Page 25 of Toxic Love

Dr. Han smiles weakly before taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. His eyes drag from the folder in his hands up to mine.

“On the plus side, your levels are consistent.”

He means consistentlyshitty. But, consistency is good. At least I’m right on schedule for dying at the age of twenty-four.

“The renal protein blockers you’ve been taking have slowed the toxicity in your kidneys, which is good. It means we’re not having to start talking dialysis yet, so long as you maintain the diet we discussed.” He frowns. “I’m a little concerned about your weight…”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

“Are you skipping meals, Tempest?”

IknowI’m too thin. At first, everyone around me just figured I was getting in shape or hitting the gym more than I used to. But now, even my brothers are clearly trying to bite their tongues at the weight I’ve dropped.

But “are you skipping meals” makes it sound like I’m trying to slim down for prom or something stupid. The reality is,I’m literally almost never hungry. Frequently, the very idea of putting food into my mouth is nauseating.

“No…”

Sort of. Sometimes.

He gives me a stern look. “Is it nausea?”

I shrug and look down at my hands. I hate this. More invasive questions in a building filled with the stench of rubbing alcohol and death.

“Because if it is, Tempest,” he continues, “I can prescribe you something. And I would also recommend cannabis for an appetite boost and a nausea suppressant.”

I manage a grin. “Are you saying the munchies are going to save me?”

Dr. Han gives me a wry smile. “I’d welcome you to visit the oncology ward and talk to some of the stage four cancer patients up there. They’ll swear by it, I can assure you.”

I nod, picking idly at my cuticles and the remnants of black polish on my nails. I smirk inside when I flash back to the other day in my grandfather’s study…

When I bumped into the Devil himself.

My fiancé dearest.

I remember the way he grabbed my wrists, and then how his eyes lasered in on my hands and nails. I replay the wrinkled nose look of…something…on his face when he took in the chipped black instead of the manicured French tips I’msurehe’s used to seeing on the women of his harem at his little club.

I make a note to repaint them extra black and shiny, maybe with some skull nail art for extra fuck-you points before our next meeting. Which—crap—istonight, at our engagement party.

Okay, it’s notreallyan engagement party. It’s worse. Instead of a celebration of this nauseatingly fake arrangement, it’s more like showing off a pony to a panel of judges.

And guess who’s expected to trot, trot, trot.

Yuuup.

Tonight, Dante is going to “present me” to a who’s-who of the city’s most connected, influential and dangerous mafiosos, including at least three heads of families belonging to The Commission.

So yes, black with white skulls, for sure. Maybe I’ll even chip them up a bit for a little extra shock value.

Dr. Han takes a deep breath. “Tempest, have you?—”

“No.”

I’m so tired of this question. But he doesn’t tire of asking it.

“I really do urge you to speak to?—”

“I’m fine.”

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