Page 99 of My Big Fat Vampire Wedding

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 gentle­man, 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 backup 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.