He snorted. “I can handle a few tumors.”
“And heart disease.”
“I have no heart!”
“And wrinkles.”
Silence.
“Bitch,” he muttered under his breath. He stomped over and dropped another little cup of espresso in front of Donovan, who picked it up and threw back the whole thing before I could pluck it out of his hands.
“Go on,” Donovan said, smacking his lips.
“I gave up smoking,” I finished. “It was the hardest thing I’d done so far in my life. I ached for it; I missed it like crazy. I pined for cigarettes like a woman misses their lover while they’re at sea. Then, almost a year to the day after I gave it up, Vincent passed me his cigarette at a dinner party. I’d had a few wines, and I took a long drag without thinking.”
Donovan leaned forward. “And what happened?”
I grimaced, remembering what it was like. “I almost vomited. It tasted like I was inhaling a burning rope. My lungs felt like they were being violently assaulted, and it smelled revolting, like a musty old drunk flopped over in a dive bar. It was disgusting.”
“So, this… cigarette. Was it defective?”
“No. That’s my whole point. I’d brainwashed myself into thinking I enjoyed smoking because I was addicted to nicotine. Cigarettes had always been that awful, and when I realized that, I was furious with myself. I’d brainwashed myself into thinking that I loved smoking, when in reality, it was all a lie. Smoking is disgusting, and it always has been.”
I hesitated. “It’s the same with Vincent. He was my drug. I loved him so much—I was addicted to him. And because I was addicted to him, I let myself be brainwashed into thinking that he was perfect.”
“When in reality”—Cecil sashayed in front of me, brandishing a plate—“he’s a giant man-baby and a cheating jerk.”
“Well… yeah. My point is, I’ve been mad at myself for being fooled by him, because my whole life, I’ve always been so good with people.”
Donovan’s intense gaze seemed to be reaching an extreme pitch. The table juddered restlessly as his legs bounced up and down. “And now you remember that you were fooled by something else you loved.”
“Yeah. I’m not sure if it helps to realize that, or it makes everything worse. I was always so sure of myself, and now, there’s two prime examples where I was totally wrong.”
“Love and nicotine. It’s a helluva drug!” Cecil sang out. “And I’m not giving up either of them.”
“The point is, I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m not the old Susan, and the new Susan hasn’t figured herself out yet.”
“I know who you are.” Donovan leaned closer, his eyes blazing and knees still jiggling. “You are the Chosen. The One of Every Blood. You are the woman of Prophecy. Your destiny is laid out in front of you like a carpet of roses watered in the blood of your enemies.”
I sighed. “Donovan… go and do some pushups or something.”
He leapt to his feet. “That sounds like a good idea, Chosen. I am suddenly invigorated.” He bounced down into a plank and began to lower himself down and push up, following an insanely fast tempo.
Cecil snickered, shimmying over to place a plate in front of me.
“You’re an asshole, Cecil.” A mouthwatering aroma floated up from the plate—melted gruyere cheese, a thick slice of ham, and doorstop-sliced sourdough with a golden crust. “But I’ll forgive you.” I lifted the sandwich and took a bite. The crunch of buttery toast gave me tingles, an unexpected autonomous sensory meridian response. Melted gruyere and bechamel sauce oozed over my tongue, dancing with the salty slice of ham. I moaned.
Donovan hesitated. He lifted one hand from the floor and kept going, doing one-handed pushups. “Chosen. While I think it is a good thing that you are comparing your husband with a carcinogenic substance, I do think you should do what Lady Bronwyn tells you.”
I was lost in a fog of pleasure from my fancy French grilled cheese. “What’s that?”
“Forgive yourself,” he said, barely even panting as he switched sides to do one-armed pushups with his left hand. “That is what she instructed me to do, and I assume she would tell you the same. Despite me trying to correct her, she insists that we are not gods, and that we are fallible. You are allowed to make mistakes. What is important is that we learn from them.” He hesitated for a second. “Cecil, I have a list of books that you must acquire for me.”
I ate my croque monsieur and tried not to watch him. “You really dig this therapy thing, don’t you?”
“She is harsh but correct. We are not gods.”
“Hmm.” Donovan looked like a god. He was built like a god. He emanated fury and retribution like the gods. But there was so much sorrow there; I was just starting to scratch the surface. The burden of duty weighed him down like a millstone around his neck.
I swallowed my mouthful. “I’m sorry about your fiancé.”
He jerked his head up to look at me. “Do not be sorry. It was a long time ago. I have been carrying around grief for Alessaynda for far too long, and Lady Bronwyn is right. It is time I put it all behind me.”
“Yeah, how long exactly?”
“A century of your mortal years, perhaps a little more.”
My mouth dropped open. “A hundred years?” I gasped. “You’re a hundred years old?”
He frowned. “No.”
“Oh.” Maybe I misheard him.
“I am twice that and a half.”
“You’re two hundred and fifty years old?”
“A little more than that, but yes. I am young but experienced in battle.”
