Page 50 of Just for a Taste

“Cora, come on.”

“Not ’til you tell me!”

I tried to stamp my foot for emphasis, but the second one foot was off the ground, the other tried to follow. In a smooth, sweeping motion, Zeno lifted me off the ground. I squealed for a moment, but drunken drowsiness quickly superseded stubbornness. I became a rag doll in his arms, allowing him to carry me bridal style.

How warm,I thought as I nuzzled against his chest and closed my eyes. As Zeno walked, I inhaled his scent and let out a satisfied sigh. My attention turned to his shirt against my face, his breath on the top of my head, and the steady rocking of his even gait.

“To answer your question,” Zeno whispered into the top of my head, “I was in love once, in a sense. Whatever love looks like for someone like me.”

The sober person within me wanted to say and ask so much, but all that came out from my drunken self was a muffled, “Mmmph?”

“I told you I wanted to become a priest. I don’t believe in God in the same sense as others, but to devote my life to Him would have been so much better than fumbling through Medici politics.”

My foot bumped into a wall when we rounded a corner, but I was listening too intently to say anything.

To my joy, he continued, “I stopped trying at that when I was young—why bother being a socialite when everyone knew I was a bastard? A cuckoo, really, trapped in my victim’s nest. To get any closer to truth, or perfection, or whatever ascension a higher being could offer—why wouldn’t I want such a thing? Why didn’t everyone want to become priests? To me, the sacrifice of chastity was irrelevant. Preferable, even.” He paused. “Wait here. I’m going to get you some water.”

“Wait where?”

It took me a moment to realize I wasn’t in his arms anymore. My bed, though soft and more expensive than any bed I had ever slept on, now seemed cold.

A few seconds later, the warmth was back. Zeno slid an arm behind my back and held a glass to my lips. Greedily, I sipped at the icy mineral water.

“There you go,” Zeno whispered, stroking my head. “Good girl. You can lie down now.”

“You’re so sweet.” I grabbed his hand and rubbed it against my face, then kicked my heels off and lay down as told, curled up in a ball. The air felt cool on my legs, pleasant against the heat of the alcohol coursing through me. My fingers were sloppy and inefficient at undoing the buttons of my blouse, but I succeeded in the top few.

“Oh, for fuck’s—”

I huffed in protest when Zeno’s fingers slipped through mine, and the bed squeaked and shifted. He had already made it to the door, redder than I had ever seen him before.

“Come back!” I called after him, sitting up halfway.

Zeno kept his gaze pointed straight at my wall. “N-not until you get dressed.”

I shot him my best glare and cocooned my blanket around myself. “I’m nice an’ decent, alright? Come back.”

Zeno pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed beneath his breath in a combination of Italian and English. He sat on the corner of the bed, his gaze entirely averted from me, hands curled into balls around the edge of my sheets. My eyes felt heavy, and the layer of blanket around me only added to my drowsiness.

“Hold my hand.”

The words escaped without me thinking. A cool, shaky hand lingered above mine, barely touching my skin. I felt my breathing deepen and slow ever so slightly, and the hand over mine tightened, finger by finger. That was the final step to lull me into a gentle sleep.

When I came out of it, sobriety was creeping onto me, along with lucidity. I shifted, emerging slightly from the blanket, and raised my head. Zeno had sunk into the mattress beside me on his side, his hand still holding mine. Studying the rise and fall of his chest, I could tell he was awake, even though his eyes were shut. I tried not to make any sudden movements, for the man at my side was a deer and a wolf. Selfishly, I enjoyed the basic sensation of human touch.

“Feeling better?” Zeno’s hand retreated from mine, and he migrated to the edge of the bed again.

“A bit,” I said to his back. “How long has it been?”

Zeno turned back toward me, his silhouette striking. “I don’t know. A few minutes, maybe?”

It had definitely been longer—long enough that the drunken haze was gone from my head—but I appreciated Zeno attempting to spare me from the embarrassing disclosure that I had actually fallen asleep.

“I’m still a bit tipsy. Can you stay with me a little longer?” I asked, knowing full well it was a lie.

Zeno sighed softly and placed one of my throw pillows between us. “If anyone saw me come in here, they would assume something horrid of me. I’ll stay just a little longer, okay? Just to make certain you don’t get sick.”

“I’ll be good, I promise,” I grumbled at the pillow and its scratchy linen cover. “Just continue what you were saying before.”

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