Page 37 of My Big Fat Vampire Wedding

“M orocco, wow,” Victor said as they watched a car pull down the airstrip, as if waiting for them.

As Pandora tried not to panic.

Three days in sunny Morocco.

No trusty London fog or rain to make it easier for her to move around without worrying about burning or incinerating.

What the hell was she going to do?

Even as the thought formed, though, she remembered the visit from her brother right before she’d left. The large tube he’d given her. The same tube she’d stuffed into her bag before zipping it up.

She had the vampire sunscreen.

So while she hadn’t had room to pack a parasol, she could slather herself in the sunscreen, wear long layers for her “circulation issues” and wear her big, wide-brimmed hat.

It would be OK.

“Just give me one second,” Pandora said as the jet stopped and Mikhail opened the door. “I want to freshen up.” She grabbed her bag and rushed into the tiny bathroom.

Alone, she grabbed the tube of sunscreen, then started to slather it across her face, neck, hands, and the portion of her arms that could possibly peek out from beneath her shirtsleeves.

She had a bit of a white cast on her skin, but, hey, Victor already thought she was prone to sunburn, so he would understand her putting on some thick sunscreen.

Satisfied, she dug around for her hat, stuck it on, then made her way back out to meet Victor.

To be fair, Ambrosia had a point. She’d never considered the idea of having to leave London with Victor, that they might happen to go to places in the world where she wouldn’t have the same protections she did in London.

That said, it wasn’t a real relationship.

She didn’t have to travel with Victor if she didn’t want to.

In fact, they were both going to be too busy to travel for the year of their arrangement.

She would be busy building her bookshop.

He would be working on his thesis and getting a job once he graduated.

So this challenge was just a little hiccup in their plans. It wasn’t going to be the lesson Ambrosia was trying to teach her.

“Ready?” Victor asked. “Mikhail said the car should take us to our accommodation. And there will be everything we need there.”

“Brilliant,” Pandora said, ignoring the pit in her stomach as they started to move out into the sunshine.

They stopped inside the airport, per instructions, to exchange their pounds for dirham, then slid into the sleek black car with heavily tinted windows, allowing Pandora to breathe a sigh of relief.

Victor rolled down the car window, letting in the salty sea air as they drove closer to the blue-washed buildings. Pandora could make out the vibrant life of the medina. Shopkeepers stood near displays of their colourful textiles, local crafts, and leather goods.

“Have you ever been?” Pandora asked, watching Victor as he took in the sights.

“No. It’s stunning, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Pandora wasn’t sure if she was speaking of Morocco or of Victor himself.

The car dropped them off at the bottom of a seemingly never-ending staircase, each step and the walls on the sides all painted in hues of blue.

According to their folder of instructions, they would find their accommodation somewhere near the very top.

“Shall we?” Victor asked, waving toward the stairs.

And so they did, making their way up the steps, occasionally stopping to glance at shop fares or gorgeous tiles that adorned doorways to private residences.

“Oh, brilliant,” Victor said, making Pandora turn to see him pulling a pretty red umbrella with white trim out of a holder at a shop. “You didn’t pack yours,” he said, handing it to her. He fished some dirham out of his pocket and handed it to the woman, who gave them both a soft smile.

While Pandora trusted Dante’s sunscreen, she was thankful for the added protection. And incredibly charmed by Victor’s considerate nature.

“Thank you,” she said, and they began walking again.

“Thought I was in reasonably good shape,” Victor said a while later, giving Pandora a grimace as they got to about halfway up the hill. “All these steps have proven me wrong on that.” He reached down to rub his aching thighs before starting to climb once again.

When they made it to the top, it was just a short walk toward a private white-stucco home.

It was cozy and neat, set against a backdrop of the mountains with a wonderful view of the Blue City below them.

“This is stunning,” Victor said, back to her, his hands on his hips as he looked at their view.

She had to agree.

But, this time, she was sure she meant him. Even if he clearly didn’t feel the same way about her.

The inside of the house was small, but not claustrophobic, complete with a fully functioning kitchen with a washer/dryer, a living room with two couches, a nice-sized bathroom that had a basket full of essentials waiting for them, and, finally, the bedroom.

Pandora couldn’t help it.

She stopped in the doorway, a laugh bubbling up and bursting out.

It was straight out of one of the books she and Lucy were always reading.

There was only one bed.

It was the oldest trope in the genre.

And one of Pandora’s favourites.

Now here she was, experiencing it.

“What’s so funny?” Victor asked, watching her with his lips curved up and his eyes warm.

