An Acquired Taste (The Valentine Society)

Chapter Eleven

A knock on the door wakes me. I pull myself out of bed, glance in the mirror, and come to an abrupt stop. I’m an absolute mess : my hair a rat’s nest, my eyes puffy from sleep. I’m still dressed in my wrinkled outfit from the ride to the estate. I hastily finger-comb my wild curls, shimmy out of my clothes, grab a robe from the closet to wrap around myself, and grimace at my reflection. It will have to be good enough. If Sebastian wanted me to look pretty, he should’ve warned me.

But when I open the door, it’s not Sebastian on the threshold. It’s Ellen, smiling politely, holding up a tray with coffee and a breakfast spread. “Hello again,” she says. “You slept through breakfast, so I thought I’d bring it to you.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. As nervous as I am about seeing Sebastian, delaying it is only making it worse. I need to get some answers about why he chose me as his valentine. But I force on a smile and step aside to let Ellen into the room. “That’s very kind of you,” I say. “Thanks. Sorry for missing breakfast.”

“That’s quite alright. I assume it will take time to adjust to our schedule here.” She sets the tray on my nightstand.

I glance at the window, realizing I don’t know what time it is… and then, confused to find it dark outside, at the clock on my phone. “What… is the schedule, exactly?” I’ve already been nocturnal for my training with Benjamin, but I didn’t consider that it might be a permanent arrangement for this lifestyle.

“Ah, right! I should’ve explained. The staff keeps a nighttime schedule here, as per the master of the house’s natural sleep cycle. We take breakfast at sundown—six p.m., that is—tea at midnight, and dinner at two in the morning.”

“Oh, jeez.” I push hair out of my face, trying to wrap my head around that. “He requires that of the household?”

“We don’t mind,” she says, which isn’t an answer.

“Right.” I rub my eyes. Just the thought of permanently staying up all night and sleeping all day makes me tired, but I guess it makes sense, if I ever want to spend time with Sebastian. If he ever wants to spend time with me, I should say, because he’s still not here to greet me. But I guess I should be grateful for that, given the state I’m in.

I pull myself out of my thoughts when I realize Ellen is still hovering near the bed with her hands clasped.

“Do you need something?” I ask, brow furrowing.

“Yes. Well, that is… Lord Sebastian requested some blood,” she says, flushing.

“Oh,” I say. I’m surprised—and flattered, to be honest. I was half certain he took me on out of pity at this point. “Where should I meet him?”

The flush in her face deepens, and she pulls out a syringe from a pocket of her uniform.

“Ah. Gotcha.” It’s a bit insulting that he can’t even come get his blood himself, but I can’t complain when this is my job. It’s his choice, ultimately. So I clear my throat, sit on the edge of the bed, and roll up one sleeve of my robe. Ellen steps to my side and ties a tourniquet around my upper arm.

“I’m a certified phlebotomist, don’t worry,” she says with a reassuring smile.

“Really? Was that a part of your job description?”

“Lord Sebastian paid for the certification program after he hired me.”

“Huh,” I mutter. I guess the use of a syringe wasn’t specifically an insult to me, then. Still, it doesn’t bode well for our relationship that he seems determined to go to extreme lengths to avoid taking blood himself. “Why doesn’t he just… bite people?”

“Don’t know,” she murmurs. “Didn’t ask.”

Her fingers prod at the crook of my elbow until she finds a promising vein, and she slides the needle in. I avert my eyes—not out of queasiness, but in an attempt to think about something other than the fact that this feels like a massive snub from Sebastian—and eye my coffee until she’s done.

“There we are,” she says, pulling away from me with the now-filled vial of blood and removing the tourniquet. “All done. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine.” Just a bit jilted.

“Well, make sure to eat up and have plenty of fluids.” She smiles at me. “Tea is usually casual. You’ll find a spread in the parlor. Dinner will be served at two in the dining room, if you’d like to join us. Though you’re welcome to take your meal in your room if you prefer.”

I clear my throat, feeling ashamed of myself for being miffed. Sebastian may be behaving like a bastard, but that’s not Ellen’s fault. She’s doing her best to make me feel welcome, and here I am, acting like a child. “I’d love to join you for dinner.”

* * *

While I’m eager to explore the grounds, I’m still tired, and my body is confused by the fact it’s dark outside, so I find it harder to leave my bedroom than I would’ve liked. After taking my time eating breakfast—blueberry scones with clotted cream, fresh strawberries dusted with sugar, and a hard-boiled egg in a tiny glass cup—I spend a while lounging in bed, scrolling through social media on my phone. As I see pictures of friends and family, my former life feels distant already.

