When I end the call, I press my forehead against the breakfast nook and close my eyes. Do I get a special award for being so stupid? A discount at my local library? Anything? Seems a bit surreal I’d be left to my own devices after pulling something like this.

I need to tell him. I need to tell Callum.

“I just want you to know,” I say shakily, my lips moving on the surface of the counter, “that this meant absolutely nothing.”

“Say that to your puckered nipples and wet cunt, darlin’.” Mal breezes into his bedroom on a whistle, picking up the half-eaten triangle sandwich on his way.

All the lights in the house turn on at the same time. The microwave dings. The television turns on, and two guys in suits talk heatedly about football.

The electricity is back. Mal lets out a sigh of contempt.

“Real funny, Kiki. I’m trying here, too, but you see that she’s stubborn.”

I whip my head toward him and scowl. “You think your dead wife wants you to hook up with me?”

“I know she does,” he says, matching my thunderous look.

“How so?”

“She loves me, and I love…” he trails off, slanting his head sideways. “I love chocolate bars. Love is like that, don’t you feel? Deadly, kind of. The more you prolong and stretch it like a leather leash, the more painful when it finally snaps and hits you. When you’re ready for answers, let me know.”

A NOTE FROM THE CHOCOLATE BAR

Best. Day. Ever.

Chapter 13

Present

Mal

It’s not that I didn’t anticipate her reaction.

But it still shocks me, because while Rory is swimming (or drowning, I don’t know) in the eternal question of whether she can respect and forgive herself at some point for what she’s done to Shiny Boyfriend, I mourn the fact that she hasn’t yet broken up with him.

I’m locked outside my room now, Rory inside and refusing to speak to me. I can still taste her sweet, earthy pussy on my tongue, along with the chocolate.

This situation is ridiculous, which, of course, I don’t point out.

I make it a game. I put trays of food at her door, like she’s a prisoner. I knock every now and again and ask her if she needs anything.

Alas, Rory is a tough prisoner.

At bedtime, I get a call from Ryner telling me Rory and I need to pack our suitcases and head to Greece. Why? Let me tell you why. Because Richards is on his way from Thailand to Spinalonga Island.

“Spinalonga?” I hold the phone between my shoulder and ear, right in the middle of dying lollipop sticks pink above the sink. The artificial color drips everywhere, including on my clothes, but I still dip the sticks in paint meticulously, because those sticks need to be bright pink, glittery, and ready for usage.