Page 54 of Just for a Taste

“Last Valentine’s Day wasn’t long before you came here. I’m rather surprised you were living in London before then.”

I joined his side but stared at the ground, rather than any of the art around us. “That’s why I left London. Emily and I were together for three years, living together for two. And she wanted us to go outconstantlywhen we were together, so it seemed like everywhere in that entire city was somewhere we had been before, some memory that was tainted with my inability to just be a normal person. For most of that time, she tried to get me to be open with her, but I just . . . couldn’t. Maybe some part of me knew that if I said the wrong thing or had too much baggage, it would be over. That I would just be too much.”

Zeno’s brow furrowed deeply, and he stopped walking for a moment. “Cora, you couldneverbe…” he trailed off, running his fingers through his hair. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please, continue.”

“It was a pretty bad breakup. She said she had tried everything, but I was incapable of being open with someone. It wouldn’t have stuck with me so much if she was wrong, you know? Even before we got together, I knew it wasn’t possible for me to have love or a happy relationship. That’s why it isn’t lonely in the abbey, you know? I’ve always known there isn’t anything out there to miss.”

Zeno went quiet, his expression grave and eyes low. We walked another wordless lap around the museum before leaving, but to my horror, gloom seemed to stick to us as tightly as the sweat on the back of my neck.

The unease was latched onto us even as we exited into the cool night and ducked into the warm, cozy car. Every tiny dip in the road felt like it would jar me from my seat. The scratching of branches sweeping over the roof sounded razor sharp, and even my perfume turned pungent. And my God, did the silence itself gnaw at my skin.

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.What’s wrong with you?Why are you being so weird? Why would you talk about something from so long ago? All that mopey bullshit! You must look pathetic!

The thoughts sprung out faster and faster, the sorts of self-conscious scoldings I hadn’t given myself after months of therapy. They were enough to start that dreadful ringing. I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could.

Zeno’s cool hand rested on mine, and all the noise in my head stopped.

All I could hear was the gentle whir of the engine and my quickening heartbeat in my ears. I turned to Zeno, who was staring out of his window at the rolling hills. Even so, I saw the redness of his ears.

“I, uh—there is something I must tell you. I wanted to say it way back there.”

It is human nature to predict the ends of sentences and connect dots to fill the silence. And yet my mind was blank, for I knew there was no way to predict his words. I held my breath.

“Someone will love you like you’re meant to be loved, Cora,” Zeno said in a low but certain tone. “You’re one of those people the universe has chosen to be cherished.”

Anxiety pulled at Zeno’s brow and caused it to furrow heavily over his eyes—those beautiful coral eyes I had painted so many times but could never fully capture. Would I ever get used to them?

Impulsively, I kissed him, then pulled away moments later, alarmed by my own actions.

Now it was my turn to try reading his expression. Luckily for me, it was easy. Zeno’s mouth parted and allowed a small breath of relief to escape, then curled at the corners. Clearly, he was trying to conceal his elation—and just as clearly, it was showing.

“Your lips are dry,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say.

The vampire held my gaze for a second, then replied, “I’m sorry. Yours are soft.”

His sincere tone made me chuckle, and just as I was about to say something else, his lips were suddenly on mine.

One hand rested on the small of my back while the other gently cupped my face. I swept my tongue across his teeth, feeling the fangs that had bore holes in my wrists, and Zeno countered by drinking me in and catching my lower lip with his.

I pulled away to catch my breath for an instant, and he pressed his forehead against mine.

The heat of his breath and the gentleness with which he caressed my cheek made warmth smolder in my chest.

“I’ve wanted this—you—for a long time.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Since the moment I lit that first candle in front of you, and you told me about Vivaldi.”

I laughed and said, “Oh, I didn’t know nineteenth-century composers got you going.”

He smirked in return, planted a small kiss on the corner of my mouth, and replied, “Only when you talk about them.”

I pulled back and gestured pointedly toward poor Signora Rafia, who was presumably horrified at our open display of intimacy.

“Who gives a fuck?” Zeno’s voice was a low growl, though not devoid of mirth.

I smiled despite myself and pulled his face closer to mine.

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