Page 30 of Just for a Taste

After rising from the tub and wrapping a towel around myself, I looked Lucia dead in the eyes. “No, it’s okay. You’re right.”

Lucia studied my face for a moment, searching for traces of anger but finding nothing. She visibly relaxed and helped thread my arms through my robe, fresh from the towel warmer. Occasionally, I would forget how spoiled I was in this abbey, but the simple joy of a warm, fluffy robe always reminded me of how much of an outsider I was to this place.

With a hint of residual caution, she said, “I don’t think it’s a bad thing. When you first came here, signorina, you were always nice, but I don’t think you ever spoke with me without a reason. For many days, it was like you weren’t really there. But now I hear you laugh and complain, and sometimes you even talk about silly things with me. It’s nice to take care of a house that feels like it has people in it. I can tell Signora Carbone is happier too.”

In the mirror, my reflection tilted her head to the side. “What makes you think that? I don’t think I’ve seen her very much at all lately. When does she even go to bed?”

“She’s always busy like that,” Lucia responded with a giggle. “It means she’s happy. One time, when I was a child, I dreamed she didn’t sleep—that she actually spent all night working in her room and only pretended to sleep when others were around. The next night, I hid in her closet, but she was asleep every time I looked out. When she found me, I had to scrub the floors myself for a week!”

I tried not to wince as Lucia plaited my hair. No matter how gentle she was, the feeling of my hair being touched always felt painful and vulnerable. She was used to my jumping by now, at least.

“So you grew up with Signora Carbone, then?” I asked.

“Yes,” Lucia replied. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived with Signora Carbone. We took this position together so that I could return to my birthplace. It was her dream to work as a head conservatrix, and mine to come home.”

“Do you—” I stopped. How could I ask her if she enjoyed her job? How hadn’t I considered it before? I supposed I spent most of my time trying to forget that it wasmegetting pampered, and that it was another person doing the pampering.

“I do like being a lady’s maid, though,” she said, somehow reading my mind. “It’s nice to be a part of making someone happy every day, and the pay is quite good. The only bad thing is that I don’t get to leave very often, and when I do, it’s to a town with only one bar!”

Yet another thing I had never considered came to mind—the possibility of Lucia leaving the abbey before me.

“Are you going to stay here long-term, then? Now that you’re home?”

“Until I have enough money saved up to open my own salon,” she replied, then added with a cheeky smile, “or Signora Carbone gets tired of dealing with me and tells Duca de’ Medici to fire me.”

At the sound of his name, I sank into the chair. The robe had gone cold again, just like how my blood felt.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I think I’m the one more at risk of being kicked out of this place.”

Lucia gaped, nearly dropping the hairbrush. “Why would you get kicked out?”

Uninvited and unannounced, a familiar feeling pricked the corner of my eyes. I winced at the uncomfortable feeling in my throat but suppressed it

“I—” My voice came out soft, hoarse. Even though I was holding back tears, speaking was a dead giveaway. I cleared my throat, despite knowing it wouldn’t help. “I think I did something wrong, Lucia, but I don’t know what. Duca de’ Medici hasn’t talked to me in days. It’s like he hates me.Nobodyis talking to me anymore, and it feels like I’m going crazy for asking about it. The thing is, I don’t have a plan B if I get kicked out of here. I don’t have anyone—or anywhere.”

I expected Lucia to either come swinging with refutations or comfort me without addressing the issue, but she did neither. Instead, she stood there, not saying a word, with her gaze on the floor. I stared at her, brow furrowed, until she finally met my eyes and spoke. “I wish I could tell you what is going on, signorina, but I can’t. I promised it would be a surprise.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t see Duca de’ Medici around the house very often. Signora Carbone told me long ago to keep my distance from him. I can promise you, though, nobody here hates you. Especially not Duca de’ Medici. You’ll just have to see.”

Chapter 15: Ombra mai fu

Ipeeled myself out of bed and wandered into the hall without bothering to change out of my nightgown or put on slippers. The air smelled like freshly cut wood and dirt—like my pa used to when he came back from his workshop. I felt the prick of phantom splinters in my heels and quickly grabbed a pair of shoes to vanquish the echoes of childhood scoldings from the corners of my mind.

I followed the scent to an open door next to the aviary. It was the hall leading to the conservatory, currently illuminated by lantern light on account of its glass walls being covered with tarps. I had poked my head in before occasionally to admire the stained-glass ceilings, but the room had been in disarray, and I had the sense I should stay away. Obviously, there was little point in a vampire maintaining a sun parlor. But now things were different. I examined the scene of the crime: A pair of dirty boots, one on its side. A hammer lying beside a fan of nails, many crooked and deformed. A pile of wood chips in the corner, and beside it, a book left open, its pages sinfully touching the ground.

I approached what I expected to be the most illuminating clue but could decipher nothing. The text of the book was in Sicilian, and it lacked pictures. I stepped over it and followed a trail of scattered mulch, which led me into the conservatory itself.

The culprits came into view: a handmade garden bed, filled to the brim with potting soil. The wood was new, with a fresh layer of sawdust coating its surface. There was a large potting bench flush against another wall, complete with brand-new shears, trowels, pots, and just about anything else I could imagine needing for every step of the gardening process—empty pots, bags of soil, heat lamps, and supplementary lighting.

The room had been restored to its former majesty, and many steps beyond.

A familiar voice rang out from behind me. “Will it suffice?”

I hadn’t noticed Duca de’ Medici approaching. His clothes were as formal as usual; I recognized his white button-down and trousers with suspenders from the day he showed me his aviary. Nothing else about him appeared the same. His skin glistened with sweat; his sleeves were rolled up to reveal surprisingly muscular forearms. His face was crossed with lines of dirt where he had pushed his hair out of his eyes until it finally slicked against his forehead.

In those hands, those powerful hands that had gripped me so tightly, were a folded pair of gloves. He leaned against the doorframe, and I wondered why I had ever thought he was fragile.

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