’s best for my little girl.” His eyes narrowed and he took another look at the suspect in question. “I get a strange vibe from him. Like there’s something off. But you say you’re happy with him?”
“Ecstatically so.”
He looked at me sternly. “What is the rule about sarcasm in this house?”
“Only on Saturdays?”
“Sarah—”
“Look, Dad, what do you want me to say? I’m in love with Thierry. I wanted you and Mom to meet him. He’s really great.”
He nodded and watched my mother tentatively approach Thierry and a couple of aunts to see if they wanted some cheese and crackers. The aunts went for it. Thierry declined.
“Are you planning on getting engaged?” he asked.
I choked a little on my latest sip of sparkling wine. “Not in the immediate future.”
He frowned. “Why not? Doesn’t he want to commit?”
“Look, can we lay off the twenty questions already and talk about something else?”
My mother approached with the tray of cheese and crackers. “Talk about what?”
“Sarah and Thierry have no plans of committing to each other,” my father commented. “Perhaps he’s not the marrying kind.”
My mother looked distraught. “But, Sarah, why waste your time with someone who doesn’t want to marry you? You’re still young, but time is a fleeting thing. You know what they say about the cow and the milk, don’t you?”
“Mom—”
“You’re not giving away free milk, are you, honey?”
I sighed heavily. “What is marriage? I mean, seriously. It’s just a piece of paper. Or, possibly, a chiseled ancient tablet of some kind or however they did it back in the fourteenth century. It doesn’t mean anything. I like things just the way they are.”
“But you always dreamed of a perfect wedding,” my mother persisted. “With a white dress and a long veil and doves released at the end of the ceremony!”
“Dreams can change,” I said. And I meant it, too.
“I think I know what’s going on here.” My father’s arms were crossed. “He’s a married man, isn’t he?”
My eyes widened. Damn, he was a good cop.
Mom gasped and held a hand up to her mouth. “No! He’s married? To another woman? Sarah, what on earth are you thinking?”
Instead of throwing up on the pale green wall-to-wall carpeting, which was my first inclination, I glanced over to where Thierry was surrounded by the aunt entourage. They’d popped a tape into the VCR and were taking the liberty of showing him my secret shame, aka the only commercial I’d done when I’d been an aspiring actress. I hadn’t even known it was still in existence.
“Feel fresh as the morning dew,” the twenty-year-old me (with much longer hair) said with a big, bright, and shiny smile. “With Daisy Fresh personal deodorant maxipads, you’ll never worry about not being as fabulous as you can possibly be!”
Obviously things could not get any worse than they already were.
I turned back and fixed my parents with a steady look. “Hey, guess what? I’m a vampire.”
They frowned.
“What did you say, dear?” my mother asked.
“I’m a vampire. It happened a couple of months ago. So, I won’t be aging anymore. I’m immortal. I’ve come home to go to my reunion so I have a chance to feel