Good enough, I suppose. I push up from my chair and slowly cross the length of the table. The room feels somehow quieter than before, each click of my heels on the tile echoing faintly. Claude’s eyes never leave me. When I reach his chair, he pushes back from the table and holds out his hand.
My face warms. Does he expect me to sit on his lap again? It feels different when it’s just the two of us alone in this house.
But we do have a contract. And Ididnearly swoon when he bit me at the ball. I suppose it would be awkward to do it standing, so maybe thisisthe best option.
Claude is still looking up at me, smiling and expectant. After a moment, I place my hand in his and sit sideways across his knees. It’s surprisingly comfortable, especially with his arm supporting my lower back.
But it brings us close together. Very close. If I turned my face to the side, our lips would be centimeters apart. So I don’t. I pointedly keep my gaze turned away as he lifts my wrist to his mouth.
Again, his bite is as gentle as a kiss. And again, it sends heat rushing through every part of my body. My eyelids flutter shut; I feel the rush of blood beneath my skin, the pulse of my heart, each beat making the heat inside of me deeper, brighter, hotter. My breath quickens, and then slows as I melt into Claude’s arms. I thought my memory of the ball had exaggerated the power of his bite, but it feels so good.Toogood. An intoxicating rush that leaves me aching.
I open my eyes as he pulls away. He bites his own lip and kisses the puncture marks on my wrist, sealing them with his blood. “Thank you,” he murmurs, looking at me with half-lidded eyes.
It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him. I imagine his lips parting for mine, the faintest brush of fangs, his cool fingers against my heated skin…
Then I shake it off and force myself to stand, using the edge of the table to steady myself until my legs feel strong enough to hold me.
“What now?” I ask, trying to sound brusque. As impossible as it seems, this is going to be every night for the next year. I have to find a way to distance myself.
Claude leans back in his chair and shrugs. He looks exactly as casual as I am trying— and failing—to pretend to be. “You look exhausted, so take the rest of the night to get yourself settled.” His head lolls back against the cushioned chair, sated and lazy. “Meet me here tomorrow evening.”
“And then what?”
His blue eyes are bright as they meet mine. “And then I’ll paint.”
Chapter Twelve
My room feels too large, too decadent, too quiet. More like a hotel room than a bedroom. Unpacking my suitcase and filling the room with my small collection of belongings—books, mostly—doesn’t help much. I don’t have nearly enough stuff to fill all the space. I haven’t even filled a third of the walk-in closet, even with the extra dresses that Benjamin and Lissa sent with me.
I thought it would be a relief to have this much time and space to myself. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced. As a kid, my mom moved us from cramped apartment to cramped apartment, and later we lived out of her van. Ever since I broke free from her, I’ve lived with roommates like Elaine and Sophie, sharing too-small spaces to save money. I’ve never had an entire room to myself before.
But the house is so silent, it feels almost oppressive. It’s strange to think that before I was here, it was just Claude by himself in this big, remote place. There is something about it that doesn’t fit him. Yet then again, I hardly know him; he’s already called me out for making all manner of assumptions about him, so I should probably stop doing it.
I should probably stop thinking about him so much in the first place. I’m here because I’m getting paid, and it’s not my job to figure out the enigma that is Lord Claude de Vulpe.
I dig my phone out of my purse and send Benjamin a text to let him know all is well. I was surprised to hear that a vampire had a cell phone, to which he sheepishly admitted that most vampires despise them, but Lissa insisted upon him learning to use one.
His response comes almost immediately:Happy to hear. Don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything. - Benjamin
Grinning at the way he signs his texts like an old man, I open up my group chat with Elaine and Sophie.
I made it to Claude’s place,I type.It’s gorgeous. I’ll have to see if I can invite you guys for a visit soon.
I stare at the screen for a while, waiting for a response, but none comes. It gives me a pang of anxiety. They seemed happy for me when I told them I found a patron, but they both waved away my attempts to talk about paying for an apartment for them while I’m away. Sophie’s staying with David, and Elaine with her parents, like they originally planned. I was always the only one without any options.
I’m relieved they’ll be fine without me, of course, but it also leaves me feeling unsettled. Living together was the beginning of our friendship; what if moving out is the end of it? What if they don’t want me now that they don’t need me?
After nearly a half hour of agonizing, I finally realize they’re probably not responding because it’s the middle of the goddamn night. It’s late even for my nocturnal schedule right now.
I should be exhausted, but still, I stare up at the ceiling for a long time before I manage to fall asleep.
* * *
I’m not sure my mind will ever get used to waking at sunset,but at least my body is starting to adjust to the nocturnal cycle. Claude didn’t specify a time to meet him, so I allow myself the luxury of a slow morning—or evening, that is. I take a long, warm shower, drag a comb through my hair, and stare at my closet before selecting a simple white sundress. Am I supposed to dress fancier? Do my hair and makeup? I don’t know what’s expected of me. But the lack of caffeine is starting to make my head hurt, so I head into the house as is, resolving to find some coffee before I do anything more.
Memory takes me back to the kitchen Claude showed me last night during his tour. It’s modern and spacious, with pale granite countertops and white cabinets. So strange to imagine Claude in here preparing a meal for me last night; stranger still to imagine that it must’ve sat here unused for years, since only Claude was living here, with no need for meals beyond blood.
The thought gives me a pang of worry. Does he keep the kitchen stocked? He must’ve bought some things, to be able to make my dinner last night, but would he have thought to stock up on necessities? What about coffee? If he doesn’t drink it himself, it must’ve been years since he had to think about things like that…
