“There’s also the situation with his sire to consider,” Benjamin says. “I know he told us it won’t be an issue, but I misliked what I gleaned of their relationship at the ball. I’m afraid of you being pulled into the middle of whatever is happening between them.”
I heave a sigh. “Is it possible to have some time to think about it?”
“Of course,” Benjamin says. “That will give me time to ask around, as well. I’ll see what I can find out about Claude’s reputation, and that of his sire, along with confirming about intimacy with the other vampires who offered.”
We return to the room to break the news, and I say my goodbyes to Claude. If he’s disappointed in not receiving an immediate answer, he doesn’t show it. He just bends to brush akiss over the back of my knuckles, bids me farewell, and leaves me with my head spinning.
* * *
The next night, when Benjamin and I sit down to discuss it all, he breaks the news: both of the other offers have been withdrawn, with the patrons citing a refusal to sign any sort of intimacy clause like Claude did.
“I’m not surprised,” he says. “I’m rather astounded that Lord Claudedidagree, in fact.”
“And what did you find out about Lord Ambrose?” I ask.
Benjamin shrugs. “The Vulpe Court sings his praises,” he says. “They admitted there is tension between Ambrose and Claude, said to be due to Claude’s unwillingness to paint since he was turned. Everyone seems to hope you’re the solution to that, so they’ll support the unusual nature of your contract.”
I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “I don’tlovethe idea of being his supposed muse, but…” I shrug. “On paper, it’s everything I want.”
I can’t help but be reminded of my words at the ball:anyone but him. Yet now, here I am, signing my name on Lord Claude de Vulpe’s contract.
Chapter Eleven
My first glimpse of Claude’s home—myhome, for the next year—takes my breath away. I was half expecting someone as dramatic as Claude to live in some kind of abandoned, moody old mansion. Instead the house is boxy and modern, all smooth gray walls and big, bold windows, and perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. I get the shivers just imagining the view.
When I get out of the car, I take a deep breath of salty air and smile. The wind tugs at my hair and clothing, carrying the sound of waves and the smell of the ocean. The Bay Area is just about an hour from LA by plane, and it feels like a different world. Especially since Claude’s abode is hours away from the nearest city, far from the smog and the crowds.
I walk to the edge of the driveway and gaze over the side of the cliff. Beneath the night sky, the waves are so dark, they’re nearly black.
When I turn back to the house, I see Claude waiting on the porch, watching me. He wears a white shirt with billowing sleeves and a deep V-neck, revealing a generous sliver of his pale chest.
My mouth goes suddenly dry as the reality of the situation crashes into me. This is how it’s going to be for the next year: me, this frustratingly attractive vampire, and a contract thatforbids intimacy between us. How did I ever think this would be anything exceptoutrageouslyawkward?
I curtsy and duck my face to hide my sudden trepidation. “Lord Claude.”
He studies me. “There’s no need for that formality. Welcome to your new home.”
For the next year,I add silently. I step forward and take his proffered arm, letting him lead me inside. He gives me a tour of the premises, which are clean and white and angular, much like the exterior. The walls are oddly bare, and the windows that looked pretty for the outside give me a strange feeling now that I’m here, like I’m a creature under observation. Claude shows me the living room with its raised ceiling and square sofas, the dining room with its glass table and high-backed chairs, and my own bedroom, with a four-poster bed and crisp white sheets, and a bookshelf organized carefully by color and size.
“I hope everything is to your liking,” he says.
“It’s nice,” I say.
He glances at me sideways. “Ah,” he says. “You hate it.”
“What? No!” My face flames scarlet.
“You hate it almost as much as you hated my painting.”
“I never said—”
“You’re not a very good liar, you know. Better to just tell the truth.”
I sigh, and relent. “I guess I’m just surprised. This doesn’t seem like a place where you would live.”
“Not all vampires live in mysterious gothic mansions, you know,” he says. “Some of us have adapted to the modern world.”
“I know that! It’s just so…” I fumble, unsure how to put it into words. It’s more like a staged home than a lived-in one. The sort of place you feel like you’ll dirty just by existing. Cold, impersonal, unwelcoming. “…Clean.”
