"Actually, I love him to death. He's really good to my sister and niece, and is a real sweetheart in his own way. But, much like you, he takes himself entirely too seriously. You guys need to lighten up and enjoy yourselves more. Life's too short... well, maybe not for you, but for the rest of us mortals it is."
Valerius was fascinated by this woman who should repulse him. She was tacky and uncouth and yet she was amusing and charming in a most unexpected way.
She plunked a small red can on the table that had a plastic spoon sticking out of what appeared to be some sort of elbow macaroni and marinara.
Valerius frowned. "What is that?"
"Ravioli."
He arched a brow at that. "That is not ravioli."
She looked down at it. "Well, okay. It's Beefaroni. My niece calls anything that comes in these small microwavable cans ravioli." She pulled a chair out for him. "Eat up."
Valerius was aghast at what she was offering him. "I beg your pardon? You don't actually expect me to eat that, do you?"
"Well, yeah. You said you wanted Italian. It's Italian." She picked the can up and indicated the label. "See. Chef Boyardee. He makes only the best stuff."
Valerius had never been more appalled in his life. Surely she was joking. "I don't eat out of paper cups with plastic cutlery."
"Well, la-di-da, Mr. Fancy Pants. Sorry if I offended you, but here on Planet Earth the rest of us plebeians tend to eat whatever's handy, and when something is given to us, we don't question it."
Tabitha crossed her arms over her chest as he went ramrod stiff. If looks could kill, her poor cup of Beefaroni would be splintered.
"I shall withdraw until nightfall." He gave her an imperious nod of his head before he headed back toward the stairs.
Tabitha gaped as he left her. He really was offended and deep inside, hurt. The latter made no sense whatsoever to her. She was the one who should be insulted. Picking up the Beefaroni, she sighed, took a bite, and headed back into the kitchen with it.
Valerius carefully closed the door to her room when what he really wanted to do was slam it. But then, nobility didn't slam through the house. That was for commoners. Nobility held their emotions under careful restraint.
Nor were they wounded by the opinion of crass women with no couth who insulted them.
He'd been foolish to think for even a moment that she...
"I don't need anyone to like me," he muttered under his breath. He'd lived all his life without anyone giving a damn about him. Why should it change now?
And yet he couldn't squelch that tiny part of him that yearned for someone to pass along a note of kindness to him. A simple, "Tell Valerius I said hi." Just once in his life... "You're being foolish," he growled at himself. Better to be feared than liked. His father's words rang in his ears. People will always betray someone they like, but never someone they truly fear.
It was true. Fear kept people in line. He more than anyone knew that.
Had his brothers feared him...
Valerius winced at the memory and moved to sit in the director's chair in the corner of the room.
It was set next to a bookcase that held a wide assortment of novels. He frowned as he scanned the titles, which went from The Last Days of Pompeii and The Life and Times of Alexander the Great to Jim Butcher's Dresden novels.
What a peculiar woman Tabitha was. As Valerius reached for a book about ancient Rome, his gaze fell to the trash can beside the chair. It was large like the kind that most people kept in the kitchen, but what caught his attention was the piece of black sleeve that peeped out from the closed top. Opening it, he found his shirt and coat.
His frown deepened as he pulled them out. They were still covered in blood and torn. He fingered the slash in the back of them from where the Daimon had cut him with a sword.
But he was wearing his...
Valerius stood up and pulled his silk turtleneck off. It was Ralph Lauren, identical to the one he'd worn last night. There was only one explanation.
Tabitha had bought him new clothes.
He went to the closet and examined the coat. It wasn't until then that he realized the buttons were a slightly different color of brass. Other than that, it was an exact copy.
He couldn't believe it. His coat alone had cost fifteen hundred dollars. Why would she do such a thing?