The Vanishing by Karla Nikole

Twenty-Four

Two things Cellina hates—working on Sundays and being ignored. Having both occur in the same instance is turning her mood sour. Very quickly.

She peeks inside her father’s office. The cool, gingery scent remains despite its owner having disappeared. Andrea is sitting in his weathered armchair. His office is the singular place that her mother hasn’t redecorated to flow in rhythm with modern aesthetics. It looks like something from the 1980s—her father’s favorite decade. She blames him for her own fascination with American television shows and music spanning that time.

When he meets her gaze, there’s warmth in his sparkling gray eyes: the eyes Cellina has inherited from him. He looks handsome, having recently trimmed his thick salt-and-pepper curls. He smiles, the affection radiating from him like a haze. “Caffettino.”

My little coffee. Cellina shakes her head. When she’s two hundred he’ll still be calling her that. “Hey, Papà—E’ andato via Giovanni?”

“Sì, sei arrabbiata?” Her father casts his gaze back down to the newspaper he’s holding. Where does he even find newspapers nowadays?

“No, I’m not mad, but I told him to wait one second.” Cellina sits across from him, on the old leather couch. She glances at the mahogany shelves behind his desk, overstuffed with books on real-estate law. On the coffee table between them, there’s a small pink cake box with a business card on top. “I just needed to change clothes,” she says.

“Giovanni is a very busy vampire.” He closes and folds his newspaper, offering his full attention. “He told me to apologize on his behalf.”

Grumbling, Cellina folds her arms. “He could have waited a damn minute.” Maybe she’s being paranoid, but it’s starting to feel as if he’s avoiding her. They’re supposed to be rebuilding their friendship—burying the hatchet, or however the saying goes.

“Go easy on him, darling. He’s having a difficult time right now. Rest assured, he thinks highly of you.”

“I’m not worried about him thinking highly of me.” Cellina frowns. “We made amends, so he can tell me if something is bothering him. He used to. I know that was a long time ago… But I don’t know. It would be nice if he felt comfortable with me again.”

Andrea folds his ankle over his knee and relaxes back. “He told me that you know about his feeding situation now. Sounds to me like he’s confiding in you in earnest.”

“You knew?” Cellina’s eyes widen. “He told you about it?”

“He did, a long time ago. And I’m glad. Giovanni carries a lot of responsibility on his shoulders—admirably. But everyone needs an outlet. He’s not a machine.”

“I’m glad he confides in you.” Cellina leans forward and toward the small box. She grins. “Is this mine?”

“It is. I told him you were complaining about finding a new art conservator in the coming weeks. He has a client who works with a freelance artist that might be looking for a full-time position. That’s their card on top. It’s just a lead.”

Cellina picks the card up, turning it over in her fingers. “Realm leader at his best.”

“He’s well connected.” Andrea shrugs. Cellina opens the cake box and grins. Castella.

“Huh. The cake has changed?” her father asks.

“What are you talking about?”

He smiles, playful. “Now I’m going to reveal more secrets—but since you two are getting along, maybe it’s okay? Do you remember when I was working on the Castiglione project?”

“Not really.”

“Darling, you were knee-deep in graduate school—maybe the first year?”

“Oh yes, yes. I remember that particular hell.”

“Right.” Her father grins. “You were having a rough time, so every Friday after my client meeting, a box of bakery-fresh tiramisu would magically appear on the kitchen counter?”

Cellina beams. That had been the one bright spot each week in a very dark and stressful time in her pursuit of higher education and a new career. “I remember. I would invite Mia over and we’d have it together with coffee. It was the highlight of my week back then.”

“Well, I hate to seem like a fraud… but Giovanni bought that for you. Every week. He always asked about you, and I told him you were having a difficult time. He is well aware of your sweet tooth, so he wanted to help. Of course, I was sworn to secrecy.”

“Oh give me a break—seriously?” Cellina sits back against the couch, her heart beating warm in her chest. But she’s also annoyed. “It’s too much.”

Andrea laughs. “He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, but he finds joy where he can?”

Cellina pouts, thinking about how upset she’d been with him. For decades. Anytime they’d crossed paths, she ignored him and treated him coldly, thinking he preferred things that way. Meanwhile, he was being unfair and buying her secret cakes. He was supposed to be mad at her, too. That’s how it works when two people fight. Does he not understand that?

He’d shut her out, gone on a rampage around town and drunk from and fornicated with any vampire he could find. All this when he was supposed to be feeding from and (ideally) fornicating with her. How much time have they wasted? She wishes they could have resolved this sooner. If he didn’t hate her, and if he regretted what he said… She understands that he’s in a difficult situation, but he should have said something.

“How’s Nino doing?” her father asks. “Is he all better after his accident?”

“Yes, he’s doing great.” Cellina smiles, shrinking a little on the inside. As a general rule, she tells her parents everything. But with this, she’s been sworn to secrecy. No need to cause alarm where it isn’t due.

When she’d left a month ago, the situation was somewhat under control (notwithstanding Haruka’s unrealistic resolve to handle everything on his own—a common thread among purebred males, apparently).

With any luck, they’ll never see or hear from Lajos again.

* * *

Later that evening,Cellina walks into a bicentennial event for a member of the Milan aristocracy. It’s a late-night garden party, with tiny white lights twinkling overhead and candles burning along the cobblestone paths to set a Midsummer Night’s Dream kind of mood.

Before leaving the museum, she’d ditched her blouse underneath her suit jacket for a sexy lace bustier, which matches her black, high-waisted tuxedo pants to a tee. It’s humid tonight, so the hair is pulled up into a bun, as sleek as she could manage. Hopefully the oversized earrings distract from the unruly situation atop her head.

