Page 20 of Just for a Taste

As it became clear my breath was stabilizing, he put space between us. “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do? Do you need Noor?”

As he rambled on with questions, his words faded. I had taken too much medication. Even though its effects might have weakened after expiring, one dose of lorazepam—a potent benzodiazepine and sedative—would have been enough to blunt the fear. Two wasn’t dangerous, but it was clearly an anesthetic, and even without medication, I always crashed after getting through a panic attack.

“No. It’s fine,” I murmured, forcing my eyes to stay open until he left. “You can go now.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded so Duca de’ Medici wouldn’t have to hear my slurring speech. After a moment of hesitation, he rose to his feet. The last thing I heard was the door shutting softly behind him, and when he flicked the light off, the darkness engulfed everything.

Chapter 10: Arietta

That night, my sleep was shaky and fragmented, with vague nightmares broken up by even vaguer moments of lucidity. I remembered waking up at one point bound in my own sheets, and startling myself awake at another by kicking the wall. By the time something other than myself woke me up, I sensed it was early evening. At first, I mistook the gentle knock for ethereal footsteps, but then the sequence repeated.

“Hello?” The hesitation of whoever was on the other side of the door was palpable.

I sat up and fluffed up a pillow beneath me. “Come in.”

Duca de’ Medici opened the door and took a tentative step into my room, then another. Then he froze and turned beet red.

I followed his line of sight to a pair of freshly folded panties and a bralette, frilly and lacy and riding the fine line between nice undergarments and lingerie proper. I had worn them to my interview to increase my confidence. I was now also acutely aware of how my shirt was drooping off my shoulder.

In a movement I hoped wasn’t too conspicuous, I shrugged the sheets around me a bit tighter.

“Good evening,” Duca de’ Medici said after gathering himself again.

This was the first time, I thought, that the vampire’s flamboyant visage had reduced to something more somber. No—I had seen this expression last night as he led me to my room. Pity, worry, and something else I couldn’t name.

Suddenly, the events of last night turned back from a distant nightmare to a concrete memory. I shoved them down and focused on the present.

“Good evening,” I replied. “Can I help you?”

“No. Rather, I’d like to help you.”

I tried my best to suppress my doubt but still felt myself grimace slightly. For a moment, Duca de’ Medici appeared as if he might call me out or otherwise comment on it—he had helped me last night, I realized—but pressed on with his original point.

“I feel in part to blame for what happened last night.”

My doubt had not receded.Unless you can do a spot-on impression of my sister, I’m not too sure of that.

He turned his head to the side and folded an arm across himself. “The birds you heard—they’re mine. I feel at fault for what happened last night, and I would like you to see them, at least.”

“Okay?”

“Carbone will bring you to the aviary for tea.” His usual grin reemerged. “I’m sure Noor won’t miss you too much.”

Despite its strange beginning, the first part of the day slipped back into its usual machinations; breakfast, morning bath, being dressed by the maids, time in the library, and a small lunch. Out of habit, I started toward my usual afternoon tea spot, but when I walked out the door, I crashed into a seemingly impenetrable barrier.

“Eep!” I let out a pathetic, high-pitched squeak and recoiled.

In front of me stood Duca de’ Medici, biting his lip to suppress a smirk.

I flushed, folded my arms, and glared at the corner of the room. “If you’re going to laugh,” I grumbled, “just do it.”

The vampire released a torrent of laughter, and despite myself, the melodic noise made me feel better.Even his laughter is pretty, I thought, taking advantage of his head being thrown back to examine the man. He wore black dress pants and dress shoes with a simple white button-down. Tossed over his shoulder in a distinctly aristocratic manner was a beige overcoat. His sleeves were bunched up past his forearms, and his shirt was unbuttoned midway to his sternum.

What elegant collarbones, I noted. But what was that between them? A gold chain of some sort? Before I got to see what was on its end, he had turned away and walked off. I got a whiff of his cologne, musky but slightly fruity, like a cask of well-aged mulberry wine.

I jogged a few steps to catch up to his long-legged pace and trailed closely behind as he returned to where we had been last night. It was as if the door he was leading me to had appeared overnight. How had I not noticed it before? Sure as day, I could hear birdsong on the other side.

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