After I’m done wallowing over that, another thought occurs to me. I type in the search bar: Sebastian de Celeste.

Nothing. Of course there’s nothing; Sebastian doesn’t even own a cell phone. After a guilty, hesitant moment, I type again: Alexander de Solomon.

A profile pops up, one with a checkmark to verify his identity and a shocking amount of followers. My eyes widen as I scroll through his pictures and videos. The suave blonde vampire is just as handsome as I remember, and his feed evidences a life of extravagance. A yacht ride under the moonlight, a charming smirk over the rim of a bloody cocktail, the recognizable neon sign of a famous vampire club…

It looks decadent. Exciting. Fun. All of the things my life could’ve been if he had decided to become my patron. This estate is lovely, but it’s also isolated and spooky and not at all what I imagined after reading all of those gossip magazines.

I feel terrible thinking that way, but I can’t help it. I sigh and bring the phone to my face, bonking it against my forehead a few times to clear my terrible, selfish thoughts. Only when I glance at the screen again do I realize I accidentally liked one of Alexander’s photos. A shirtless one revealing chiseled abs and a delicious V of muscle where his pants dip low.

Shit . I unlike it, realize it’ll still be visible to him, and like it again. Then I like a different one so I won’t just be liking the thirst trap. And I follow him so it doesn’t look like I’m creeping. By the time I’m done, I feel like an idiot, and my face is hot. I don’t know what I’m thinking. It’s not like he’ll notice, he has about a million drooling fans on here.

Eager to scrub my embarrassment off, I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom to get ready for the day, or night. Whatever.

The bathroom is as awe-inspiring as I imagined it would be, albeit a bit old-fashioned. There’s only a claw-foot tub instead of a shower. But it’s hard to complain, especially since it’s set next to a gigantic window that overlooks the grounds I’m so enamored with. They look even more magical under the moonlight.

I find luxury bubble bath product under the sink, and soon the bath is filled with foamy, steaming-hot, honey-and-coconut-scented water. I toss my clothes aside and sink in with a happy sigh, back arching as the heat floods my body and caresses muscles sore from sleeping in the car earlier. With my head leaning back against the edge of the tub and my eyes drifting out to my view of the grounds, I easily pass a full hour in the bath.

For the first time in years, I feel the desire to write stirring. My fingers itch to describe the fog-shrouded trees and the moonlit hills, the perfect crescent of the moon hanging in the sky. I drag myself out of the tub, dry off, and wrap myself in a gloriously fluffy robe waiting for me. Since I didn’t bring any materials to write by hand, I flop onto my stomach in bed and open my old, clunky, much-abused laptop. My fingers hover over the keys and…

…And nothing. The words are gone as soon as I have a moment to write them down. I stare at the blank document, anxiety crawling up the back of my throat the longer my paralysis stretches out. I love writing… or at least, I used to. It’s been so long since I had the time for anything more than a few stolen sentences scribbled on whatever paper I could find. Is it possible I’ve forgotten how to write? Has my creativity been eroded by the years of waitressing and cleaning and having barely a single second to think about anything else?

I’m not sure how long I sit there, but I’m not able to produce a single word. When I finally give up and shut my laptop, I realize that dinnertime is approaching. As I stand and look around the room, still dressed in only a robe, it occurs to me that I should’ve asked Ellen if dinner has a dress code.

And then I realize I have nothing more than a few grungy old T-shirts and ill-fitting jeans to wear. Just when I’m starting to panic, I remember the new outfits I bought with Lissa and breathe a sigh of relief.

When I open my suitcase, my jaw drops open. This is way more than the small handful of outfits I agreed to purchase. Lissa must have gone back without me to buy more. She also included the Valentine’s Ball dress and the heels I wore.

One by one, I unzip each bag and hang the outfits in my enormous new closet. Velvet and silk, corset tops and voluminous skirts… the kinds of things I only ever dreamed of owning. The kinds of things a valentine would wear.

I have to dress up for dinner now. It would be a shame to let all of this go to waste. Ultimately, I’d rather be overdressed than underdressed, especially since I’m finally going to see Sebastian. I mean, surely he’ll come to greet me now, right? Despite my lingering hesitance over this arrangement, I feel a surge of excitement at the thought.

I let my robe drop to the floor and reach for the first thing that catches my eye.