Page 37 of Just for a Taste

A rag in one pocket, mottled with dirt and oil, wouldn’t be appropriate to mop up the blood. The folded pair of gloves in my pocket were even worse. In desperation, I stuck my finger in my mouth and grimaced at the taste, salty and sour.

“You should be more careful. You’ll get an infection one of these days.” Noor approached, already prepared with a bandage and generous globule of antibiotic.

“I know. I was spoiled by thornless roses growing up.” I held out my wounded hand to her, cupping the other underneath just in case. This was, of course, unnecessary, considering the speed at which she worked. “What are you doing here?” I asked, returning the shears to the drawer. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.”

“I stop by now and then,” she replied with a smile, “to see how things are growing.”

It was early afternoon, and the air in the greenhouse was hot and thick. I ran my sleeve across my forehead to intercept sweat from a well-used path along my brow, then joined Noor’s side to see the gardens from her perspective. Various cultivars were growing at different rates, noisettes wrapping themselves around the trellises and bourbons reaching proudly toward the stained-glass roof. As indicated by the trimmings that littered the ground, all of them were uncontrollably thriving. Virgin buds interspersed the greenery, ready to burst at any moment, and there were even a few young flowers.

Signora Carbone scolded me regularly when cleaning the dirt out from beneath my nails, but I knew even she could admire how well the cuttings were growing. I discovered she and Signore Urbino shared the duties of tending to the gardens outside, and she would often offer me snippets of advice. On one occasion, Signore Urbino attempted to do the same, but he was quickly dismissed by the sharpest glare I had seen from Duca de’ Medici. I hadn’t spoken of either of those tense conversations with Signora Carbone or Noor since that night, and they passed from our collective consciousness. The decision to continue working here had been little more than a nod and a signature at the end of the quarter.

“There are still a few spots I need to plant in, mostly in that far corner there,” I said, pointing toward it. “I haven’t figured out what type of roses I want yet. Maybe tea roses?”

Noor put one hand on her hip, tilted her head to the side, and pursed her lips, like she always did when she was thinking. “There is a plant nursery in Partanna. I’ve heard it has some rare seeds.”

“I see.” Roses rarely grew from seeds. It would most likely be a futile effort.

Noor frowned. “I see that look, but the cultivar is old, and you could use a challenge. Regardless, you could stand to leave the abbey for once.”

Now it was my turn to frown. How long had I been here? Time blurred in this place. I counted the number of blood donations on bandaged fingers. Four total months in the abbey. Four months since I was connected to any sort of cellular network, since I’d messaged my thesis adviser.I’ll respond to her next month,I told myself,once I’ve examined this current lead.

Noor was staring at me, clearly expecting a response, so I stammered, “W-would you be willing to get some for me next time you go to Partanna?”

Noor glared. “You won’t be getting those seeds unless you go to Partanna yourself. I don’t want you to get too anxious here. Stress will compromise your health.”

“Okay.”I’ll just have Lucia or Signore Urbino grab them for me.

Per usual, Noor was quick to read my deception. “And don’t try to get away with asking any of the maids or butlers to purchase them. I’ll know.”

I sighed, put my hand on the back of my neck, and forced a smile. “Fine. I’ll go at some point.”

Noor sighed, shook her head, and left, muttering, “Oh, Cora . . .”

If only disappointment wasn’t contagious. The bench screeched in protest as I dragged it toward the center of the room. I sat, drew up my legs, and hugged them to my chest.

“It isn’t really that bad, is it?” I asked the roses. I finished the rest of the sentence in my head:I mean, I’ve been working on this thesis for eighteen months, so what’s another one?

The flowers were bright, immune to the contagion of disappointment. How enviable. The sun was at my favorite point in the sky, where it hit the stained glass just right and cast an array of color across the greenhouse, rendering it dreamlike. That meant afternoon teatime was soon.

“I think today is supposed to be hibiscus tea. I know Noor doesn’t really like it very much, but I think it’s delicious. Maybe I can talk to her about—”

“So, you really do talk to your flowers,” a voice boomed behind me. “How cute.”

I leaped to my feet, turning as red as the roses themselves. Duca de’ Medici was leaning in the doorway at such an angle that he was just out of the sun.

“W-what are you doing here?” I bristled.

“Just passing by.” His smile was audible in his voice. “I’ll see you in a bit. I was wondering—”

The sharp click of Noor’s high-heeled footsteps was barely audible through the wall behind me. A quick glance at my watch revealed she was on time, of course.

“Oh no!” I exclaimed, jumping to my feet. “I haven’t even changed!”

“Ah.” Duca de’ Medici’s voice softened with poorly veiled disappointment. “You’d best be off, then.”

I hesitated. “But wait, what were you going to ask? I interrupted you.”

Duca de’ Medici stepped out of the light entirely. “Never mind. It was foolish anyway. I’ll tell Noor I held you up.”

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