Page 30 of Forsaking All Others

He turns back to me.

“I couldn’t care less what any of you say or do.”

“Cut!”

“Ah, Viscount,” the director interrupts, “I know we’re all just waiting for, you know,” he bares his teeth, “but, ah, can you try and pretend some interest? For the audience? After all, this is supposed to be romantic entertainment.”

The bachelor sighs and nods.

“And…Action!”

I frown. This isn’t going at all how I expected, and the director has just confirmed my suspicion with his farcical teeth-baring that I’m about to be killed.

‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’

“So…” I start.

“So,” he clears his throat, “given that any vampire would do, you must have applied to participate in these games before?”

“Three years in a row,” I keep my eyes upon his. So far his haven’t strayed to my throat, which I have to assume is a good thing. “Although I’m glad I wasn’t selected last season,” I murmur, “I doubt I would have suited the Bavarian.”

“No?” He mutters. “And what makes you think you’ll suit me?”

“Perhaps I won’t,” I shrug, “you seem very melancholy. Feelings rub off onto me, and I always try to remain positive no matter what adversity I’m facing.”

“Melancholy?”

He turns to look at me, really look at me, for the first time tonight, maybe ever.

“And I suppose your positive attitude and aptitude for puzzles is why you’ve entered into games that will most likely end in your death.”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” I smirk. “But as it happens I realised early on that I only had two choices, become a nun or enter The Games.”

“A nun?”

He looks surprised, the first real expression I’ve seen on his face since sitting down opposite him.

‘Perhaps he is alive inside after all.’

“Yes. The veil was my fallback plan if I didn’t get onto The Games this year. I was either going to take the black or win this game and take the white.”

“You’re religious?”

“Not especially.”

“And how do you think you would have fared in a convent?”

The corner of his lip quirks slightly as he says this, as though anywhere else, with anyone else, he might have laughed.

“Not well,” I sigh, “I mean I would have welcomed the chastity vow, wouldn’t have even minded the poverty vow, but I don’t think I could have stayed in the end because of my vengeful heart.”

“Your what?” He snorts, smirking around his glass.

“I have a vengeful heart,” I shrug, “at least that’s what my Catholic priest told me.”

“And you believe him?”

“I have to,” I shrug, “it’s true.”