Iris
Author's Note: This is the prologue. Keep in mind this is where I want this story to end up. The majority of this story will be the back story to getting here. Enjoy!
Looking back, I realize my first conscious thought that night was how am I so cold? It's an odd thing to remember certainly. But I guess we all seem to have strange thoughts that stand out when we remember moments that changed our lives so suddenly and so completely. Even though the events that brought us together that night were horrific, I smile because they brought me to him.
I hear a loud barking laugh and am pulled out my thoughts to see my fiancé laughing at something the mayor's wife had just said to the group he was standing in.
I always get butterflies in my stomach watching his face light up like that.
"It's because of you, you know." I hear a voice say. I turn and see Marcel beside me. I was standing at the bar waiting for a glass of water, having consumed plenty of alcohol for the evening. He held up and tilted his empty glass to signal to both the bartender and me that he was in need of a refill.
"What's because of me?" I ask.
"That he can laugh."
"Seriously? Don't be ridiculous, Marcel. Klaus laughed long before he knew me."
"Oh, sure, he laughed. He laughed in an 'I'm really going to enjoy watching your decapitated body writhe on the dirty ground' kind of way. Or an 'I am the Original hybrid! You shall never beat me!' kind of way. But, not a laugh that just said he was genuinely happy."
"Oh, come on." I laugh as the bartender sits both my water and Marcel's fresh drink in front of us. "Be serious. He was alive for a thousand years before he met me. I'm sure somewhere in there was a genuine laugh."
"I guess you're right. What I'm really trying to say is that he was never so open about his happiness before. It seemed that if he was happy he had to very quickly do something drastic so that no one would think for a second that he was vulnerable."
"Well, that I can believe." I reply.
"I'm happy you're here, is all." Marcel says before he takes his drink and leaves to rejoin the group of people he had been talking with before.
Something about what he said sticks with me. I turn to look back to Klaus to see he was already looking at me. He smiles when I make eye contact with him and gives an uncharacteristically cute wink, Maybe Marcel isn't wrong, no one back home would believe me if I told them the great and powerful Hybrid winks.
I just wink back at him as I take my water and continue to walk around the art gallery where we are attending a charity function and try to look as engrossed as possible in the paintings in an effort not to be corned into yet another unbelievably boring conversation about just how well the Saints—New Orleans' football team—is doing this year and how we might even make the Super Bowl! I mean, I was head cheerleader in high school and therefore could talk about football with the best of them, but really. There are only so many times you can have the same conversation with people before you're ready to shoot someone.
I believe this particular function is supposed to help support the homeless and underprivileged of New Orleans. Or maybe it's another one of the many charities the mayor seems to support. Either way, Klaus would need to stay at the party for a few more hours to schmooze and not only am I ready to skip out on more of what I'm sure would be absolutely riveting conversations, but I'm also ready to take these heels off.
As I finish my last round, I find two paintings that speak to me. They're beautiful landscapes. Dark colors, but balanced somehow. I decide they would work beautifully in our new living room and hallway. As I'm looking, the owner of the gallery finds his way over to me.
"Do you like the paintings?" He asks.
"Yes. I love them, actually. I'd like to speak with someone about purchasing them."
"Yeah, absolutely! No problem. I'll just get Manuel at the desk over here to ring you up. By the way, did you see the Saint's game last Sunday..."
After making out the check to the charity of the night—I was wrong, it was a cancer research—I make my way over to my husband. "You ready to go?" he asks. I smile, "I know you can't leave yet, I'll just see you at home. I love you."
"I love you more," he whispers where only I could hear before turning his attention back to the mayor's wife.
Half an hour later I am in the bedroom of our home on the edge of the Garden District. I love this house. I have always loved plantation style homes and so I noticed when this house went up for sale. When Klaus had suggested we move into our own separate home after being interrupted a few too many times by his siblings, I jumped at the opportunityto live here.
I take off my party dress and high heels to trade them in for boy shorts and one of Klaus' Henley tees. As I make my way to the bathroom, I pass in front of the open bedroom window. Memory slams into me.