“Nothing,” Pandora said. “Just trying to, um, picture Ambrosia here, is all,” she said. “This is lovely.” She took her suitcase over to the side of the bed she was claiming.

“So, what do we do? Explore? Get something to eat?”

“Sure,” Pandora said, really not caring what they did, just kind of excited for some time alone with him without the pressures of her family and the wedding planning.

It was every bit as lovely as she’d secretly hoped it would be.

Walking side by side, perusing small shops and wares, stopping when they were tired, to read, sitting beside each other, getting tajine for dinner, trying spiced coffee out of gorgeous hand-painted cups with saucers, soaking in the sights and sounds of this charming town.

Until, eventually, they made their way back to their house.

Where Victor had to go and ruin her excitement about the whole one-bed situation by declaring he was going to let her have the bed to herself and sleep on the couch instead.

She supposed she should be thankful he was such a gentle-man, but the ache she felt as she rolled restlessly in the bed alone had other things to say about the whole thing.

When she finally did sleep, she did so fitfully, waking up feeling cranky and tired. Until she smelled the scent of fresh coffee.

It might not have been her favorite drink back home, but she’d taken a fancy to the spiced coffee in Morocco. Enough that she was pretty sure that when she opened her bookshop, they would have to have something like it on the menu.

“Good morning,” Victor said as she moved out of the bedroom to find him standing in the kitchen, clothes still rumpled from sleep.

“Morning,” she said, giving him a genuine smile. “Did you get us coffee?”

“And baghrir,” he said.

“What’s baghrir?” Pandora asked, accepting her spiced coffee.

“Pancakes, essentially.” Victor produced a plate stacked with golden pancakes. “But made with semolina and then soaked in honey and butter.”

“Sounds great,” Pandora said, wondering how hungry she was going to be by the time they made it back to London. She didn’t think there was going to be an opportunity to find somewhere to buy blood, let alone a way to drink it in private.

She would be fine, of course. She’d have to go a really long time without sustenance to actually have to worry about it killing her for real. But she would get hungrier, would start looking at people’s throats, imagining sinking her teeth in.

“Pandy?” Victor asked, making her shake her head and accept the plate he was holding out toward her.

“Sorry. Not awake yet,” she told him as they set their food and coffee on the table.

They had breakfast, talking about what attractions they wanted to see before taking off to do just that.

It was one of the happiest days of Pandora’s life. Walking around and chatting with Victor, buying little trinkets – some for memories, others as gifts – and ducking into shops when random little rain showers broke out.

If Ambrosia’s plan had been to show Pandora how incompatible she was with Victor, the entire thing had backfired epically.

If anything, by the time they trudged all the way back up to the house late that night, Pandora was more convinced than ever that she had fallen harder than she’d expected for her fake fiancé.

She was still battling with those feelings as she made her way toward the bedroom later, but pulled to a stop when the bathroom door opened, bringing with it a puff of hot air and steam.

And Victor.

In nothing but a low-slung towel.

All of the many hours she’d spent thinking about him without his clothes on had clearly been a waste of time. Her imagination had nothing on the reality.

The breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his chest, the definition of his abdominal muscles – neither too faint, nor too etched – and, she realized with a choked little whimper, those little indents of his Adonis belt that dared you to follow, to seek what was hidden beneath the towel.

“All yours,” Victor said.

It took Pandora an embarrassingly long time to realize he wasn’t referring to his body, but the bathroom.

“Oh, right, thanks,” she said, but she made a beeline for the bedroom, closing the door, then leaning against it as she tried to ease the chaos thrumming through her veins.

There was a knock at the door, making her jolt and whip around. “Yeah?”

When he didn’t answer, she pulled open the door. She didn’t know if she was disappointed or relieved that he’d changed into a T-shirt and jeans. “Hey, want to read some more of that book?” he asked, giving her a sheepish little smile.

“Really?” she asked, brightening.

“Really. We can’t leave the heroine hanging. She’s about to uncover who stabbed her husband.”

“I think it’s the brother,” Pandora said, rushing toward her luggage to find the book.

“The brother? No,” Victor said, shaking his head. “I think it was the priest.”

“The priest ?” Pandora asked, shocked. “No way.”

“All the signs are there,” Victor said, plucking the book out of her hands as they both made their way to the living room to curl up on the couch.

Victor read long into the night, until his voice grew hoarse and they were forced to both head to bed.

As Pandora lay alone in bed, she wasn’t sure if she was upset, or grateful, that the book they were sharing was a slow burn.

But they had one more night in Morocco.

Who knew what could happen.