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She picked up her wine glass and took a sip. “Did you hurt him?”
“You really want me to answer that?”
“Dez—”
“Fine. Yes, I killed him. Got a lil carried away beating his ass, but he’s dead.” I picked up my fork again.
She nodded like we were talking about the weather. “Did he say anything?”
“He talked a lot of shit. I don’t know how you fucked with him.”
“I tolerated him. There’s a difference.”
“You’re not freaked out,” I said.
“Should I be?”
“I don’t know.”
She rested her elbows on the island. “Was killing him extreme? Yeah. Am I going to lose sleep over it? No.”
“Cold blooded.”
“Says the man who just confessed to murder over dinner?” She raised an eyebrow. “We’re one in the same, Dez. That’s why this works.”
I looked at her and noticed the engagement ring was back on her finger.
“Do you do this a lot?” she asked.
“Do what? Kill people?”
“Yes, Cardez. Don’t piss me off.”
“I mean… a lot is subjective.”
She threw a piece of lettuce at me.
I laughed and pushed my plate aside. “I’ve done it enough. I don’t enjoy it, Belle. But this life comes with certain realities, it’s just what it is. Anybody sitting at the top of an empire who tells you they don’t have blood on their hands is a liar.”
She started clearing our dishes. “What do you think it means that I’m not bothered by this?”
“You’re adjusting.”
“Or I’m losing it.”
I loaded the dishwasher as she put away the food.
“Shouldn’t you have some cake or something for your birthday?” I asked.
She was halfway to the fridge with the container of leftover mac and cheese in her hand. “You remembered?”
“How could I forget you grilling me about my damn zodiac on our first date?”
She laughed and put the container of food away. “It’s not that serious. I don’t do birthdays like that anymore.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “After I turned thirty-five, it just became another day.”
