Bride of Lazarus

3; Your Host, Lazarus DeLuca

He says his name is Lazarus. It suits him... Dark and beautifully unusual. I tear my eyes away from his belt buckle just as he finishes shaking mom's hand. Judging by the way his lips curl at the edges, he caught me.

"Thank you so much for having us," mom says graciously. "Your home is... Well, I would say beautiful but that just doesn't seem to cut it."

"You're too kind, as you always were, Mrs. Channing. My father raved about you often before he passed. I'm so pleased we finally have this chance to meet." Gods, that smile... It's mesmerizing, I think. "I hope the ride wasn't too hard on you girls."

"Girls!" Mom laughs just a little too hard. I can see that his good looks aren't lost on a married woman. "Thank you for that," she smiles graciously. Lazarus leads us to a booth in a cozy corner of the balcony, where the liquid courage I need is waiting. A tall, tantalizing bottle of something gold glitters beneath the chandelier. I hope to the Gods he opens it soon.

"So... Fae." My heart skips like a scratched vinyl. I can't force myself to look into those emerald eyes again. I just can't.

"Y-yes?"

"Are you nervous?" Yes. Unreasonably.

"Why do you ask?" Lazarus chuckles deeply in response, then reaches for the stout glass in front of me. I shrink away from the impending touch before quickly realizing he's not reaching for my hand.

"The wedding," he rumbles. "We're getting married tomorrow and we hardly know one another yet." For some reason, that word wakes the butterflies in my stomach: 'yet'.

"Oh... Right, tomorrow." I struggle to think of more words while he measures out two fingers of the amber liquid with his eyes. Then, he gives the glass a gentle push to propel it into my hand. I glance up at Lazarus for the first time since he introduced himself. Is he always just... smoldering like this? Gods, it's unnerving. "Um... Yes," I answer at long last. "I suppose I am a bit nervous. Will your fam---" My eyes widen and I promptly stick my foot in my mouth. For a moment, I fear I've offended our host. Or at the very least, reminded him of a long line of tragedies that I'm sure he longs to forget. However, my fears are quelled when Lazarus offers a smirk in my direction.

"No," he answers. "My family will not be there. Not in the flesh, at least." Mom stifles an ill-timed laugh beside me. It's all I can do not to elbow her right in the ribcage.

"I-I'm sorry," I stutter. Lazarus waves the apology away.

"No need. We all die eventually, it's just one of the darker chapters of life." We all take a long sip from our glasses at once. Good to see I'm not the only one who needs a drink. "I assume your family will be attending?" Mom and I both nod.

"Yes. Well, my father and brothers will be there. The rest of the family..." Doesn't approve, I almost tell him. Then, quickly settle for "they're busy". I can see plainly on Lazarus's face that he knows I'm lying, but the disappointment fades before I can analyze it any further.

"That's understandable," he says. "I look forward to meeting anyone who can make it." All three drinks disappear in seconds flat and we allow the dreary subject to die. Dear Gods, I can't stop fidgeting.

"Could I have another," I ask, pushing my glass toward the bottle. Lazarus obliges me but I earn a painful pinch from mom beneath the table. She's always hated the idea of me drinking. And of course, I understand why. We've got more than our fair share of alcoholics in the family. But if I'm old enough to be married, then I'm old enough to drink. At least, that's the argument I'll use against her later when she wants to push the topic.

"Smooth, isn't it?" I wrap my lips around the glass and take the whole thing down in a swallow.

"Mhm," I answer gracefully, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. "Very." Even without looking, I can see that my mom is horrified with my behavior. I can practically hear her thoughts; 'all those etiquette classes, and for what?!' Well, mother, I'll tell you what. I didn't ask to be here. Therefore, I'll wipe my mouth wherever I so choose. To hell with this man and his fancy cloth napkins. *Hiccup!* Oh, boy. I drank that one too fast. Lazarus cocks an eyebrow at me in amusement and mom attempts to distract him with questions about the ceremony. Where it will be held, who should officiate, and that sort of thing. I only intervene when mom asks if Dad can give me away, proudly stating that 'he's a crier' as if he's the first of a kind.

"Oh, Gods..." I move to cover her mouth and mom swats me away incredulously.

"Fae Gwyneth," she scolds. "You watch those hands."

"Hey! Dad would thank me if he could hear you right now. Don't embarrass the man, he's not here to defend himself." Mom sputters an apology on my behalf as I descend into booze-induced giggles at her side. She keeps a straight face but I can feel that she's dying on the inside, too. Suffocating her own giggles beneath a blanket of denial. I've never been good in social settings. In fact, I'm certain now more than ever that I get it from mom.

"I'm so sorry," she shakes with stifled laughter. "The last couple of weeks have been very trying for Fae. I think she just needs a rest."

"Of course," Lazarus responds kindly, "I've been rude. Shall I show you to your rooms?" My mother nods and he rises from the table to offer her his hand. "They're on the top floor."

"TOP---" Mom finally lets go and laughs as she listens to her own voice echoing through the ball room. "Top floor," she repeats. "I forgot there's a top floor here, Fae."