Page 91 of Feed Your Fiends

She swallows, and the bob of her throat alerts me to what’s still on it a day later.

“Your neck is red.”

“What?” she asks, brows knitting at the quick switch of conversation.

“It’sred, in four places like a finger necklace. One I didn’t give you last night because I haven’t been back inside of you yet to choke you.”

Immediately, she rubs it. “I’ve been scratching at it.”

My baby’s lying to me…after she asked us not to keep secrets.

If she’s lying, it’s important.

“Have you?” I ask evenly.

“Marisol’s garden… all the flowers and pollen.”

All the lies.

“It must be my allergies.”

I scoop her into my arms, and she gasps as I lift us off the couch. “I’ll get you an antihistamine.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s what you said about your elbow. That’s what you always say:I’m fine, so no one worries about you. Because no one has ever worried about you until now.”

“Gant—”

“I insist,” I say, heading for the kitchen. “Do you want it with a pink lemonade? I know they’re your favourite.”

She looks momentarily puzzled at that. Just as I’d expected her to be.

“From the lingering bottles, you’ve been drinking at least two a day. I’m glad you enjoy them.”

But we both know she doesn’t enjoy them because she hasn’t been drinking them at all.

“Oh, right,” she nods, her eyes slipping from mine.Again.

Another lie.

Another secret.

But I can’t call her out on it. If I do, she’ll attempt to fly away again, and I can’t let that happen.Ever.So for now, I’ll play along because my dove’s playing a new game, one she isn’t sharing with me just yet.

She eyes the two empty bottles on the first island as I guide us into the kitchen. Dove’s fairly neat. She would’ve dumped the cans, never mind that I have a maid now that Jarrett isn’t some major secret lurking around. No, she’s used to cleaning up after herself. She didn’t grow up with a housekeeper. She was the housekeeper.

“Hold onto my neck.” She does so far too weakly. “Tighter, you know how.”

Her cheeks redden, but she follows my instructions. Once she’s secure, I open the fridge with my free hand, grab a new bottle of lemonade and settle it on the counter before cracking the top.

“Sit, baby.” I put her on the counter, too, and it takes her a half second too long to let go of me. A half a second that cracks my lips and shuts hers. “I gave you a tour, but I never showed you the most important part of our home.”

I open two cabinet doors, that’s arranged almost like a fridge inside, including a set of drawers at the bottom.

“If you ever have an emergency, the solution’s likely in here.”

“A minor emergency? Or a life-threatening one?” she asks, gazing around the cabinet door and pulling out one of the drawers. Little glass vials tinkle at the motion, while syringe packets crinkle. “It’s like a damn chemist shop.”

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