An Acquired Taste (The Valentine Society)

Chapter Twenty-Three

A week slips past, and then another. The weather warms and my nerves gradually calm down. I take the time to care for myself, vent on my blog, and chat with the staff at dinner. A couple more mysterious gifts arrive—a bottle of red wine from the year I was born, a book of poetry by Catullus. I try not to worry about what Sebastian would think if he knew I was receiving gifts from another vampire. I try not to think about that grave out on the estate grounds, either.

And then, one day, Ellen comes into my room bearing a breakfast try and a handwritten note inviting me to tea.

I run my finger over the paper. “Sebastian is back?”

She nods. “He arrived this evening.”

“Hm.” It’s encouraging that he wants to see me immediately upon his return, rather than skulking around in the library and ignoring me for days. I suppose I owe it to him to hear him out, at least. “Please tell him I’ll be there.”

* * *

Despite everything that’s happened between us, Sebastian is no less devastating to look at. He appears far more put together than he was during that encounter in the hallway, severe in a black button-up shirt, not a single inky strand of hair out of place. He sits straight-backed in his chair, hands folded in his lap, and barely moves as I walk in and take a seat across from him.

Ellen and Bridget set out tea for us both and breakfast for me. Once they leave, an uncomfortable silence blankets the dining room. I can’t bring myself to eat when my stomach is in knots. I toy with the silver bracelet I decided to wear.

Sebastian glances at it, and then at me. He clears his throat. “You’ve been well, I hope?”

I shoot an incredulous look across the table and fold my arms. That’s how he means to begin this conversation?

He grimaces and runs a hand through his hair. “Right. That was a foolish question. I… what I meant to say is, I apologize for what happened before I left. My hunger got the best of me, which is my own fault.” He stares down into his tea rather than looking at me. “The night you were hurt… I had intended to ask if I could begin to drink from you directly. But then you were injured, and I didn’t want to ask it of you, and… I waited longer than I should’ve, knowing the effect your blood has on me. It was a stupid error.” He raises his eyes to me. “I should never have put you at risk like that, nor made you doubt that you’re safe.”

I’ve been practicing this conversation in my head for days. I pictured myself being angry or cold. Threatening to tell the world what he did, making him beg for my forgiveness. Confronting him about Etta. But I never imagined him apologizing so willingly, and despite my better instincts, I find myself softening. “Thank you for saying that,” I say. “I… accept your apology. As long as it doesn’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” he says, in a firm tone that brooks no argument.

I nod, and then it’s back to awkward silence. I pick at a scone just to have something to occupy my hands. I try not to think about the fact that Sebastian is sitting where Alexander did, not so long ago, and how easily the conversation flowed then.

“Ellen mentioned that you had a visitor while I was away,” Sebastian says, as if reading my thoughts. His tone is neutral. “A vampire visitor.”

My pulse rises. I need to keep reminding myself that Ellen and the staff are loyal to Sebastian, not to me. I’m hesitant to admit the truth about Alexander, especially after the suspicions he raised about Sebastian.

“Benjamin came to check in on me,” I lie.

Sebastian pauses, his brow furrowing. He looks again at the silver bracelet on my wrist. “I assume you told him about what happened.” It’s impossible to read his tone. Would he be angry if I did? Guilty?

I could claim that I did tell him. Maybe it would make me safer, if Sebastian thought suspicion would fall upon him if something happened to me. But as I look into his dark eyes, I can’t quite bring myself to voice the lie. “No,” I say instead. “I didn’t think it was any of his business.”

Sebastian looks away. I’m surprised that he seems troubled rather than relieved. “You should have told him,” he says. “He would have considered it a breach of our contract. Taken you away. He should have, after I lost control like that.”

Is that what Sebastian thinks I want? … Is that what I want? I hesitate and then reach over the table, giving Sebastian plenty of time to pull away before I take his hand. Again, I’m uncomfortably aware of parallels between this conversation and the one with Alexander, but I try to push the thought away. “I won’t deny that you frightened me,” I say. “But you didn’t bite me. You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t lose control.” He looks up at me, and I’m surprised to see agony written all over his face. Maybe I’m a fool, but when I look into his eyes, I can’t bring myself to believe Sebastian would hurt me. I squeeze his hand. “Like I said, as long as it doesn’t happen again…”

“It won’t. We’ll return to using the syringe. It was foolish to attempt otherwise.” He pulls his hand away from mine.

It’s stupid to be disappointed. Even though it feels like taking a step back, he’s doing this for my safety. I always took his use of the syringe as a snub, but now I think he’s been trying to keep me safe from the beginning. I was the one who pushed for more. I crossed a boundary when I asked him to drink from me, and again when I asked about Etta. Maybe I’ll never know what happened with her, but… maybe it’s not my place to know. As long as I believe he won’t hurt me—and I do —then maybe it’s none of my business what happened here a century ago.

