She pulled a face. “Ew.”
“Notew. Responsible breeding.”
“They’re not the pigs who eat the?—”
“Corpses?” I gave her an innocent look. “Of course not.”
With her distracted, I snagged the towel then looped it around her waist and hauled her into me. Before she could somuch as blink, she found herself perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, legs wide, with me wedged between them.
The perks of dating a woman in love with Pilates? She was pliable.
I grabbed the package of mortadella, twisted off a piece, and raised it to her lips.
With her nose wrinkling at the bridge, I hmphed. “These pigs don’t eat humans.”
“How do you know? They come from your farm, don’t they?”
“That farm doesn’t produce hundred-dollars a kilo mortadella, Kitty.”
“A hundred what now?!”
“Only the best for myliunissa.” Satisfied with her stupefaction, I motioned with my hand to encourage her questions.
“What happens to the pigs you feed corpses to?”
“They die of old age after having a busy and fulfilling life full of tasty food.”
“Is this like my rabbit, Speck, who’s living on a farm somewhere?” Kitty quipped, more dubious than ever.
“No,duci. Why would we kill a pig that gets rid of bodies for us, hmm?”
“If I find out this pig ate humans,” she admonished. “I’ll… Well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll do something!”
I shoved the small slice into her mouth. “Duly noted.”
When she chewed, she wiggled her head to the side. “It tastes good.”
“Organic. Carefully reared in white and red clover pastures?—”
“How do you know that?”
“We own the farm.”
“Your family, the mobsters, own an actual, real-life, old MacDonald had a farm-farm?”
“Yup. We diversify, and have you seen the shit they put on the shelves in grocery stores?” I clucked my tongue.
“God help us—mobsters with an eco-conscious streak,” she said faintly, her eyes growing dazed when I cut off a small bite of the sandwiches I’d prepared and tucked it between her lips, slipping a cube offior di lattein quickly after.
When those dazed eyes widened and she hummed in delight, it would have been a crime against nature not to get a chubby.
Still, I refrained from rocking it against her thigh, just continued to feed us both, without her complaining. If anything, she pressed her hands to the counter and leaned back to let me continue.
“And to answer your question, no, I’m not moving in.”
“You’re here all the time.”
“Yes.”
