Page 13 of Just for a Taste

“No, I’m fine, really.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. “Sorry to worry you.” She hovered by me for a moment, clearly restraining the urge to help me up. She only relaxed when I gave her a small smile.

“What’s the plan for today, Lucia?”

Instantly, she brightened. “Oh yes, I heard you accepted the position, Signorina Cora! Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” I replied as I got to my feet. “I’m excited to be here.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “Doctor Ntumba thought you might want to settle in, so she didn’t want to have you follow the schedule very strictly today. Signora Carbone was going to write it up for you.”

I felt my muscles tense at the sound of theconservatrix’sname. Our last encounter had been . . . strained, to say the least.

“Speaking of which,” Lucia added, “she’s on her way to speak with you.”

I couldn’t help but grimace. Luckily, Lucia wasn’t looking. I didn’t know what to expect, nor was I emotionally prepared. Would Signora Carbone now regard me with respect, or would the rudeness continue?

I briefly considered finding some sort of escape route, but before I could do so, Lucia looked behind me and said, “Good afternoon, Signora Carbone!”

Signora Carbone had her arms folded tightly behind her back but was seemingly unaltered from our previous exchange. I searched her face for any sign of anger or discomfort and was slightly disturbed to find none. Lucia beamed, evidently clueless.

“Good afternoon, Lucia,” Signora Carbone said coolly. “I need you to go to the kitchen and finish preparing breakfast.”

Lucia pursed her lips in a childlike pout—she hated cooking, she had told me—but didn’t protest further. Once we were alone, Signora Carbone finally addressed me. “Signorina Bowling. How are you today?”

“I’m well,” I lied, shifting from foot to foot.

“Good. I was just coming to inform you that breakfast will be ready soon, and that I will be delivering your daily schedule this evening.”

Her eyes trailed me up and down, and her lips tightened. I wasn’t sure if her thoughts were transparent for once, whether her actions showed she thought I was inadequate to be abeniaminafor the most powerful family in Italy, or if I was transposing my own insecurities onto her. But then she showed the first true ounce of incertitude I had ever seen from her.

“Signorina Bowling,” she said with a funereal air. “I apologize for yesterday. Going forward, I will remember my station. I hope you remember yours.”

She walked away before I could ask what she meant by that last bit.

I wondered if she knew the truth. As lovely as this week had been, my goal here was not to be abeniamina,or even get the salary. I was here to find clues for my thesis, and even if I hadn’t dug into them so far, that was my sole reason for staying. Doctor Ntumba had told me both parties would review the job quarterly, and I planned to take full advantage of that leniency. But if Signora Carbone had caught on, I couldn’t help but wonder if—or when—anyone else in the house would. I hadn’t mentioned the details of my thesis, and I couldn’t help but fear that if I did, certain documents would mysteriously go missing from the library—or worse, I would be out of a job entirely.

With this uncomfortable possibility in mind, a sense of urgency burned in my chest. Knowing Lucia and Signora Carbone would be busy in the kitchen for the foreseeable future, I grabbed a notebook and made a beeline to the large library to investigate its innards. The fiction section dwarfed the large library’s non-fiction section, and much of the non-fiction section focused on the sciences, not history.

I crouched in the most promising area and scanned the books, writing down anything that looked unusual or relevant. Within seconds, I spotted a pair of promising titles that hadn’t been available at my university.

I scratched them down quickly. Just as I was about to start on the second row, a strange feeling bored through my excitement: the feeling of someone watching me.

Duca de’ Medici’s eyes were piercing, especially in the light. How I hadn’t noticed them before was a mystery. He sat in the corner of the room in front of a small tea table, sprawled out in a casual position—one arm extended onto the table, chin resting on his fist, and one leg dangling over the other—that seemed mismatched with the formality of his clothing. The vampire wore a gray button-down shirt with plaid charcoal pants and a matching suit jacket draped over his shoulder like a cape. I hadn’t noticed his earrings before: ruby-and-gold studs that matched the gem on the end of his bolo tie and brought out the sharpness in his jaw.

In front of him was a tray of biscotti, many with the corners nibbled off in tiny, mouse-like bites. A series of records were fanned out in front of him, but I couldn’t see the titles at my angle. Even if I could, it would have been impossible to focus on anything but the terrifyingly angelic man before me.

“O-oh!” I stammered, my notebook nearly slipping from my fingers. “I wasn’t expecting—um, good morning. How long have you . . .?”

Duca de’ Medici blinked at me a few times, then returned his attention to the biscotti. I almost thought he wouldn’t reply, but a few seconds later, his voice rang out, clear yet in a monotone, “However long you’ve been here, along with an additional ten or so minutes. Not that I tend to linger here, normally. I would have finished my meal and picked out music by now, but your uninvited presence was distracting.”

My jaw fell to the floor. All that came out for several seconds was incoherent sputtering. But once I could actually talk, the wrong words came out, a sharp riposte instead of the intended apology or small talk.

“I’m sorry my presence wasdistracting, but I didn’t realize I had to be invited when the door was wide open. And for that matter, I didn’t realize a plate of cookies counted as a meal for a grown man.”

A faint rosy shade spread across Duca de’ Medici’s cheeks, and he jerked away.

I was terrified he was enraged until I noticed the quiver in his lips, the fine knitting of his brow, and the way he was averting his eyes from me entirely.

“Consider the library yours during your stay,” he grumbled, his voice surprisingly even for how flustered he appeared. “I’m . . . not fond of sharing, and I doubt my company is desired, regardless.”

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