Page 47 of An Acquired Taste

“Whohasn’t?” the biographer asked, rolling his eyes as he sips his scotch. “Even Jonah Montgomery was gossiping about it at the last Camelia party.”

I think of that beautiful, haughty man stretched across Viktoria’s lap at the Valentine’s Day Ball readingmyblog and feel light-headed.

“Of course he did,” someone else interjects. “He’s chronically addicted to sensationalism. Which is all that drivel is. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wrote it himself for a publicity stunt.”

Oh, God. My stomach is dropping to the floor. I try to think of an excuse to leave this conversation, but I’m terrified it will only make me look suspicious. I already admitted I’m a writer…

“I don’t believe Jonah can string together that many sentences. Especially since I wouldnotcall it drivel,” Farah says, frowning. “I quite liked it, actually. It was… honest. Raw. People of our line of work so rarely get to tell our stories.” She shoots a cutting look at the biographer. “They’re usually more interested in romanticizingvampires’stories.”

“I believe in capturing beauty,” he says, shrugging.

“Even if that beauty is a lie?”

“Well…”

As the conversation drifts off into a debate about realism versus escapism, I excuse myself from the table. They barely seem to notice me leaving. I walk over to Sebastian, noticing that he has an almost pained expression on his face, and thinking again about my newfound hypothesis about his social anxiety.

“Excuse me?” I lay a hand on Sebastian’s arm, and everyone in the circle turns to look at me, even though I’m trying to be unobtrusive. I put on my most winning smile and look up into Sebastian’s eyes. “Pardon the interruption, but… someone mentioned this place has the most beautiful library, and I was wondering if you might take me to see it?”

Some of the tension in Sebastian’s shoulders relaxes, only visible because I’m looking for it. “Of course,” he says, and excuses himself from the conversation. As I expected, nobody seems surprised or offended that I might want to see the library. At a Celeste party, it’s the perfect excuse for us to wander away from the crowd.

“I apologize,” Sebastian says as he leads me out of the ballroom and down a hallway.

I glance up at him. “For what?”

“I was afraid you would be bored at an event like this,” he says, his eyes still ahead. “But it is the only sort of thing I am invited to, other than the Valentine’s Day Ball.”

I almost laugh. “Sebastian, I didn’t pull you away because I was bored. I pulled you away because you looked like you were in physical pain trying to carry on that conversation.”

He blinks, finally looking down at me. “…Oh,” he says. “Well. Yes. They were eager to reminisce about the war, which is not a topic I’m fond of.”

“And you are not particularly fond of conversation in general.”

He pauses. “I am rather rusty at it, I admit.”

He sounds almost embarrassed. It’s enough to make me squeeze his arm in solidarity. “Well, I have it on good authority that youarefond of libraries.”

He cracks a rare smile, but it flickers out just as quickly as it appears. “You don’t have to remove yourself from the party for me. I know the estate is not exactly rife with social opportunities, and I want you to—”

“Sebastian.” I squeeze his arm and cut him off before he can wind himself up any further. I wait for him to look at me, and then I give him a genuine smile. “There is no one here I would rather spend time with than you.” We come to a stop outside of the huge double doors that must lead to the library, and I lean in on my tiptoes and mock whisper, “And it just so happens that I reallydowant to see the library.”

Sebastian’s library at the estate was already a shock. I think I’m at least somewhat prepared for what I’ll see as Sebastian pushes open the heavy wooden double doors to reveal this one. And yet—my breath still catches in my throat as I step inside. There are multiple stories to this room, each with its own small balcony. A winding staircase leads up to the top. On each level, polished wooden bookshelves reach so high that I would need aladder to reach the top. And they have one—one of those rolling ladders that I thought only existed in movies.

And thebooks. There are more of them than I thought existed. I see ancient leather-bound tomes, and fresh-looking new editions; titles in different languages, different alphabets I don’t recognize. An overwhelming amount of knowledge.

I spin in a slow circle, my eyes wide as I try to take in all of it at once. It’s dizzying, looking at the sheer amount of books. I have a rabid impulse to just start grabbing them and flee, countered by the paralyzing knowledge that I could spend the rest of my life here and still not have time to read them all.

“Wow,” I breathe.

“Indeed.” Sebastian’s voice draws my attention to him. I catch him staring at my face before his eyes shift—almost guiltily—away.

Shy, I remind myself. Not ashamed of me, not revolted by me, just… shy. I reach out to touch his hand. He jerks, eyes darting back to me, but doesn’t pull away from my touch.

“Have you been here before?” I ask.

“Yes. Whenever I get a chance, I slip away from the crowd to come here.”

I smile. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.” I twine my fingers with his, his skin cold against me. “I hardly know where to look. Will you show me some of your favorites?”

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