Never Expect a Vampire Like You

Chapter 7: Overstuffed and Overheard

Chiara had never imagined that her journey from Rome along the Apennines, chosen merely to escape the summer heat, would culminate in Florence's skies clearing just as she arrived, only for her to nearly burst her eyes from overeating two enormous bowls of pasta on her very first day.

She couldn't decide if this was her fortune or misfortune.

She had wanted to throw down her fork in surrender. Yet, seeing the small girl standing opposite her—hands twisting the hem of her dress, face etched with anxiety—Chiara's heart softened again. Summoning all her will, she forced her throat to work, laboriously swallowing down the pasta.

She hoped that if she did die of overeating, her epitaph wouldn't read, "Here lies a maiden who succumbed to pasta."

The girl who had served Chiara this second, family-renowned portion of pasta was named Lisa. Just twelve years old, she was the youngest maid in the Totti household. Lisa had previously attended Martina, but after Martina fell ill, Riccardo, concerned she was too young to care for a patient, reassigned her to kitchen duties. Upon Chiara's arrival in Florence, Riccardo had transferred her back, specifically to attend Chiara.

Riccardo had explained with a smile, "Lisa has worked in the kitchen. She's mastered a third of my culinary secrets. She'll take good care of you."

Though this chosen vessel possessed only a third of the master's culinary wisdom, the portion size she delivered surpassed his by another third.

Chiara felt she didn't want to hear the words "Totti family" and "kitchen" combined for a good long while.

This meal was an arduous struggle for Chiara, stretching interminably. By the time she finished the pasta, it was the hour when most prepared to extinguish their lamps and retire. She arranged her cutlery neatly, dabbed the corners of her mouth delicately with a napkin held in her right hand, and offered Lisa a smile. "Thank you for the meal."

Lisa nervously gathered the dishes, left the room, and softly closed the door behind her.

The moment Chiara heard the faint *click* of the latch, she slumped back limply in her chair, releasing a long sigh. Faintly, from outside the door, she then heard Lisa's muffled sobs. "Signorina Chiara ate so slowly… she must have hated my pasta. Is she angry? Will she sell me away?"

Chiara: “…”

Rubbing her distended belly, she felt truly put upon.

Nighttime Florence was a stark contrast to its daytime bustle. The city's signature reds and ochre yellows lost their vibrant hues in the darkness. Hazy lights reflected on the Arno River, shimmering gently with the water's flow, casting an intoxicating, nocturnal glow back onto the already shadowed city walls and rooftops.

It was a cityscape utterly different from the Roman vistas Chiara had known from the Orsini Palace tower.

She waited until the painful fullness in her stomach had subsided somewhat before changing into the set of men's clothes she had brought. She braided her hair into two plaits, tucked them securely under her black-and-white headscarf, opened her room's wooden shutters, and stepped out onto the windowsill.

A faint, cool breeze drifted along the Arno, teasing the fine strands of hair escaping her headscarf.

Gripping the wooden lintel above the window with both hands, she swung like a pendulum through the air. Using the momentum, she launched herself onto the adjacent windowsill. This sill was at the corner of the building. A protruding beam jutted from the brickwork at the edge of the corner. Grabbing it firmly with her left hand, she used the leverage to haul herself up onto the sill of the window directly above.

Fortunately, the era's lighting wasn't particularly penetrating. Otherwise, someone across the river might have witnessed a young man scaling walls late at night.

She climbed nimbly onto the third-floor windowsill. Gripping the lintel again and using another protruding beam beside the window, she pulled herself higher. Summoning the strength in her arms, she propelled herself upwards. At the peak of her jump, just before gravity took hold, her hands seized the edge of the roof's eaves. She pulled herself up in one determined motion, rolling onto the rooftop.

The view from the roof was another world entirely compared to that from the window. The brightest lights from the houses below paled in comparison to the enchanting moonlight.

Though the moonlight did little to beautify the posture of the young girl scurrying along the ridge line, hunched over like a thief.

Chiara moved swiftly but carefully across the roof tiles, bending low to maintain balance, ensuring her footsteps were light enough not to disturb anyone sleeping below or in the nearby alleyways.

She soon reached the side of the building facing away from the street. Crouching at the roof's edge, she gripped the eaves, lowered her feet onto the lintel of a third-floor window below, and began her descent. She swung from lintel to lintel, bypassing window after window.

Until she reached the windowsill of the only third-floor window still illuminated.

Likely due to the summer heat, this window wasn't fully closed, leaving a gap wide enough for ventilation. Chiara clung to the side of the window frame, turning her head to peer inside.

The warm glow of candles within the chandelier refracted through the quartz crystals encasing them, filling the modest room with light.

Martina was leaning back against the headboard of the ornate four-poster bed, allowing the elderly nun to slowly lower the richly colored bed curtains tied to the posts during the day. Martina was looking down, seemingly engrossed in something held carefully in her hands. Before Chiara could get a clear look, the nun took a few steps towards the window. Chiara instantly twisted away, pressing her back flat against the cool brick wall.

"Madam, it's time to rest. Please stop looking at that flower," she heard the nun's tremulous voice drift out.

A moment later, Martina's voice followed. "Aunt Eliza... do you think... was I too cold to her today?" She paused, then added, "I sent her away before she even had a chance to speak to me."

Chiara froze for a second, then realized they were talking about her.

The nun sighed. "Madam, I understand your worries. Signorina Chiara won't blame you."

"You know me... I'm timid. And selfish," Martina confessed, her voice low. "I was afraid... afraid the moment she spoke, it would be words of reproach."

Chiara was taken aback. She hadn't imagined *this* was the reason Martina had urged her off to the carnival so quickly.

Of course, she also hadn't imagined herself scaling the walls by night to Martina's window like a Peeping Tom visiting his beloved's chamber.

The thought startled her. Just as she prepared to retreat the way she came, her gaze caught on a figure standing atop a rooftop not far away. Clad entirely in black, the moonlight cast a cold, silvery sheen over the long golden hair spilling over his shoulders. His eyes, however, burned with a fierce, fiery red that clashed violently with the cool luminescence around him.

The instant Chiara's eyes met his, she felt as though powerful arms had seized her, dragging her into a swirling vortex. Within it roared the heavy tides of the Tyrrhenian Sea and flowed the hottest lava of Mount Vesuvius.

Her back pressed against the unyielding, cold brick wall. There was nowhere to retreat.

She had no idea how much time passed. When awareness returned, the opposite rooftop was empty. The window beside her was now dark; Martina had evidently gone to sleep.

Her mind felt chaotic, dizzy, as if she'd just tumbled down the Apennines. The night breeze chilled the back of her neck, and she realized beads of cold sweat had broken out on her forehead and nape. The thought struck her: what if she had lost her grip during that brief lapse of consciousness...?

She looked down at the narrow alleyway paved with stone flags far below and swallowed hard.

Now it wasn't just her forehead and neck; a cold sweat broke out over her entire body.

Was... was that a hallucination?

If it was... then she'd experienced two hallucinations in one day...

No amount of eye exercises, even for a hundred years, would fix *that*.

She needed to seriously consider if there was something wrong with her brain.