Page 25 of An Acquired Taste

“Thank you,” I say, cutting her off before she can make me doubt myself. She stiffens, and I pause, give her a small smile, and say more gently, “Thank you. Really. But this is something I need to do.”

Then I take a deep breath, shove a pastry into my mouth to bolster my courage, and march down the hallway before I can lose my nerve. I pause in front of the wooden double doors, smooth my hair and my dress, and then push them open.

At least, I try to do so. They’re heavy as hell, and I struggle to push them open inch by inch, with a little huff of effort. This is why I’ve always given up on it during my explorations, but now that I know this room is both a library and Sebastian’s secret hiding place, I’m determined. By the time I get the doors open, I am breathing hard and feeling entirely off-balance. When I look up, Sebastian is sitting in an armchair, one hand frozen halfway through the motion of turning a page, his dark eyes locked on me.

I had almost forgotten just how good-looking he is. Dressed in a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, with a book in his hands, he isdevastating.

I swallow hard, attempting to moisten my suddenly dry mouth. I regret the pastry that now sits like a lump in my stomach. But before I can think of something to say, my gaze drifts from the man I came to confront to the wondrous expanse of the library around him.

There was part of me, of course, that expected this fancy-ass house to have a fancy-ass library. Still, this place is breathtaking. The walls are lined with beautiful, mahogany bookshelves that stretch from floor to ceiling. In one corner is a small spiral staircase leading to a loft with more shelves. The wall acrossfrom the entrance is made up entirely of stained-glass windows, with the curtains pulled open to allow moonlight to spill inside. Tiffany-style floor lamps add their own warm glow. The ceilings reach high above us and culminate in a dome; we must be in one of the towers I saw from outside of the house.

In the middle of this glorious room waits a round table holding a strange bronze sphere. It is surrounded by a love seat and two plush leather armchairs—one of which is occupied by Sebastian, who has now closed his book in his lap and is still staring at me.

I flush, realizing how long I’ve been gawking at the room after barging in on him. I clear my throat, press back my shoulders, and say, “Hello.”

Sebastian blinks. His fingers curl around the spine of his book. “Hello.”

I purse my lips and wait to see if he will apologize or make some explanation for the way he’s been avoiding me, but he says nothing.

“So this is where you spend your days?” I ask, gesturing to the room.

“Nights,” he corrects, and then, “but, yes.”

This pedantic bastard. Ire rises in the back of my throat, but I push it down again. I did not come here to pick a fight. That would make me look like some immature girl acting out for attention. And that isnotwhat I’m doing. I am politelyaskingfor attention, which is… different. Right?

Doubt stirs in my chest, but I try to ignore it. It’s too late to turn back now.

“Well,” I say, and then pause. I had a speech half-prepared in my head, but now that I’m here, it feels like too much. He’s still staring at me like I’ve committed some major faux pas. His hands have begun clutching his book so tightly, the leather coveris bending, and I am remembering that this man so clearlyhatesme.

How could I have forgotten? How could I have let myself think that I was wrong about that first impression? Just because he invited me here? He could have brought me here for any reason at all. Maybe he struck some secret deal with Benjamin. I don’t know.

I should’ve just asked Ellen to deliver a note instead of coming myself. At least it would make it easier to bear the inevitable rejection. I’m already bracing myself for it, and the words are sticking in my throat. But, God, walking away now would only make me look weirder for barging in like this.

“Well?” he repeats.

I clear my throat… again. Drag my eyes from his polished shoes to his just-as-dark eyes. I wish I could think of some excuse for coming here, but my mind has gone blank but for the question I came here to ask, and so I have no choice but to blurt out, “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

He looks at me. Really looks, taking in my dress, my makeup, my hair, everything I did just to come here and ask this question. I feel ridiculous. He takes his time answering, and I wonder if he’s trying to think of the politest way to reject me or a scathing insult. My throat constricts in preparation for humiliation.

“Fine,” he says.

Fine?

I open my mouth, about to nonsensically repeat the word just to make sure I heard it right, but I snap it shut again. His attention has already returned to the book in his lap. He opens it and begins to read while I stand here awkwardly.

But he saidfine. And, as much as I rack my brain for a way to interpret that negatively, I cannot find one.

“Well, okay then,” I say. He does not look up or make any indication that he realizes I’m here. So, after a moment, I gathermy dress and the shreds of my dignity and leave the library with my head spinning.

…Then I walk back and hand him the forgotten vial of blood. My fingers brush his in the briefest touch before I scurry out again.

* * *

My heart sinks as I step into the dining room and find that, once again, Sebastian is missing. At least the staff is as warm as ever, everyone except for grumpy old Tobias meeting my eyes and smiling in greeting. Yet I still feel separate from them as I take my usual seat at the end of the table. Especially given that I dressed up again. I should have learned at this point, but… I wanted to look good for Sebastian.

Perhaps it’s time to admit that this is a foolish hope to nurture. He doesn’t respect me enough to make good on his agreement to be here. I can no longer pretend he has anything akin to fondness for me. I doubt he cares enough to pity me. There must be something else at play here, something I don’t understand.

As I sigh and lift my fork, the door opens. The conversation goes silent, much in the same way it did the first time I entered, but this time, the stares are not in my direction. They’re at the door opening behind me. I’m seated closest to it, so I have to swivel in my seat to face it.

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