An Acquired Taste (The Valentine Society)

Chapter Four

“ T here will be thousands of people applying to be potential valentines this year. Perhaps fifty will be chosen to attend the Valentine’s Day Ball.”

I nod and sip my tea like my life depends on it. Benjamin decided to launch into my training as soon as I signed the contract. There’s no time like the present, he said, especially because I only have a week to train and adjust my sleep schedule to stay up all night. I sometimes work night shifts, so I have a bit of an advantage… except that I worked this morning at the diner.

“How many people are you sponsoring?” I ask, trying to stay focused.

He pauses. “Just you.”

Now that jolts me awake. “What? Why?”

He shrugs. “I told you I was particular,” he says. “Most potential valentines went with the larger agencies, I suspect. And out of the few who applied, I found none suitable except you.”

I should probably find that flattering, but instead, my pulse rises. What in the world is he thinking? Surely, choosing me will lead to disappointment. I’m about to ask why when Lissa enters with a tray of tiny sandwiches, and my stomach lets out a very loud grumble. The only thing I’ve eaten today was a muffin at the diner this morning and a few mouthfuls of rubbery spaghetti.

Benjamin huffs out a laugh. “Please, help yourself.”

I don’t need more encouragement than that. I sample a couple sandwiches—one cucumber with cream cheese, which is delightfully refreshing, and another with roast beef and spicy horseradish. It’s hard to get used to eating while Benjamin just sips his blood-infused tea, though.

“Do vampires eat?” I ask once I’ve polished off my second tea sandwich.

“We can if there is blood mixed into the food, but most vampires choose not to, save for special occasions. Blood sustains us.” He shrugs. “It usually tastes better, too.”

“Except for mine, apparently.”

He levels me with a disapproving look. “That is the sort of thing you are not going to say at the ball,” he says. “I’ll be touting you as a unique delicacy, which you are. Do not devalue yourself.”

I take another sandwich and say nothing. Apparently, that’s our segue into the etiquette lesson, because Benjamin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a paper folding fan with a wooden handle. “Do you know what this is?”

I almost choke on my mouthful of egg sandwich in my haste to answer. “A blood card!”

He smiles, holding it out. I wipe my hands on my napkin before taking it in a reverent, two-handed grip. “That’s right. You’ll have one at the ball.”

I flip the fan open. The paper is thick and creamy, the wood polished and solid, and there’s a black silk ribbon tied around the end of the handle that attaches to an elegant quill pen. I feel luxurious just holding it and can’t resist the opportunity to fan myself and grin. I’ve seen blood cards on TV, read articles about those belonging to famous valentines, but never seen one in real life.

“On one side, we will write the name of your patron—or your chaperone, in this case—and some tasting notes for your blood,” Benjamin tells me. “The other will hold the time slots where vampires can sign to claim a drink from you. But always remember it is your choice, first and foremost, of who you allow to taste you.”

I snap the fan shut and hand it back to him. “How many time slots are there?”

“Six,” Benjamin says. “The party will last from dusk till dawn, approximately twelve hours. So you may be bitten once every two hours. Each one will take only a brief taste, so you will give a pint of blood total. Well within a safe range, and I will be with you, ensuring you stay fed and hydrated.”

“You’ll be with me all night? I didn’t realize the chaperone thing was literal.” It’s a relief to know I won’t be all alone in a party full of fanged predators, but still… “Don’t you have better ways to spend your time?”

“Than keeping you safe? No, Amelia. Nothing is more important than that.” He gives me a stern look. “That is the main purpose of these lessons. But the two most important rules you should know are these: you must never leave my side at the ball. And you must never let anyone bite you outside of the designated time slots on your blood card.”

“Right,” I say. “But… is it going to be an issue to keep me safe ? I thought there were all kinds of laws protecting valentines.”

“There are. Valentines are cherished and safeguarded in our society, but it is their patrons who guarantee that. Till you are claimed, you exist in more of a legal gray area.”

I swallow. My nerves flicker, but instead of scaring me off as they probably should, they only make me more curious. “So how are you going to keep me safe?”

He smiles. “With impeccable manners, of course.”

* * *

“I thought you were kidding,” I groan an hour later as Benjamin corrects my posture once again. I’m sweating from holding this stiff pose. Actually sweating. I didn’t think being polite would take so much effort. “There’s no way anyone actually cares about this stuff.”

We’ve moved from the parlor to the “sitting room,” because apparently that’s a thing that rich people have. Lissa has taken up a spot at the grand piano, and we’ve pushed the furniture to the sides to open up the center of the room as a makeshift ballroom. By we, I mean that Benjamin moved all of the furniture with an effortless strength belying his slim build, showing off the heightened abilities of a vampire.

I can’t lie, it was pretty hot to see him lift a couch with one arm, but I still don’t intend to get in the way of whatever is going on between him and Lissa. They keep stealing glances at each other when the other person isn’t looking.

From there, it’s straight into dance lessons. Even after witnessing the strength in Benjamin’s hands, I still feel safe with his palm resting on my lower back. I’ve gotten used to being in a vampire’s presence quickly, which I suppose bodes well for the ball, when I’ll be surrounded by them.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Benjamin says, coaxing my spine into the proper position. He is always polite, but he is also goddamn relentless.

“Huh?” Shit. I already forgot what we were talking about.

He shoots me an exasperated look. “Tradition is important to vampires. It is, in many ways, what binds us. A way to preserve our long, shared history. Some see it as what separates us from humans.”

“Sounds like some snooty, elitist shit,” I grumble.