Perhaps I’ve been asking too much of Sebastian. This is, after all, a contracted relationship. He does not owe me anything beyond what’s laid out there, and it was stupid to hope for otherwise.

* * *

With Sebastian back at the estate, my life settles back into routine. Ellen takes my blood via syringe every evening; Sebastian’s place at the dining table sits empty every night. I avoid the library and keep to myself. I spend most nights alone in my room. Sometimes I read—I’m slowly making my way through the book of poetry that Alexander sent, which is surprisingly good—but mostly I write in my blog. It’s the only place I can be honest.

Who am I supposed to talk to, anyway? I still can’t talk to Maisy about any of this. It feels awkward chatting to Alexander with the truth about his offer of patronage hanging over us. I no longer trust Benjamin, either, after finding out he lied to me about it, so I only respond to his check-ins with brief, bland answers. I don’t feel comfortable with the staff either, knowing that they concealed facts about Etta from me.

I can tell that they’re trying to make it up to me. When I excuse my lack of talkativeness as trouble sleeping, fresh pillows are waiting at my door the next morning. When I decline dessert—practically unheard of—that next night, Bridget makes the chocolate cake I so enjoyed at a previous dinner. When I explain my distance from Ellen by the fact that I’ve been busy writing, a set of buttery-soft leather notebooks and fancy pens arrives with my breakfast tray the next morning.

But despite their efforts, it’s impossible for me to unlearn the truth now that I’ve figured it out. The staff are not my friends, and this place is not my home. This is a job, and for my sanity, I need to treat it as such.

One day, Maisy texts me: Two more months till move-in ! And I realize, with a shock, that it’s true. It’s June now—and August will not only mean Maisy moving to LA, but the end of my contract with Sebastian.

I try to convince myself that all I feel is relief.

* * *

One day, the monotony of my day-to-day routine is broken by the arrival of a letter with my breakfast tray:

To my Valentine,

Please join me for tea. 12:00.

Sebastian

I stare at it, remembering the delirious hope I felt last time I received a note like this. This time, I won’t be so foolish.

Still, my traitorous heart is pounding at the thought of seeing Sebastian face-to-face for the first time in weeks. I can’t resist the urge to put on one of my favorite dresses, a lacy pink thing that enhances my curves. I hesitate before leaving my silver jewelry on the vanity table.

Sebastian is waiting alone in the dining room. I startle when he stands as I walk in—but he only moves to pull out my chair for me. I sink into it with a perplexed glance up at him.

“Good evening, Amelia,” he says as he takes the seat across from me. As if it hasn’t been weeks since we’ve spoken.

“Good evening, Sebastian,” I say, matching his polite tone. I refuse to let myself soften over one invitation to tea. Even though… goddamn it, the man looks fine when he wears that white linen shirt.

I fold my hands in my lap and harden my heart. “Is there something you wanted to discuss?”

“Yes. Well…” He reaches into his pocket and sets a creamy envelope on the table between us. “I… I understand if you would rather not be in my company for a while. But I arranged… That is, I thought perhaps…”

It’s funny, watching such a dangerous man become utterly tongue-tied. I spare him by picking up the envelope and pulling out the letter within. My eyes widen as I scan it. “An invitation to a ball? With the Celeste Court?”

Sebastian nods. “There is no obligation, of course. But I was hoping you would—”

“Yes,” I say, before I can think better of it. Things may be awkward between us, but I’ve been dying for a chance to get out of this house. I can’t deny an opportunity to socialize now.

And, after all, events are included in my contract.

* * *

Of course, mere hours after I accept the invitation, I descend into an agonizing spiral of self-doubt. The man has spent months ignoring me… so why invite me to a ball now, when our contract is more than halfway over? Does he feel obligated because he’s realized he’s kept me cooped up here? Should I have politely declined to save him the trouble of interacting with me for a night?

In the weeks that follow, Sebastian’s behavior becomes increasingly bizarre. He begins to show up at dinner—not every night, but occasionally. And twice, he actually strikes up a conversation with me. The first time, he asks me, completely unprompted, how I feel about poetry. I stare at him for an uncomfortable amount of time before stuttering out something barely intelligible. The second time, he asks if I’d like to take a walk with him and Barnabas. Panicking, I tell him I have an upset stomach and flee the dinner table.

When Bridget knocks on the door with a bowl of chicken soup and some medicine a couple of hours later, I feel even more confused. Is all this because of the staff? Could they be pressuring Sebastian to be kind to me? But no, none of them seem like they would speak up to him in such a manner.

What, then, is the point of this?

And then I realize: our contract. Surely Sebastian has realized it will be ending in a couple of months. He’s made it clear that he doesn’t care for my companionship… but he’s also made is clear that he cares for my blood. Does he intend to woo me in the eleventh hour for the sake of keeping me as a blood source?

