“I understand,” Haruka says patiently. “But he cannot disrespect you. I will not sit here and allow this to continue. What shall we do about it?”

“I’ll—I can say something…” Nino frowns. “Shit, he’s older though—and he’s a bigwig in our society.”

Haruka reaches over to gently grasp Nino’s hand against his thigh beneath the table. Nino immediately flips his palm up, lacing their fingers together. Haruka gives his hand a firm squeeze.

“There are ways to assert yourself without being disrespectful,” says Haruka. “You expressed yourself well toward Gael when you spoke on my behalf at the bonding ceremony. The same action is appropriate here. You can voice your general discomfort with Moretti’s candor, for starters?”

Nodding in agreement, Nino sighs. “Alright, I’ll tell him.”

Haruka is about to pull the heavy weight of his aura back inside his body, but he hesitates. “Can you answer his question? Do you know three works by da Vinci? If possible, please list more than three.”

Nino scrunches his nose in playful consideration. “Hm… how about that one statue? The thinking guy?”

An affectionate warmth pulses in Haruka’s heart, making him smile. Something about the moody white lighting of the atrium makes Nino’s honeyed features glow. He looks handsome and bright in a layered mustard sweater over a subtly patterned navy blue dress shirt. “That is The Thinker by Auguste Rodin,” Haruka says. “And he is French.”

Nino considers. “Okay, how about the other naked guy? David?”

“That is Michelangelo.”

“The Sistine Chapel?”

“Also Michelangelo.”

“Dammit. Wait. One more. What about the one where the fingers are touching?”

Haruka laughs. The sound of it echoes through the silent space. “That is The Creation of Adam and also by Michelangelo. It is unfortunate that Signor Moretti is not quizzing you on him.”

Nino shakes his head, exasperated. “Alright, just tell me.”

“Mona Lisa, The Last Supper, Vitruvian Man, Head of a Woman, The Baptism of Christ.”

“I’ve heard of some of those. You want me to name all five?”

“I do,” Haruka says, sneering at the motionless older vampire. “Confidently.”

Nino holds on to his hand tightly as he rolls his shoulders. “Alright, unfreeze them—Wait.” Haruka pauses, feeling the burn behind his irises as he waits. Nino grins. “Should you break his baby toe?”

“He deserves a ruptured spleen.”

They laugh openly, reveling in the ironically private moment before Nino turns back toward Signor Moretti. He waits with their hands warmly clasped. Haruka withdraws his energy and the older vampire is moving and speaking again—like a movie that had been paused but suddenly resumes playing.

“—you manage that much? Three works?” Signor Moretti says, his chiseled face frowning in incredulity.

Nino stares, his gaze unwavering. “Sure. Mona Lisa, The Last Supper, Vitruvian Man, Head of a Woman, The Baptism of Christ… Do I need to go on? Are you familiar with those?”

Signor Moretti sits back with his eyebrow raised as he takes hold of his wine glass. “Of course I am, child. How could you think—”

“Another thing,” Nino says. “Please don’t call me that. I’ve been alive for a hundred and thirteen years. I’m obviously not a child. It’s demeaning.”

Signor Moretti draws back and puts his hands up in mock offense. “Heavens, well I do apologize, young master. First my mate chastises me all night, and now the younger Bianchi as well. In the words of the great King Julius Caesar, ‘Et tu, Brute?’”

“Julius Caesar did not say those words,” Haruka says flatly.

The guests at the table pause. The gentle song of nocturnal insects hidden in the surrounding brush outside the glass walls is now more apparent.

“What?” Signor Moretti smiles arrogantly. “I apologize, Haruka, but it is a well-known fact that he did.”

“You are mistaken, signore,” Haruka says. “That is a fictitious line from the Shakespeare play Julius Caesar. Just as some believe that Caesar was deaf in one ear, but there is no documented historical evidence of it. It is also a common misconception derived from the Shakespearean play.”

Signor Moretti scratches the back of his head. “That is… an interesting fact—”

“In addition,” Haruka goes on, “Julius Caesar was not a ‘king.’ He intentionally held the title of ‘dictator’ in ancient Rome and was never formally recognized as emperor.”

Nino squeezes and tugs his hand underneath the table. Haruka blinks, swiftly pressing his energy outward again to halt all movement. He shifts his glowing eyes toward Nino.

“I acknowledge,” Haruka says, “that I am being petty.”

Nino sits back against his chair in a warm laugh, his face bright with amusement.

“Normally I would not draw attention to something so trivial, but his behavior grates me,” Haruka continues. “You should sincerely consider declaring a societal role for yourself. You are unquestionably talented.”

Historians in the aristocracy are expected to know specific, ancient aspects of their culture spanning a self-chosen subject: music and arts, religion, politics, genetics, biology or a particular time period. Sometimes a combination of topics, as in Haruka’s case (he is heavily inclined toward both arts and genealogy). Nino may not have an official societal role, but it is unfair for Signor Moretti to hold him strictly accountable on this particularly narrow topic.

“I should, you’re right,” Nino says. “I will soon.”

“Good.” Haruka sighs. “I should release my hold on these contemptuous vampires.” A moment later, he pulls his energy back into himself once more and movement at the table resumes.

“I have never professed to be an expert on the historical details of the Roman Empire,” Signor Moretti says curtly. “So please forgive my offense, your grace.”

“No offense has been committed.” Haruka picks up his wine glass. “We all have our strengths and weaknesses. I believe it is better to educate and share our knowledge instead of patronizing each other. Nothing productive can be accomplished that way, and none of us is perfect. Do you not agree, signore?”

Haruka calmly takes a sip of his wine to allow Signor Moretti time to respond. Simultaneously, Nino affectionately squeezes his hand underneath the table. Moretti’s flat eyes flicker to Nino before focusing back on Haruka. The older vampire raises his eyebrow in arrogance.

“I agree, your grace,” Signor Moretti says. “Point well taken.”

Twenty-Six

Nino climbs the stairs toward his bedroom a couple hours later, still aggravated by Signor Moretti’s behavior. He’d anticipated some adverse response to his suddenly attending a social event within his realm, but Moretti had seriously gone overboard.

Nino flips his coat from his shoulders a little harder than necessary. “I can’t get over how much of an asshole he was. Why would Lina tell me to go to his house?”

“Perhaps she was unaware of his arrogant demeanor?” Haruka says, trailing Nino up the stairs. “Although… how this fundamental truth could be kept hidden is beyond me.”

Walking into his room, Nino throws his wool coat over the ottoman at the end of his bed. His manservant has already lit the small hearth, so the room is warm and filled with orange firelight. Nino kicks his shoes off before throwing his body onto the bed. He lies flat on his stomach, his voice muffled as he presses his face into the down comforter. “I’m not going to another social, aristocratic damn vampire event for a long time. Jesus.”

The bed shifts as he hears Haruka’s deep, calm voice. “Practice makes perfect?”

Flipping himself onto his back, Nino sees that Haruka is sitting on the edge of the mattress beside him. Nino scoots up higher so that he can rest his head against the pillow.