Benjamin favors me with a smile. “Indeed,” he says, which draws a laugh out of me. “But it’s not without its merits. Adhering to social standards helps us to subdue our baser instincts. At our core, we are creatures of endless hunger and necessary bloodshed. It is important to prove to ourselves and to each other that we can overcome that. That our willpower is greater than our animal impulses. And, yes, there is a sense of proving we are superior to the humans we feed off.”

I roll my eyes to show him what I think of that . But I can’t complain. I’ve heard of the terror and chaos of the early days after vampires revealed themselves to the world in the ’50s, and before that—the stories of drained bodies found in dumpsters, and vicious court wars tearing cities apart. The fuss and frippery of today’s vampires is certainly better than that violence.

Still, etiquette is not my strong suit. Neither is dancing. Even Benjamin’s valiant patience seems on the verge of breaking after the fourth time I stomp on his foot while learning to waltz.

“You keep trying to lead,” he grumbles, rubbing his temples. “Which would be fine if you had any sense of rhythm…”

I sigh and flop onto the nearest chaise. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for this,” I complain, staring up at the ceiling. “Nobody’s going to like my blood, anyway.”

Lissa stops playing the piano. After a moment, Benjamin settles onto the chaise beside me. “It’s possible,” he says.

I groan, flinging an arm across my eyes. “You’re supposed to make me feel better.”

“I’m not here to lie to you,” he says. “But… I will say that you already possess the most important quality of a valentine. The rest is just stage dressing. If you can find someone who matches your particular flavor, I believe you will do quite well.”

I let the arm slip off my face and steal a glance at him. “Isn’t taste the most important part of being a valentine, though?”

“No,” he says. “It’s the enjoyment of being bitten. One is either born with it or not, and you have been.” He favors me with a small but genuine smile. “The rest can be learned, I assure you.”

I smile back at him. It’s not the strongest pep talk—there’s still that big if about finding a proper match—but I appreciate that he’s not bullshitting me.

“Alright, alright,” I say, sitting up. “Get back to teaching, then. We’ve only got a week.”

Lissa strikes up a lively tune on the piano, and I enthusiastically waltz all over Benjamin’s feet again.

* * *

When I fall asleep on the chaise during a break, Benjamin gently shakes me awake and offers the guest room for the night. I stumble over myself trying to express my gratitude; I almost forgot I don’t have anywhere to stay tonight.

As I crawl into bed at six in the morning and rest my aching feet, I realize I have a string of missed messages waiting on my phone. For one traitorous moment, I find myself hoping one of them is from Declan saying he misses me. But of course, I still haven’t heard from him.

Instead, it’s my sister blowing up my phone. My heart sinks when I see the first of her string of messages today: Just bought my plane ticket!!

Maisy must be so excited. She’s been scrounging and saving money behind my parents’ backs for months, since she’s supposed to be moving out to live with me before school starts in August. After the initial excited declaration, Maisy’s messages have become increasingly worried—the latest reads HELLO, STILL ALIVE??

If she reaches out to Declan because I’m not answering, then… crap. I can’t bear the thought of her hearing the news from him instead of me.

But if I tell her about the breakup, she’ll start panicking about where she’s going to live. And I don’t know if I’m ready to tell her about this whole valentine situation. Especially not before the ball, when having her worry is just going to make me more worried.

Maybe I can delay the inevitable conversation. Pretend that everything is fine until I get through the ball and have money to get an apartment for us. Some good news to temper the bad can’t hurt, right?

I swallow my nerves and dial her number.

“Amelia?” She picks up on the second ring. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” I stammer for a second, caught off guard. So much for my plan to pretend that nothing is amiss. Immediately, my voice starts going high-pitched and strained. “Wrong? What? Ha, no, nothing’s wrong.”

Great. Super convincing.

“Amelia, I sent so many texts! So! Many! And now you’re calling me at six a.m., what the hell is going on?” Her voice rises to match my own panicked squeaking.

Shit. Not a good start. I didn’t even realize the time. “I, um, well…” I consider telling her the truth, but I’m so tired, my eyes ache, and I’m so thoroughly unprepared for that conversation. After a second’s indecision, my mouth starts moving before my brain can catch up. “Oh, right, I forgot to tell you. I’m… out of town this week. On a… writing retreat.”

“Oh.” My sister sounds puzzled but not suspicious “Well, geez, okay, you could have at least answered a text.”

“Yeah, my bad… You know how forgetful I am.”

She blows out a breath. “Whatever. A retreat, huh? That’s cool. But you’re gone for Valentine’s Day? What about Dec?”

This lie tastes especially bitter in my mouth. “The retreat was a present from him, actually. For supporting him over the years.”

“That’s sweet.” I hear her shift, yawn. “So what kind of crazy retreat has you up at six in the morning?”

“I was… up all night, actually. With my new, um, writing friends. Super inspiring.” I wince and pinch the bridge of my nose. “So I can’t talk long. Really tired. Sorry. I just, I didn’t even think about what time it was, I just saw I had missed a bunch of texts and…”

“Oh, that’s okay,” she says. “I just wanted to check in about me moving in and everything.” There’s a pause as I scramble for something to say, and I hear her start to get anxious again. “I’m excited about getting out of here. Mom and Dad have been really… you know. Them. And when you didn’t answer, I started getting all in my head, worrying that something had gone wrong, so…”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” I shut my eyes, pushing the truth down. There’s no going back now. I’m burying myself in lies. But I tell myself I’m doing what’s best for my sister. “I promise everything’s gonna be fine.”

As she sleepily says goodbye, I hang up and tell myself that no matter what, I’ll find a way to make sure that, at least, was the truth.