Page 42 of Just for a Taste

Duca de’ Medici sat up, looked toward the abbey, and pointedly placed his high-end silverware on the fancy china. He then removed his many rings one by one and placed them in his napkin, allowing each gem to shimmer. “All these riches around me, the designer clothes, the fancy sweets—they make me happy for a moment, but they mean nothing. On the other hand, watching you wear them, eat them, enjoy them . . . that’s something.”

I wilted. “The fact that I’m getting paid to be in my paradise, surrounded by books and archives, feels selfish enough.”

“Signorina Bowling.” His voice was unexpectedly stern. “I need you to understand that I could not possibly spend a portion of the money allotted to me within my lifetime, even if it were full.”

The statement alone was shocking, sure, but my mind clung to the end of what he said.Even if it were full?

I forced myself not to look at the vampire and lie back down behind him. Then I said the only thing I was thinking: “Okay.”

We lay there in silence, and the moon peeked through the clouds for the first time. Despite how hazy the rest of the sky was, the full moon was crystal clear. The quiet became layered and complicated, yet neither of us seemed to want to fill it.

Eventually, Duca de’ Medici was the one to break it.

“I’ve never had a picnic,” he admitted, voice muffled, as though this were some massive shocker.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not exactly surprised. I imagine there’s a lot of things you haven’t done, just like me. I’ve never ridden in a car with a refrigerator before, and I doubt you’ve ever taken public transportation.”

A strange thought came to me then, one that made my stomach twist in a knot: he had probably never been pushed on a swing, or had a nickname. I imagined him being called by his full name by a butler, even while taking his first steps.

“I’d like to do this again,” Duca de’ Medici said, so sincerely that my former trepidation melted. “We don’t have to, of course, but it was nice. For however long you plan to be here, that is.”

I finally looked at him for the first time in a while with a smile. “We can have plenty of picnics, and movie nights, and even bake cookies together, if you’ll have me.”

Duca de’ Medici averted his gaze to a rabbit in the distance and clenched his jaw.

“Can I?” he asked, voice scarcely above a whisper.

I blinked and peered my head around to catch his eye. “Can you what?”

He continued to watch the rabbit, which was grazing serenely on fallen fruit from a wild strawberry tree, and didn’t reply. Despite the silence, I realized what he meant:Can I have you?

I bit my lip, burrowed into Duca de’ Medici’s coat, and slowly nodded my head. “Yes. For now.”

He lay down again, face turned away from me. “That’s enough.”

Chapter 21: Sepolcro

The next few days passed normally for Duca de’ Medici and me. Per usual, we had our book club in the aviary; we’d shifted from readingIdylls of the KingtoJulius Caesar, then toNorth and South.Respectively, we’d shifted from listening toTristan und Isolde, to Mussorgsky,to Beethoven.

But on the inside, my stomach flipped every time I remembered that day in Partanna and our conversation on the hill. I didn’t know if I regretted my answer, if I was making a mistake in promising something I couldn’t really give. All I knew was that at the moment, I’d meant it—for at least another month, I was his. And when the next donation came around, his words haunted me:I need you to understand that I could not possibly spend a portion of the money allotted to me within my lifetime, even if it were full.

I never ceased to be impressed by how chilly the exam room was. I used to assume my old fear of doctor’s offices was responsible for my goose bumps, but the cold was the actual culprit. Even the side table my arm rested on was sickeningly cool. I looked at Doctor Ntumba next to me, envy striking at the sight of her warm outfit. It was per her demand that this feeding was being done by IV—retribution, I assumed, for the horrifically unsanitary feeding we’d had in the presence of countless birds.

“Doctor Ntumba,” I said before she began, “I have a question.”

She looked up from what she was doing—preparing the IV itself—curious yet slightly irritated. “What is it, Cora?”

“Well, actually, I don’t know if we can talk about this. I mean, is there some European equivalent to HIPAA?”

She tied the tourniquet masterfully, as usual, and I tried not to wince at its vice grip, preparing my arm for the prick of the needle. I focused instead on the cold, rough sensation of the alcohol wipe across my arm.

“There’s a near equivalent, GDPR. But your job acceptance included mutual ROIs. In fact, the same applies to you and Zeno with this entire household. So, what do you want to know?”

Doctor Ntumba pierced my vein with ease, then tossed the tourniquet aside as though it were a victory flag. I was never squeamish with blood, but my stomach always turned at the sight of red traveling down the tubes into a bag.

“I, uh—how long could my employment last? Like, if I were here for a long time, how long could that be?”

“Ah. You’re asking how long Zeno has to live.”

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