Milagro De Los Santos is having serious problems planning her wedding to fabulous Oswald Grant, M.D. Her future in-laws loathe her, her dog just died, and Oswald's family has a genetic anomaly that makes them crave blood. Then her extravagant best friend hijacks the role of wedding coordinator, and the secretive Vampire Council assigns conniving Cornelia Ducharme to guide the couple through the ancient vampire marriage rituals.
To top it all off, Milagro's career is on the skids. She's reduced to ghost-writing the memoirs of a loony little man who claims to be a shapeshifter. And why does Cornelia's decadent, way too attractive brother, Ian, always show up whenever Milagro is away from Oswald? When a series of accidents interferes with wedding plans, Oswald worries that Milagro is cracking under the pressure. Is she just paranoid, or is a hidden enemy trying to make sure Milagro doesn't wed the undead?"Sizzling and sexy, Acosta's latest is perfect for readers who like a little snappy satire in their vampire romances."--Booklist"Brash, witty....Fans of light vampire fiction will snap this up. Recommended for all collections where urban fantasy is popular." --Library Journal"A funny book with a Bridget Jones-meets-Dracula edge."--Parkersburg New & Sentinel(Ohio)"A charmingly goofy marriage of chick lit and the supernatural." --Publishers Weekly
one
it's a nice day for a blood wedding"I'm crushed,crushed, by your insinuation that I would purposely antagonize the Rules Committee," I said to the family attorney, Sam Grant. "I will treat those elitist bloodsucking bureaucrats exactly as well as they have treated me."
We were in the study, all manly, dark brown leather furniture and wood paneling and stultifying nonfiction books. I'd tried bringing in pretty chintz pillows and amusing novels, but Oswald, my fiancé and the owner of this house, had recoiled like Dracula from a flask of holy water.
Oswald now leaned back against the glossy mahogany desk and said, "Milagro, we all know that you like to poke bears, so stop trying to make Sam feel guilty."
He and his cousin Sam Grant were lean men with thick brown hair. They had nice broad brows, beautiful smiles, and even features. Sam, at six feet, was an inch taller than Oswald, who had a delightful asymmetry to his grin and a gleam in his gray eyes. Oswald had changed out of his suit and was wearing jeans and a T-shirt from Buddy's Body Shop that saidPounding, Sanding & Painting to Perfection Since 1963.
Sam's features were gentler than Oswald's, and he had sincere, brown eyes. "Young Lady," Sam began, because that was their nickname for me. "I value and appreciate your, uhm, lively nature. But as your friend, I want you to have the full benefit of the rights and privileges that the Council can grant you when you become Oswald's wife, and that includes substantial financial benefits."
I held up my hand to stop him from once again extolling the mind-numbing virtues of no-interest loans and vacation time shares. "The only thing I care about is being allowed to attend your family events. Therefore, I will endeavor not to poke the bear."
Oswald's family, the Grants, and others from their original homeland had a genetic autosomal recessive disorder that made them sensitive to sunlight but gave them an excellent ability to heal from injuries. They never got sick and had an extended life span. They also had a craving for red food, including blood.
The Grant family referred to themselves as "having a condition," but others of their kind called themselves vampires. Centuries of persecution had forced them to hide their nature and form their own governmental organization, the Council.
I was one of them. Sort of, but not really. I'd been infected twice. The first time, I'd been accidentally infected with Oswald's blood, and I'd nearly died. The second infection left me s
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