Page 14 of My Big Fat Vampire Wedding

“T his could not be happening.

It was supposed to be a low-key affair.

But through the open door where Ravenna was standing, Pandora could hear laughter echoing off the high ceilings and the animated hum of conversations drifting out into the night.

“It’s gonna be all right,” Victor said, sensing her rising panic and giving her hand a squeeze before starting to pull her forward.

Ravenna turned and made her way into the sitting room, waving her arms out toward the crowd, her long sleeves dangerously close to gliding into someone’s glass that Pandora hoped to hell was filled with wine, not blood.

To the side of the room, her cousin Jasper, pale as death, (because, well …) was trying to excuse himself from a conversation with Ravenna’s husband, Reginald. A man who, once he got you cornered, never ran out of things to talk about.

Pandora’s gaze swept around the rest of the crowd, trying to find anything out of place enough for her to need to step in.

There was Uncle Reginald, decked out in a full-on 1850s military uniform – all red material, gold buttons, and gilded shoulder fringe.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, he was speaking animatedly to Vlad, whose beak was moving as well, as he answered whatever questions Reginald was asking him.

She supposed she should at least be thankful that Reginald hadn’t worn his shakos cap, complete with its foot-and-a-half-tall feather on top.

Ravenna clapped loudly, making most conversations halt.

“They’re here! The happy couple is here!” Ravenna said with such gusto that Pandora tried not to cringe.

Victor’s hand gave hers another squeeze as Ophelia and Lucian moved out of the crowd, making their way over toward Pandora and Victor.

“Mum, Dad, this is Victor,” Pandora said as soon as they were close. “Victor, this is my mum and dad.”

“Mrs. Von Ashmore,” Victor said, using his free hand to reach for Ophelia’s hand, since Pandora was clinging to his other one. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” he said as her mother’s keen gaze moved over him to land on their hands.

Pandora panicked, thinking she was picking up on the fact that they clearly weren’t doing it or anything. Instead, Ophelia cleared her throat and bulged her eyes slightly making Pandora look down and realize she wa s squeezing Victor’s hand so hard that it had turned white.

“Yes, Victor,” Ophelia said as soon as Pandora had eased her hold on Victor’s hand. “We are glad to make your acquaintance. Even if we have just recently learned about you,” she said.

“Mr. Von Ashmore,” Victor said, giving Pandora’s father a firm shake, keeping eye contact. Which Pandora knew couldn’t have been easy because her father was, arguably, the scariest man in any room.

“Victor,” Lucian said, his gaze moving over his daughter’s fiancé.

“Is that a ring I see?” Ravenna rushed up beside Ophelia, ramming into her in the process and sending Ophelia crashing into her husband.

“Oh, yes,” Pandora said, about to lift her hand. Ravenna was faster, grabbing Pandora’s hand and yanking it hard enough to make her stumble forward.

“Oh, this is a beaut,” Ravenna said, pulling the ring up close.

Then, and Pandora couldn’t make this up, producing one of those little jewelry magnifying glasses out of some hidden pocket to inspect the ring more closely.

“Yes, very nice. You know, I’ve always said you can judge a man by how fine his taste in jewelry is.

The vam … man,” Ravenna caught herself, “I dated before my dear Reginald didn’t know the difference between an emerald and a ruby.

Clearly, that was a courtship due to fail.

But you, my dear,” she said, looking from Pandora to Victor.

“You have found a keeper. Reginald!” Her shout made Victor, unaccustomed to her loudness, jerk.

“Get over here and meet Pandora’s fiancé. ”

Reginald untangled himself from his conversation with the raven, shuffled over, then gave Victor a hearty handshake. “Nice to meet you, old boy,” he said, trying to straighten himself up to full height, despite being a solid six inches shorter than Victor.

“You too, sir,” Victor said, perfect manners on display. “Is that a real sword?”

“This?” Reginald asked, reaching for it and then brandishing it with wild abandon, making everyone take a step back from him. “It sure is, my boy. I took this thing off of the bod—”

“Hey!” Pandora cut in, voice high and tinny.

“Is that Dante?” She looked across the room, desperate to get Victor away from Reginald, who’d just been about to tell the story of roaming the fields of battle, looking for some easy necks to sip from, when he came upon the uniform he was currently wearing and decided he needed it for his own collection.

On any given day, Reginald could be wearing the cloak of some forgotten king, a Roman toga, or, once, a full-on hippie costume straight out of sixties California. And with each of those outfits, there was the story of the poor human who’d lost their life.

