Her shoulders sag in relief. She smiles—really smiles now—her entire features brightening up, like a flower angled up toward the sun on the first day of spring. I’ve never made her smile like this before. A rush of possessiveness and desire courses through me. She is mine. Her bony fingers. Her shrewd eyes. Her black heart. All mine. “Thank you for trusting me.” She reaches across the table, grabs my hand, squeezes. Her hand is cold and dry. “I love you.” I promise myself not to drink or eat anything she makes in the future unless she takes a first sip or bite. “Love you too.” And I do. I love
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