Page 44 of An Acquired Taste

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 Ireceived 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 looksfinewhen 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 woome 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.

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