Page 4 of My Big Fat Vampire Wedding

P andora woke up in the early afternoon, ready to shower, dress, and get herself mentally prepared for the discussion with her parents.

She was just making her way down the staircase when the front door creaked open, making the golden sun illuminate the foyer and casting the figure in the doorway in shadow.

“Dante?” Pandora said as he pulled the hood down from his head and looked over at her.

Dante had inherited his good looks from both their parents. He had their mother’s flawless skin and her pier-cing blue eyes, but their father’s sharp jaw and prominent brow.

It was a misconception that vampires only had “families” by biting and turning humans.

Well, that was true enough. For most vampires.

But the Von Ashmores were old-school. Interested in things like lineage and legacy.

And they were wealthy enough to invest in the expensive magicks that would allow them to conceive.

Sure, it was a lengthy and often difficult process.

And then there was the awkward and rapid growth from baby to full-grown adult vampire, but it was possible.

Pandora and Dante were proof of that. As was much of their extended family.

“Were you out all day?” Pandora asked as her brother moved down the hallway toward the kitchen.

He ignored her question, though, as he went right to the fridge, digging around behind the bottles of wine.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, snatching his hand back and closing the fridge. “What are you lurking around for?” he asked.

“I’m waiting for Mum and Dad to wake up.”

“Why?”

“To try to talk some sense into them.” She sighed. “I don’t have a lot of faith that it’ll work, but I have to try.”

“What do you need to talk sense into them about?” he asked, making her recall that he’d been suspiciously absent from the house when her parents had sat her down to break the bad news to her.

“My inheritance,” she said. “And the specific clause around it.”

“The one where you have to be married to receive it?”

“How did you know about that?” Pandora asked, throwing up a hand.

Dante furrowed his brow. “Because that’s how it has been for centuries?”

Apparently, Pandora was the only one not paying attention. In her defense, there were spicy books to read. Tens of thousands of them. It was actually one of the things she most looked forward to when it came to immortality.

“You know how they are, Pandy,” Dante said, shaking his head. “They’re not going to see reason about this.”

“They have to,” she said, a hint of panic sneaking into her voice. “I need that money.”

Dante turned away from her for a moment, staring off at the house in general.

“So, get married.”

A laugh burst out of Pandora at that. He couldn’t have been so distracted by … whatever the hell he was doing all the time that he hadn’t noticed she’d been single for, oh, ages.

“Oh, right. Just get married. To my invisible boyfriend. No big deal. Won’t be suspicious at all.”

“So, get a boyfriend.”

“Maybe it’s that easy for you, Dante, but I haven’t dated anyone in forever. There’s no reason to assume that string of bad luck is going to change in the next year, let alone three months.”

“Fake it,” Dante said, shrugging.

“Fake what? Dating?”

“Yeah. Find someone to date, then marry. Get your inheritance, then just break it off.”

Pandora thought for a moment. That wasn’t … outside the realm of possibility. Fake dating was the main plot of at least three-quarters of the romcom novels Lucy passed to Pandora once she was done with them.

But how did one realistically find someone willing to get into that sort of arrangement?

“Why would anyone ever agree to that?” Pandora asked, since Dante seemed to be full of answers.

“Pay him,” Dante said.

“I don’t have any money.”

“From your inheritance , Pandy.” Dante rolled his eyes at her. “Get someone to agree to it. Maybe someone who needs the money. Agree to some terms. Then parade him around the family like some epic whirlwind romance. Really sell it,” he added. “You know how Mum is.”

If by “how she is” Dante meant almost alarmingly perceptive and great at sniffing out a lie, then, yes, Pandora was painfully aware.

Like the time Pandora had claimed she’d gone out all night hunting prey, only to have her mother take one sniff at her and know she’d spent the night at a coffee shop sipping chamomile tea and reading a book about rival dog groomers falling in love and living happily ever after.

