“The image of the goo-goo eyes you used to make behind his back is still burned into my brain cells.”

Her cheeks reddened. “Please stop.”

I repressed a smile. “Listen, don’t worry about me. Seriously. Every day is a little easier. I hardly ever think about Thierry anymore.”

Also rehearsed. Every morning when I woke up in my bed all alone I said it to the stucco ceiling—which rarely had any critiques of my acting ability.

“Have you heard from Veronique lately?” Amy asked. “I wonder if she’s planning on swooping down and grabbing him now that you’re out of the picture.”

“Haven’t seen her lately, so I have no idea what she’s up to.”

Veronique was Thierry’s wife. Yes, the man I’d been involved with had been married for hundreds of years to a woman who was the epitome of perfection—beautiful, charming, rich, and powerful.

Their marriage was in name only. They’d been separated for more than a century before I even met Thierry. Veronique unapologetically and frequently dated men a fraction of her age and enjoyed her own life, which she lived mostly in Europe with occasional visits to

North America. There was no love there anymore between them.

Thierry had recently attempted to get an annulment from vampire contacts at the Vatican itself—apparently the only way to get out of a marriage the length of theirs—but she refused to sign the papers. She wasn’t evil, she was simply self-centered. Ending their marriage didn’t benefit her in any way so she didn’t see any logical reason to sign.

Her lightly French-accented explanation still buzzed in my ears like a swarm of Gucci-

wearing bees.

“Love has very little to do with a successful marriage, my dear.”

The memory still made my blood boil with equal parts frustration and annoyance.

Amy and I returned to the bar, and I let Jeremy down as gently as possible. He took it like a champ.