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“Drink.” I place a hand beneath hers and slowly encourage the bottle up. While she sips, I look down at her left hand, limp on her lap. The tiny ball of blood Mayet squeezed free, still glistening crimson on the tip of her finger.
“Does it hurt when you have to prick daily?” I pick up her hand and separate her bleeding finger from the rest. “Does it annoy you?”
She only shakes her head and takes another small sip of her drink.
“How many times a day do you have to do it?”
This time, she lifts her shoulders in a barely-there shrug. “A few.”
“And despite being a rich girl who can afford the best healthcare this country has to offer, you choosenotto use one of those fancy monitors that attach to your body and do all the hard work for you?” I flatten my lips in disapproval. “Really?”
“She likes to swim,” Minka reminds me from across the room. She hitches herself up to sit on the stone counter. “Even I know this stuff, and Ineverread the gossips.”
“Best-friend-Aubree tell you that?” Cato snickers. “She’s all up in the rags, no?”
“She didn’t tell me this one.” She crosses her legs and rolls her bottom lip between her teeth. “This time last year, I was still living in New York.Cannon Dailyis the paper everyone buys first.”
Smug, I come back around and smile for the woman whose eyes droop from exhaustion. “Kinda proud my girlfriend is hella successful. Turns me on.”
“Not your girlfriend,” she attempts to snarl. But it comes out on a mere sigh as she sets her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand.But she eats her jerky, at least. She takes a bite and gnaws. “Not in this lifetime.”
“We’re engaged to be married, no? According toBeguile Magazine.” I bring her left hand up while she’s distracted with her snack, pull her outstretched finger closer, then I close my lips around the end, suckling the blood onto my tongue and stunning the woman straight in her seat. “Mm.Yummy.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” She attempts to yank her hand from mine, but she’s weaker than a newborn baby, and even less coordinated, as she almost falls off the other side of her chair, dropping her jerky in the process. “You have no idea the venereal diseases I might carry!” Then she scrunches her nose and wipes her finger on my shirt. “I have no clue the diseasesyoucarry!”
“None of us know,” Minka drawls. “We prefer not to.”
“I’m clean, princess.” I release her finger, but only to fetch her lunch and place it back in her hand. “And whatever you have, it’s the gold-plated version that only rich folks are allowed to catch. I don’t mind.”
“You’re certifiable,” she snarls. “You just spent the night thinking I would die due to disease you couldn’t label. Now you’re putting my blood in your mouth?”
“He’s done worse with that mouth,” Minka sniggers, then she shifts on the counter and turns to her husband. “She’s gonna be fine. Insulin. Food. Water. Sleep. But I have a dead body on my table back home, so…”
“We’ll go after lunch.” He makes a racket, taking plates from the cupboard and placing them on the stone countertop. “Mayet eats, then we fly.”
“My future wife needs needles every day, Arch.” Satisfied, I glance over my shoulder and pin him with a look. “A fewa day,” I parrot Christabelle’s answer. “Beats your measly once every two days.”
“You’re a fuckin idiot.” He shakes his head and slaps a sandwich to each plate, though he puts the biggest, thickest one closest to his wife. “Eat. You infused last night and have barely slept. We’re not going anywhere till I know you’re not gonna pass out on me.”
While Arch and Minka do their thing, and Micah watches—which isessentially what he does in any situation: observes, plans,executes—Cato studies Christabelle from across the room, his head tilting.
His brows furrow in curiosity, and his eyes narrow. “I might stay,” he murmurs, chewing on his bottom lip while Christabelle drops her gaze. “I think I wanna seethis,” he nods toward her, “out.”
“No.” I push up to stand and turn to my baby brother, shaking my head. “You’re going with Arch. But I’ll bring you back soon to visit.”
Icook steak for dinner. I prepare a salad. I essentially repeat the steps I took last night, but I’ll make damn sure Christabelle eats this time.
And that shestays alive.
My phone rings incessantly. Work demands my attention, and life outside this house continues to move forward. I have to get back to my duties soon. I have a business to steer. Income to ensure. Product to move.
Maybe Ms. Cannon doesn’t approve of how I make a living, but I don’t approve of nepotism dressed up as elitism, or someone nearly dying in my bed instead of telling the fucking truth about their medical emergencies.
That makes us even.
“So…” I venture.
We sit on my bed, cross-legged and as dressed down as any couple could get. She still wears my clothes, a state she doesn’t entirely consent to, but one I’ll force time and time again.
