“Okay. Check it first,” she said aloud.
“Right,” G.G. said as he closed the lid of the cooler. “He eats when he wakes up which is usually around 3 or 4 p.m., then again at 11 p.m. or midnight, and finally around 3 or 4 a.m. which is about four hours before bedtime, so three should do until you bring him back.”
Ildaria nodded, silently repeating the times in her head so she’d remember.
“As for his treats . . .” G.G. continued, and waited for her to meet his gaze, before saying firmly, “He gets no more thanthree in twenty-four hours. Too many treats and he becomes a roly-poly little sausage on legs and can’t jump up in his chair.”
Ildaria’s eyebrows rose at the “his chair” bit, but said solemnly, “No more than three.”
Apparently satisfied that she wouldn’t go wild and turn his dog into a roly-poly little sausage overnight, G.G. relaxed abit and moved back around the bar, pulling a leash out of his back pocket. As she’d expected it was black leather interspersedwith studs and miniature spikes, Ildaria noted before he bent, briefly disappearing from sight. He straightened again a momentlater, H.D. in his arms, the leash already attached to his collar.
She watched the big giant of a man snuggle the small dog with a faint smile, and then picked up the cooler.
“I’ll get that,” G.G. protested, carrying H.D. around the bar.
“Nah.” Ildaria shook her head and led the way to the door. “I get to snuggle him up all night. You should do it while you have the chance.”
He didn’t protest further, but followed her to the door, murmuring to the dog about behaving himself at Marguerite’s, andtelling him he’d miss him. It was really quite sweet, she decided as she shifted the cooler, balancing it on one hand to openthe door and then holding it open with one foot for him to lead the way out.
Four
“Isn’t that the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen?” Marguerite asked with a wide smile.
Following her gaze to the huge dog bed in the corner, Ildaria smiled faintly when she saw that H.D. and Julius were curledup on the bed. The little cream-colored fur ball was in front of the much bigger black dog, his back against Julius’s curledfeet.
“Maybe I should get Julius a brother or sister to cuddle with,” Marguerite said with a small frown.
Ildaria chuckled at the suggestion, but didn’t comment. She was busy pulling out her phone to snap a picture. She took threequick shots of the pair, checked them all to see which was best, and then stood staring at her phone with a small frown.
“Problem, dear?” Marguerite asked lightly.
“I was going to send this to G.G. so he can see H.D. is all right and won’t worry about him, but I don’t have his number,” she explained and clucked with irritation. She’d have to get his number if she was going to work for him.
“Here.” Marguerite stood and moved quickly around the table to her side to take the phone. She immediately began to tap onit and Ildaria saw that she was entering G.G.’s name and number in her contacts list.
The older woman had been pleased with her flowers, but almost ecstatic to learn Ildaria was now working for G.G. Over ecstaticreally, she thought and worried that the lady, whom she liked a great deal, was finding her presence in her home a trial.
“Of course, I do not find your presence a trial,” Marguerite said with exasperation, drawing her attention to the fact thatshe’d finished her chore and was now holding out the phone.
“Oh.” Ildaria flushed as she took back the phone. She wasn’t used to people reading her thoughts. Vasco, like herself, didn’tread people unless it was absolutely necessary. No one on the ship had. Or at least, no one had made it obvious that theydid if they were reading others. Neither had Raffaele if he had read her while she was living with him and Jess, and Jessherself was too new a turn to be able to read anyone. Not that she could have read Ildaria. Younger immortals couldn’t readimmortals that were older than them. As for Marguerite, as far as she knew her host hadn’t read her much since her arrivalin her home. At least, she hadn’t said anything that gave away that she had read her. Until now, and Ildaria found her doingso a bit discomfiting.
“No, dear. I am not reading you. Not on purpose anyway. Your thoughts are just a bit loud at the moment,” Marguerite announced, moving back to her seat at the table.
“Loud?” Ildaria repeated uncertainly as she returned to her own seat.
“Hmmm.” Marguerite focused her attention on pouring more tea into both their cups, and waited until Ildaria had finished sendingG.G. the pic of H.D., before commenting, “You obviously didn’t try to read G.G., did you?”
“I—No.” Ildaria glanced up from her phone with a small frown. “There was no need. G.G. isn’t a threat to me.”
“No, I agree. G.G. is not a threat to our kind,” Marguerite said at once as she pushed her teacup back to her.
“Right,” Ildaria murmured, doctoring her fresh tea with sugar and cream.
“Do you know the symptoms that an immortal experiences on meeting a life mate?” Marguerite asked as she lifted her cup toher lips.
Ildaria peered at her blankly. A life mate was something every immortal hoped to find. That being the case, the symptoms ofmeeting one were well known to their kind from a young age if they were born immortal, and shortly after turning if they werenot born immortal. Or usually before they were turned if a life mate turned them. Of course, she knew what the symptoms were.She just didn’t understand why Marguerite was asking her that.
Clearing her throat, Ildaria finally said, “Si, of course. A return of the desire for, and pleasure in, those things that often leave an immortal between the first and second century of their lives,” she murmured, and then listed them off. “Food, drink, and sex