“Then, once everyone is convinced, plan the wedding, get married, stay married for a while, get your money, and get a divorce. Claim things just didn’t work out. You weren’t compatible after all. Very sad and all that. Then just … take your money and live your undead life.”

He made it all sound so doable. Easy, even.

And, hey, there had to be an endless pool of men who needed some extra cash just like she did.

She would have to work fast if she was going to do this.

“Dante, I think you may have just saved …” She trailed off at the sound of heels clicking across the tile floor.

Their mother was awake.

Awake and in heels within moments of climbing out of her coffin.

Ophelia Von Ashmore was nothing if not the most elegant woman in every room.

Pandora turned to see her mother move into the space, her heels clicking, but she seemed to glide over.

Her body was clad in a floor-length crimson velvet dress that hugged every curve.

Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, perfectly styled even after a full night of lying in a coffin.

Her porcelain skin contrasted stunningly against her inky brows and lashes, making her brilliant blue eyes stand out all the more.

Every time she looked at her mother, Pandora understood why their father remained so enamored with her even after centuries at each other’s side. She was easily the most beautiful woman Pandora had ever seen.

“What have we here?” Ophelia asked in that smooth, sultry voice of hers, looking between her children, making Pandora resist the urge to squirm.

“Good evening, Mother,” Pandora said, determined to act as if nothing was wrong at all. And, more importantly, that she wasn’t scheming against the terms her parents – most especially her mother – had spelled out the night before.

“Pandora,” Ophelia said, inspecting her eldest daughter from head to toe, making Pandora painfully aware of her jeans and simple black work T-shirt with Luna Bean’s logo across her chest. And, perhaps most grievously in her mum’s eyes, her white canvas trainers, complete with a coffee stain on one toe.

“Have you recovered from last night’s dramatics? ”

“Hello, Mum,” Dante said, drawing Ophelia’s attention away from her daughter.

“Dante, my dear,” Ophelia said, walking over toward her son with her hand outstretched, her stiletto-shaped nails painted the colour of fresh blood. She leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, leaving red stains on his skin.

Ophelia had always had a soft spot for her son. Indulged his every whim. Forgiven every trespass.

Thankfully, Dante didn’t use that favor against his sister. If anything, he attempted to distract their mother’s attention away from Pandora whenever possible.

“Good evening, family.” Pandora’s father’s voice boomed as he moved into the kitchen.

He, unlike their mother, had yet to dress for the day, moving into the space in black silk pyjamas and a cinched maroon dressing gown.

Lucian Von Ashmore was an intimidating man. Tall and fit, with dark brown hair, nearly black eyes, and classic, aristocratic features.

To others, Lucian was terrifying enough to make perceptive humans turn and run when faced with him in a dark alley.

To Pandora, he was a doting, loving father. Who indulged his daughter the same way their mother indulged Dante.

“My love, my eternal life,” Lucian said, grabbing Ophelia, bending her backward, and placing a kiss on her lips.

A long one.

Long enough for Pandora to look away uncomfortably and Dante to reach up and rub a hand down his face.

“What are we discussing?” Lucian asked once he set his wife back onto her heels.

“I have yet to ascertain that, darling,” Ophelia said, running a hand up her husband’s chest.

“We were just catching up,” Pandora said.

“Yep. Catching up.”

“While on that topic,” Ophelia said. “We will be having guests this weekend.”

Pandora resisted a sigh, wondering which eccentric aunt, uncle, or distant cousin would be coming to stay.

Their last guest had been with them for two years and had had an alarmingly elaborate feeding ritual that included hours of chanting at the moon in dead languages before finally making his way out to find a vein to tap.

“Who?” Dante asked when Pandora was too consumed with the memory of some third cousin twice removed who’d shown up at their door with an entire suitcase full of teeth. Human? Animal? She’d had no idea. And he’d refused to explain further.

“Your aunt Anastacia and Uncle Alexander, along with that lovely daughter of theirs.”

Lovely?

Pandora barely contained a scoff at the idea of that snobby, competitive, arrogant, tattling cousin of hers being considered “lovely”.

