My lower lip trembles. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t know what it meant. How serious it would be.”
He slowly lifts a hand to cup my cheek, swiping a tear away before it can fall. “I did.”
I shut my eyes, unable to look at him. “Thenwhy?”
“He would have used you against me either way. But as a valentine, you’d be safe.”
“But you’d be in more danger,” I say. “And you barely knew me at the time.”
“Even so.”
“You thought I hated you.”
“Even so.”
I open my eyes and suck in a breath, chest aching at the softness in his gaze. “Claude,” I whisper, even though I know I’mabout to break my own heart. “We can’t keep doing this. It’s too dangerous, and it isn’t fair to either of us.”
His expression shutters, and he lowers his eyes. His hand slips away from my cheek. “No,” he murmurs. “I suppose not.”
* * *
We go through our contract line by line, with Benjamin on the phone to provide clarification, to determine what exactly is required of each of us. Aside from the intimacy clause, the contract is pretty boilerplate, outlining the usual duties of a valentine. I must reside at the house, give blood regularly, and attend events as Claude’s guest when requested.
In a moment of quiet when I’m jotting down notes, Benjamin says, “Lord Claude, I must apologize. I never realized the severity of your situation, or else I would’ve…”
“There’s nothing you could’ve done,” Claude says. “It’s not your fault.”
“I hope you know it isn’t yours, either,” Benjamin says.
After we’ve been through the contract, we hang up and look down at my bullet points. Claude is pressed close against my shoulder; he’s remained close to me ever since our conversation, like he expects what I’ll soon ask of him.
“Most of these requirements are left open to interpretation,” I point out. “There’s no specification that I have to give blood every night, nor that you have to only drink from me. No exact number of events we have to attend together. We both have to reside in the house, but that doesn’t mean we have to be together all of the time.”
Claude puts an arm around my waist and draws me against his side. “But I like being together,” he murmurs in my ear.
I can’t bring myself to pull away, even though I should. “That’s the problem,” I say. “It’s dangerous. I think we should have a rule not to touch each other at all. Except when you bite me.”
He goes still. He’s so close, I can feel the flutter of his eyelashes against my skin. “Living here without being able to touch you will be agony.”
“It’s agony either way.” I shut my eyes, will my resolve not to break. “But this way will be safer.”
A pause. “You’re sure?”
No. “Yes.”
He pulls away from me slowly, his hand grazing over my skin, giving me every opportunity to change my mind, but I don’t. I bite my tongue and keep my eyes shut until I’m sure I’m not going to cry. Then I take a deep breath and open them. “It’s better this way,” I say, unsure if I’m trying to convince him or myself. “We won’t be tempted to cross a line. And maybe when the year is up, then… things can be different.”
He nods. “Maybe. If I can only paint, then maybe… maybe Lord Ambrose and the rest of Vulpe would be more amenable to a change in the contract, or a new one at the end of the year, at least.” But his sad smile tells me he doesn’t believe it. And even though I want to, neither do I.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Days pass, then weeks. Life settles into a rhythm that is bearable, if only barely so.
Claude drinks from me most evenings. Sometimes he cooks for me. But often he is gone, leaving me alone in the house with nothing but the sea for company.
I’ve never been a person with real hobbies before. I never had time for them, always busy with school, work, and taking care of myself. All of this empty time is uncomfortable, but I find myself seeking escape in books, which I used to enjoy during spare free time. It’s been years since I picked up a novel for pleasure, but I find them surprisingly soothing now.
So I read, and talk to my friends, and try not to think about where Claude is. I asked for space, and he’s giving it to me. But I can’t help but imagine him off at a party somewhere, laughing and talking with people who aren’t me, drowning his sorrows in blood and wine.