As Pandora physically pulled Victor away from that crowd, she could hear Ravenna whisper-yelling at her husband.

“He’s a mortal, remember? You can’t go around talking about killing his kind.”

“Dante,” Pandora said, a desperate edge slipping into her voice as they approached her brother, dodging another dozen or so family members in the process.

“Going well?” he asked with a little smirk. “Victor, nice to meet you.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?” Pandora asked, glancing around the room to see one of her cousins pour something thick and viscous into a glass.

“Mum took my mobile, so I couldn’t,” Dante said, shaking his head. “Tried to sneak out once or twice too. But you know Mum.”

“She looks so young,” Victor said, making Pandora stiffen.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Really good genes,” she said.

“And your father is …”

“Scary as hell?” Dante filled in for him. “I would say he’s a big softy underneath it all, but that would be a lie. He’s got a soft spot for Pandy, but that only means he’s gonna hate you all the more.”

“Not helping,” Pandora said, wincing.

“Pandy?” Victor asked, shooting Pandora a smile.

“Here, dear,” Ravenna said, shoving a goblet toward Victor. “You must be parched!”

Panicked, Pandora’s hand shot out, grabbing the goblet before Victor could lift it to his lips.

He shot her a scrunched-brow look as she sniffed the liquid.

But it was wine.

“Just wine,” she said on an exhale.

“What else would it be, dear?” Ravenna asked, looking at Pandora like she was the crazy one.

“Thank you,” Victor said, pulling his glass back and taking a polite sip.

It was virtually impossible for vampires to get drunk. But Pandora was moments away from testing that theory.

“Of course, my dear. Dinner should be ready shortly,” she said, making Pandora’s stomach sink.

“Dinner?” she asked, looking at Dante. “Please tell me they ordered in.”

“Afraid not,” he said, giving her a pained look she didn’t quite understand.

“What’s the problem?” Victor asked, looking between the two of them.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just … no one in my family is a good cook. We’re, er, cursed that way, I guess. So maybe just … take a couple of small, polite bites.”

Dante nodded. “Or spit it discreetly into your napkin.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Victor said.

That was where he was wrong.

As he would find out after a few more tense introductions, mostly only on Pandora’s part. Victor seemed to be handling things effortlessly. Even occasionally shooting her reassuring smiles.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked as everyone started to file into the dining room.

“Sure,” she asked, instantly on edge.

“Your family … the way they dress and speak …”

“Oh!” she said, mind racing. “They’re, you know, part of a historical reenactment society.

They really get into character sometimes.

It’s hard for them to, well, turn it off.

Uncle Reginald especially,” she added, glad to plant seeds of doubt for when Uncle Reggie eventually said something that wouldn’t make any sense.

“He’s kind of a … What do they call them?

When an actor really commits to a part?”

“A method actor,” Victor said.

“Right. That. He once went around telling us that he was a close personal friend of Socrates,” she said, rolling her eyes for emphasis.

“That explains it,” Victor said. Pandora thought she heard a false note in his voice, but they’d just made their way into the dining room. And, well, there were other, more important problems at hand.

Like the fact that there was an entire roasted pig sitting in the center of the table like decor, an apple in its mouth.

Ravenna was still standing, waiting for them to enter, proud and puffed as a peacock as she waved at the feast . “We have all of the best here! Suckling pig, swan pie, jellied eel, ox tongue in claret sauce, lamprey in blood sauce, pottage, butter-basted turnips, and honeyed parsnips!”

Pandora’s gaze searched the table for Dante, suddenly understanding the sick, almost green, look he’d given her when speaking of her family cooking.

They’d certainly cooked, all right.

Delicacies, even.

By medieval standards, maybe.

Victor looked a bit grey at the selection.

He leaned in close to Pandora’s ear. “Isn’t it illegal to kill swans?”

“Oh, um, I’m sure it’s just, like, actually chicken,” she said, sure of no such thing. “Stick to the veg and pottage,” she whispered to him before Ravenna rushed forward, breaking them apart to sit them across from each other at the table.

“Reginald, dear, if you could do the honors,” she said, waving toward the pig.

And then her uncle stood and proceeded to draw his sword and attempt to carve with that, knocking over a decanter of wine in the process.

Pandora almost brought up her elbows on the table and held her head in her hands. It was her mother’s intense, perceptive gaze that kept her spine against the chair back and her chin lifted.