Without a word, he shifted closer again. His fingers brushed my neck, carefully undoing the clasp.
“How was your day?” he asked, as he worked.
The question caught me off guard. Not because of what he said, but because of how he said it. Like he actually wanted to know.
“Terrible. My parents are using me like a rag doll. Pulling me in opposite directions. Public loyalty, private strategy. The usual.”
He paused, the earring still in his hand.
I gave a half smile. By the time the food arrived, apparently this place didn’t do menus. He was back to his normal self. And I, of course gloated for a maybe two minutes.
His hand rested on my thigh as I took the first bite. It was sweet. Then… nutty.
My tongue started to itch. My throat tightened. A low, subtle burn built in my chest, faint at first, then sharper, like a hand closing slowly around my windpipe.
No.
No, no, no.
I swallowed hard, reached for my water, and took a sip, praying it was nothing. The water did nothing. My throat still burned. The taste, oily aftertaste, was unmistakable.
Peanuts.
My pulse spiked. My breath came shallow. The reaction was coming on too quickly.
“Madeline, you okay?”
I shook my head, tried to answer, but it came out broken.
“P—Peanuts.”
He frowned, not understanding at first.
“Peanuts,” I rasped, touching my throat. “In the food?—”
And then my chest tightened fully, breath shortening, like I was breathing through a straw. Panic flooded my system faster. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears.
“Shit,” Vince muttered. “Do you…do you have an EpiPen?”
I had left my purse on the backseat of the car. I tried to tell him that. But I could barely even wheeze.
“Fuck,” his voice broke for the first time.
I tried to speak, to tell him, but all that came out was a dry, choked gasp.
“Hey. It’s okay,” his hand held the back of my neck. “It’s okay. Just breathe. Look at me.”
I couldn’t. My body wasn’t listening. My throat was closing fast, heat was flooding me.
“Madeline. You’re okay. You’re okay. Look at me.”
I was not okay. Choking to death was the opposite of okay. The sound of his voice blurred. I could feel his hand still on my neck. The other found my hand and squeezed tight.
I gripped back, or tried to. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t swallow.
This is it, I thought. This is how I die. In a restaurant that doesn’t even have menus. Black crept in at the edges. The last thing I felt was his hand tightening around mine.
Then everything went dark.