True, it had been many decades since she’d seen that particular relation. But the last time her cousin had been there, she’d run to Ophelia to tell her that Pandora was playing with the human children instead of feeding on them like she was supposed to.

“I presume you will still insist on being out every night?” Ophelia asked, looking at Pandora.

“At work, yes.”

“With that … dog.” Ophelia sniffed.

“Mum, Lucy is a werewolf, not a dog. That’s so … speciesist.”

Her mother sighed dramatically at that but said no more, and Pandora made her excuses to get going before they could all start arguing again.

“Think about it,” Dante said as they passed each other in the hallway. “Then you’re not under anyone’s thumb anymore.”

Oh, she was thinking about it, all right.

In fact, it was all she could think about as she walked toward the train, the leaves drifting lazily down around her.

It was the perfect plan.

If only she could find the right man for the job.

Caramel Macchiato Cutie immediately popped into her head – but, fine, she totally imagined him dressed in a parted white linen shirt à la Colin Firth, as Mr. Darcy, when he walked back after taking a dip in the lake.

She was quick to squash that fantasy, though.

He would never go for it.

He was so serious and studious.

That was not the kind of guy who would agree to some absurd fake-dating scenario. Even if she offered a ton of money for the inconvenience.

She was just going to have to find someone else.

No matter how much her heart ached at the idea.

But there it was, nestled on a narrow, cobblestoned street that looked untouched by time. The abandoned shop stood as a quiet monument to faded dreams. Its once-bright facade had been dulled by grime and streaks of soot, the peeling green paint exposing patches of weathered wood underneath.

A hand-painted sign hung precariously above the doorway, its cracked golden letters spelling out Greyson’s Toy Museum in elegant script. Beneath it, the arched entrance was blocked by rusted shutters, locking it down tight.

The windows were the shop’s saddest feature – large panes of glass fogged with age and smeared with streaks of dirt, revealing only faint shadows of the interior. There were spiderweb cracks branching out from one corner, like the store’s heart was breaking with its own neglect.

A battered old noticeboard clung to the brick wall beside the door. Layers of faded posters with yellowing pages for events long past were still situated behind the protective glass.

Above it, a wrought-iron lantern leaned slightly to the side, but Pandora couldn’t help but imagine it straightened, the glass cleaned, and the bulbs replaced, thinking of the romantic glow it would create in the evenings.

Pandora had always felt it was the kind of place where stories belonged.

She imagined the paint restored, the windows polished and sparkling, allowing passersby to look through and see the rows of carefully arranged bookshelves and displays featuring bookish merchandise.

She thought of customers pulled inward with the promise of comfy chairs to sink into while they got lost in their next adventure.

Pandora forced her gaze away, the thought of reviving the shop filling her with a pang of longing, a bittersweet ache for the life and community she could build there if only she had the means to unlock its full potential.

If she couldn’t find the right man to use to convince her family she loved him enough to marry him, any chance of her opening her dream bookshop would disappear.

Her gaze moved around the streets, wondering how she might pinpoint the kind of man she could approach. And what she could possibly say to them as an opener.

Hey, want to get married and inherit a fortune? was probably not the way to go.

Maybe she was going about this the wrong way. Surely, the best person for the job was someone who was a really good liar. A professional liar, even.

An actor.

That would be the most convincing man for the job.

She could get Lucy to help set up auditions or something like that. That was the kind of thing that would be right up Lucy’s alley. She would probably spend the whole shift working on the ad to put up online and deciding what questions they would ask Pandora’s future husband.

Husband.

It was going to take some work to wrap her head around that idea. Time she didn’t have. Because, with only a three-month deadline, she needed to meet, “fall in love with” – i.e. learn everything about and become really good at faking chemistry with – someone, and then plan and execute a wedding.

While, hopefully, staying sane.

Which, she thought, was not going to be easy once her family got wind of things.

But that was a bridge she could cross when she got to it.

She could only cross one at a time.

And right now, she needed to find her fiancé.