When I think of living with this loneliness for another six months, or a year, it fills my chest with aching dread. If that’s what Sebastian is trying to do… I can’t let it work. I won’t. My poor battered heart can’t take it.

* * *

On the evening of the Celeste ball, Ellen helps me get ready.

“Lord Sebastian has not attended a Celeste ball in years,” she says as she pins up my hair. “Thank God he has you to drag him out of this place now and again.”

I stare at my reflection in a gorgeous crimson dress. The top is a lace-up corset, the skirt flowing down to my ankles. It’s gorgeous, just like my perfectly applied hair and makeup, but when I stare at my reflection, all I can see are my stray curls, my lips chapped from my nervous biting, the fine lines at the corners of my eyes. All of the reasons I will never be enough.

“Is something wrong?” Ellen asks, and I realize I’ve forgotten to throw on my fake smile. I can’t seem to summon it now.

“I’m just nervous, I think,” I say, brushing my hands down over my sides. I’ve gained some weight since I stopped working on my feet all the time and started eating so decadently here, and I’m suddenly self-conscious about the way the dress highlights the new fullness in my bust and hips.

“You? Nervous?” Ellen asks, sounding shocked.

I lift a brow at her. “Of course I am. This is my first ball as Sebastian’s valentine.”

Her face reddens. “Well, yes, that makes sense. It’s just…” She shrugs. “It’s hard to imagine you being nervous about anything. I—everyone on the staff—we’re always in awe of your confidence.”

I almost laugh before I realize she’s serious. Then I have to pause to think about how I’ve been acting since I arrived here. The way I’ve shown up to dinner dressed in luxurious dresses, how I’ve confronted Sebastian and made demands of him… I suppose I can see why she might think that. I’m not sure how to feel about it. On the one hand, I’m glad she doesn’t seem to see the insecurities that lie at the heart of me; on the other, it’s sad to realize how little she understands me.

As I make my way down the staircase to the foyer, I find that the rest of the staff has gathered to see us off. They all stare at me and, for the first time, I realize how I must look from their eyes. I notice how Trent blushes and stares with open admiration as he holds Barnabas by the collar to stop him from jumping on me. Our driver, Vincent, sweeps his hat off his head and hastily moves to grab my coat. Ellen is beaming. Even Bridget is outside of her beloved kitchen for once to see me off, and cranky old Tobias gives me a nod of what might be approval and cracks the tiniest smile.

Of course, the second I think too hard about being perceived, I forget how to walk in these heels. One of them catches on my dress and my balance wavers, and I think with horror that I’m about to tumble head over heels and completely ruin the staff’s image of me forever—

A cold hand seizes my elbow and pulls me upright. I turn, open-mouthed, to find Sebastian at my side.

The chill of his fingers seeps through the silky fabric of my dress. His dark eyes bore into mine. He is perfection in a charcoal suit. I’m close enough to marvel at his face all over again. He’s practically carved from marble, all devastating cheekbones and dark eyes I can drown in, so handsome it’s hard to imagine any future where he doesn’t make my heart race.

He studies me in return. I notice him taking in the silver jewelry set I chose to wear tonight. If he disapproves, he doesn’t say. He simply steadies me and offers his arm. I hesitate before I take it, and we descend the rest of the staircase together.

Sebastian keeps his expression stoic and his eyes ahead as I say goodbye to each member of the staff, and then he takes me out to the waiting car. Vincent opens the door, and Sebastian gestures for me to slide in first before joining me.

The moment the door is closed behind us, the silence is stifling. I fiddle with my silver bracelet. I wasn’t sure if it would be rude to wear to this event, but…

Well. Given how careful Sebastian has been lately, his insistence on using only the syringe to take my blood, I feel confident that he wouldn’t hurt me on purpose. Whoever Etta is, I don’t think he hurt her on purpose either. But I’m still too afraid to ask for the full story, and I don’t intend to take any chances.

Sebastian sits with his hands in his lap and looks out the window while I try not to stare at him. But it’s impossible to miss the way he clasps his hands tightly on his lap, the set of his shoulders and jaw. He looks gorgeous, and miserable.

Because of course he is. He hates these events. He must resent being forced to take me out and parade me around; I’m sure he’d rather keep me cooped up in the estate . He must feel obligated, or guilty. Just trying to fulfill our contract in the hopes he can have more of my blood, like I suspected already.

But I shake away those thoughts. I’m just getting in my own head again, and that’s the last thing I need before going into my first public event with Sebastian. I try to remember what Ellen said about me, calling me confident , and summon up that version of myself to show to the public. The valentine version of Amelia. I can wear her like a mask, just like the fake customer service smile I used in my last job.

These are vampires I’m dealing with, after all. If they smell blood, I’ll be nothing but prey to them.