Page 51 of Just for a Taste

He shot me a glance and bit his lip. “You remember that?”

“Yes. I remember all of it. You were talking about wanting to join the church . . . well, I guess you were talking about being in love before that?”

“I was hoping you didn’t remember that.” Zeno flushed. It seemed like since he’d entered my room, his skin was more often red than its usual white. “But yes, I was in love once. I was in my late teens, and a girl from the Salviati family invited me personally to a banquet. I declined, but the invitations continued for six months.”

Salviati. A name known to anyone who researched the Medici, myself included. In the fifteenth century, the family had been rivals with the Medici, both in banking and the church, and were even involved in an assassination. They were banished from Florence and, much like their rivals, nearly died out until the nineteenth century. Slowly but surely, however, the family scrounged back their gold and a more noble reputation.

The photo of the current Salviati heiress I had seen during my research emerged in my mind: Serafina Rosa Salviati, a doll-like Frenchwoman with loose, white-blonde ringlets, crystal-blue eyes, and an ever-present glow not even makeup could replicate. She was tall and slender, with the sort of figure a model could only dream of. Shehadbeen a model at one point, if memory served correctly.

“Was she . . .” I trailed off. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to know the answer.

“Beautiful?” Zeno filled in the gap, and I nodded eagerly despite the strange feeling in my chest. “Yes. Beautiful and wild and wicked. She only saw me for my name and my wealth, and I loved her for that. She was open about it, at least. It was more interesting than the usual politics anyway.”

“What happened?”

“I left to join the church, as I had originally planned.” He pulled out the medal from his shirt and ran his thumb across it. “I loved her, but I could never have her. Nobody could. She got her wish to gain Medici power anyhow, albeit with my cousin. So I sought out mine. Unfortunately, there was politics there, too, especially when aspiring popes learned I am Medici. I’ve found more of God in this abbey than in any of the ones I studied in. So, here I am.”

“Is this really what you wanted?” I hadn’t even fully processed his words before guilt crept in from my periphery.

“A solitary life, away from noise and people who care only for my name, surrounded by music and everything I love? To be away from the world, to fill my life with beauty and forget its inherent ugliness? That isallI have ever desired.”

Past conversations echoed through my mind, weaving together and connecting into a terrible web.Just don’t tell Zeno. He may find all of this a bit too . . . familiar.Without thinking, I traced my finger into the pillow once again.E.N.Z.O.A vampire who was forced out from the clergy because of his family name, who carried the weight of the Medici family despite being known as a bastard. Who, according to all my research, hated every second he spent amongst nobility.Z.E.N.O.He had loved Serafina because she admitted she saw him for his name. Yet here I was, in his sanctuary away from people likeme, who had been drawn in by the nameMedici.

“Zeno, I have something to tell you.”

At the solemnity in my tone, Zeno tensed. His eyes searched my face. He remained silent but seemed resolved in some conclusion—this was, I imagined, that I was actually entirely sober. I met his gaze and held it.

“You know I have a thesis, right?”

“Yes. I assumed in literature—possibly theDivine Comedy?”

“I wish that was it.”

He leaned back and tilted his head to the side. “You came here for access to my library, did you not?”

“I came here because I knew you’re a Medici, because your library is about the Medici. My thesis is on the Medici succession in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. I’ve been researching the origins of Enzo Armando.”

“Ah, the famous bastard. I see,” Zeno spoke evenly, with no discernible emotion. “How is it going, then? Has my library serviced you well?”

“Yes. It did, for a long time.”

“And you’ve been so curious about me because I’m Medici? That’s why you’ve been insistent on speaking with me and learning about my past? That’s why you chose to stay in this abbey?”

I clenched the blanket tightly. It sounded so much worse coming from him, especially when he wasn’t yelling, or crying, or reacting at all. There were so many things I wanted to reply, but I couldn’t parse what was an excuse, or what sounded like one.

So I just nodded and said, “Sorry.”

I expected yelling or crying, but Zeno stared at the floor. “No need to apologize.”

“Aren’t you upset?” I asked, almost offended by the lack of impact my treachery seemingly had on him.

But then, looking more closely at his knitted brow and the miniscule quirk of his lips, I realized what I had initially perceived as a lack of feeling from Zeno was instead an overabundance of competing emotions. As some conclusion visibly sorted itself out in his mind, Zeno finally met my gaze and responded, “I can’t be upset because this brought you to me.”

It felt like the floor had fallen out from beneath me, like I had been punched in the gut.

“I enjoy having you here, Cora,” Zeno continued. “As much as I despise being around everyone else, I treasure every second with you.”

The blanket fell from my shoulders, but I felt no more naked.

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