Page 8 of An Acquired Taste

I roll my eyes to show him what I think ofthat. 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 whomatchesyour 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 bigifabout 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 startsin August. After the initial excited declaration, Maisy’s messages have become increasingly worried—the latest readsHELLO, 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 havingherworry is just going to make memoreworried.

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.”

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