She sees her friend Matteo among the crowd, standing alone by a tall table. Cellina tips across the cobblestones in her high heels to reach him. When she’s there, he kisses both of her cheeks in a warm greeting.

“Queen.”

“Hey, handsome.”

He takes her hand and lifts it above her head, urging her to turn in a full circle. She complies and he shakes his head. “Honey, you look fuckin’ hot. Those skinny model bitches I do makeup for don’t have anything on you. Gorgeous. And this cleave. Yas.”

“Thanks, dear. I like this blazer.” Cellina pinches his burgundy satin lapel. The rest of the fabric subtly glitters underneath the soft lighting like a sparkling red wine.

“Dolce, honey, don’t touch.” Matteo purses his lips and swats her hand away. “Is our drunken ballerina coming?”

“Oh man.” Cellina bites back a laugh. “Mia had practice all day today, so I doubt it. And she’s only drunk in the off-season.”

“You’re just naïve. That thing is always drunk. It’s her natural state of being now, like a damn fish swimming in the sea—Oh my.” Matteo grabs his chest in a dramatic gesture. “His highness has arrived.”

Cellina lifts to her toes, stretching her neck. She smelled him when she walked in, but she wasn’t sure if Giovanni was already in attendance or just arriving.

“I swear to God…” Matteo sighs, his shoulders falling. “I’d drop to my knees and eat his ass right now if he’d let me.”

“You are at maximum capacity.” Cellina holds her palm up, her eyes wide. “Calm down. Not appropriate.”

“He’s too perfect and fucking gorgeous,” Matteo goes on, narrowing his eyes. “He probably bites his toenails, or he likes to be pissed on when he’s having sex—some unexpected, freaky shit… I’ll do it if he wants—”

“Matteo, stop.” Cellina laughs.

Matteo lifts his chin, a charismatic smile plastered on his lips. He raises his beautifully arched brow. “He’s making a beeline over here, and I doubt it’s because of my second-gen ass.”

A moment later, Giovanni is in front of them. Classic black suit, crisp white shirt, no tie. His hazel-green eyes shine and his charming game face is in action, the frown lines barely noticeable.

“Good evening, your grace.” Matteo offers a smooth, shallow bow from his waist. Cellina never calls him by formal titles. Never bows either. The thought of doing so is weird, but she figures what the hell? She’ll give it a try in present company.

Cellina nods. “Your grace.” Giovanni’s expression shifts into a look of disgust as he draws back, like she called him something offensive. The mask has slipped, but he quickly takes a breath.

“Good evening. Are you both enjoying the party?”

“Little Miss Lina just arrived, but I’ve been here a minute.” Her friend smiles, his voice playful. “I need another drink. Would you like one, your grace? I’ll get it for you.”

“Thank you, Matteo,” Giovanni says. “Scotch on the rocks, please.”

Matteo nods as he raises his eyebrow toward Cellina. “Amaretto sour?”

“Thanks, dear.” Cellina lifts her shoulder, flirty.

“Don’t talk about me while I’m gone—unless it’s about how incredible I am.” He winks as he turns and walks toward the bar. Giovanni’s brows drop into the usual frown.

“Do not bow at me or call me that.”

Cellina scrunches her nose. “Is that an official order as my realm leader?”

“I hate it—especially from you.” He takes a deep breath, running his large hand into the back of his honey-brown waves.

“I hate that you left without speaking to me on Sunday,” Cellina counters. “What the hell, G? That’s two weeks in a row. Are you upset that I kicked you that Sunday? Was my head massage offensive?” She smirks, trying to ease the odd tension growing between them.

He takes another deep breath, but as he does so, his eyes flicker, shameless as he scans the length of her body. Top to bottom, then back up again. Cellina shifts her stance, suddenly more aware of his raw masculine energy and feeling the usual spark in her stomach and between her legs.

“You look very nice,” he says, his voice low.

“Thanks…” She clears her throat, focusing. “What’s with you? You were fine a couple weeks ago, when we were in Japan. Now you’re being… Is this shy? What are you doing?”

“There was a barrier between us before,” he says, looking away. “But you keep lowering it. It’s different now.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“For some vampires… in most circumstances. Probably.” Giovanni turns his broad body to the side and stretches his neck, looking for Matteo. As if standing alone with her is somehow uncomfortable.

Cellina glares. “What does that mean?”

“It means what I said.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“I’m not acting like anything.”

“Great, so you’re going to just repeat and deflect everything I say—”

“Because I want you, Cellina. But I can’t have you.”

The silence lingers as he stares at her with his intense eyes. “And it’s not a joke,” he says. “It’s not funny and it’s not cute. I accept my awful prison of a life, but when you flirt with me and put your hands on me, it fucks with my resolve. It messes with my head.”

Cellina watches him, recognizing the pain and frustration in his face. “Maybe…” She blinks, considering. “Your resolve needs to be fucked with? Maybe you should stop being your family’s martyr.”

Giovanni draws back, his expression shifting to something between confusion and insult. Matteo returns, handing out drinks as he holds a small silver tray. Giovanni takes his glass, nods in thanks and walks away from them as if in a hurry to escape.

Matteo stares after him with his mouth gaped open. “Um… what?” He turns and looks at Cellina. “Where is he going? I haven’t even offered to do nasty things to him yet! Did you insult our king?”

“No,” Cellina sighs, pulling her drink to her lips. “I told him the truth.”