Page 18 of The Vanishing
“Yeah…” Nino says, his eyes scanning the walkway ahead of them.
When they round the path, the large fountain comes into view—marble glistening in the moonlight. The water shooting from the elaborate sculpture almost glows. Nino breaks free of their hands and skips toward the fountain. He leans with his palms against the edge to look into the water, then flicks it with his fingers.
“He hardly talks anymore,” Cellina observes. “He used to be so talkative and playful—rowdy.”
Giovanni rubs the back of his neck, watching his little brother. “We should have known something was wrong. The change in his behavior was drastic… It’s been a year since Mom found out and killed Uncle, but he still acts like a scared little mouse. And with Father and Uncle being identical twins, Nino is terrible with Father now—won’t even go near him. I think it hurts his feelings.”
When she turns, her dress flows, airy in the subtle nighttime breeze as she moves toward the gazebo. Giovanni follows.
“That’s why your parents want you to spend time with him,” Cellina reasons, holding the length of her dress as she walks up the stone steps. “I bet they’re hoping he’ll come out of his shell again if he’s around you?”
Cellina sits against the stone bench and Giovanni settles down beside her. He exhales another heavy sigh. “I understand that. But why do I have to do so much? Father drags me to any and every business meeting he has, and Mother always makes me attend social outings. All the while Nino gets to stay home with the maid and play. When I’m finally home, they tell me to spend time with him. I just want something for myself—anything.”
He massages his forehead with his long fingers, then runs them into the thick of his honey-brown hair. Giovanni has always been attractive, but within the past year, he’s grown up. The soft, childish features that she’s always known have sharpened—sculpted and strong. He smells wonderful, too. “You’re thefirstson, Giovanni.”
He laughs, bitter. “As if I need a reminder.”
She reaches over to rest her hand against his on the bench. Registering her touch, he flips his palm up and laces their fingers together. He looks up at her, trepidation in his bright eyes. “Lina?”
“Yes?”
“You’ll be sixteen next summer…”
“I will,” she says, keeping her face even. But inside, the butterflies are going wild again.
“Have you… thought about who you want as your source? Or who you might offer yourself to for the first time?”
“Not really, it’s a year away,” Cellina lies. She’s been thinking about it since she was twelve. Turning sixteen means that her vampiric flesh has developmentally hardened. No more hand-feeding from someone her parents chose. In a year’s time, she can feed like an adult and offer herself to the vampire of her choosing.
In her mind, it’s Giovanni. Of course it’s him. He’s her best friend. They tell each other everything and they have fun together. He looks out for her and she looks out for him—like the time she overheard Antonio being dared to lick Giovanni’s cheek when he greeted him at the spring soiree. Giovanni had evaded being treated like a purebred salt lick because of Cellina’s valuable insight.
They understand each other—as if they speak the same innate language. Ithasto be him. There is only him.
But she needs to be modest about this.
“Why?” Cellina asks, ignoring the excited thump of her heart.
“It’s a year away, but…” Giovanni says, his gaze cast down. “Would you consider choosing me as your source? What do you think?”
Cellina can’t hide her smile as he looks up at her. She raises her eyebrow, teasing. “The future king of Milan is offering himself to me? The scandal.”
“Don’t call me that.” Giovanni frowns. “I hate that—especially from you. That doesn’t matter. I—I just want to… be responsible for nourishing you. If that’s okay?”
Everyone has been waiting for Giovanni to offer himself to someone. For the past year, since he turned sixteen, he’s kept feeding from the male his parents designated for him. Vampires within their aristocracy young and old are speculating: Will he switch sources? If so, when? The handsome first son of renowned leader Domenico Bianchi—who will have the opportunity to drink his divine, purebred blood?
And here he is, waiting for her answer. Cellina bites her lip, overjoyed. “I would be honored… and if you find me pleasing, when the time comes, I would like to become your source as well.”
Giovanni surprises her when he presses his forehead into hers, the scent of him overwhelming and making her head spin. “I do,” he whispers. “I find you very pleasing—sopleasing. You have no idea…”
He lifts his head, but then tilts it and presses his lips to hers in a swift action. Cellina inhales a breath from the wonderful shock of it. He’s never done that before. She’s wanted him to. Has fantasized about it. But Giovanni is always behaving himself—playful but restrained. The perfect first son.
He pulls away and his eyes shift into bright emerald green as he stares at her. She swallows. The burn behind her own gray eyes ignites in response to him. The very old blood within her churns, triggered by the innate pull between them.
Giovanni reaches up and holds her face with his palm. “I wondered what color your eyes alighted… Silver. Like lightning. It’s perfect…”
This time Cellina leans in and places a shy kiss on his full lips. She can’t catch her breath as Giovanni smiles and leans forward again.
“Gross.”
