All These Things I've Done (Birthright #1)(60)

I admitted that I had noticed.

‘Well, I am sorry for anything I may have said to you during these times. I love you, Anya. I love each of my grandchildren, but you most of all. You remind me of your father. You remind me of me.’

I didn’t know what to say.

‘The loss of one’s body is one thing. The loss of one’s mind is more than can be tolerated. Remember that, my dear one.’ Then she told me to take a bar of chocolate, and as I always did, I went into her closet and pretended to take a bar, although there hadn’t been any chocolate in Nana’s closet for months. This time I was surprised to find a single bar in the safe. Uncle Yuri must have brought it.

‘Share it with your new boyfriend!’ she called as I closed the door.

In my bedroom, I found myself stroking the bar of chocolate. It was Balanchine Special Dark, my favourite. Daddy used to melt it down to make hot chocolate for Natty, Leo and me. He would heat milk over the stove top, then he’d chop up the chocolate bar into small pieces so that it would melt into the milk. I considered going into the kitchen to make some myself, but decided against it. Even though I had heard that the supply was clean again, I had lost my taste for chocolate in the months since I’d been arrested.

The doorbell rang so I went to answer it. I looked through the peephole, and there was Win.

‘Come in,’ I told him. Out of habit, I looked around before I kissed him.

‘What’s that?’ he asked.

I was still holding the candy bar and I told him how Nana had given it to me and how she always told me to share it with someone I loved.

‘So?’ he said.

‘Oh no. Definitely not gonna happen.’ Had he already forgotten the tribulations of the last boyfriend I shared chocolate with?

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Besides, I tried chocolate once and I didn’t really like it.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘What kind did you try?’

He named a brand which was pretty much the bottom of the barrel quality-wise. Daddy used to have a name for that stuff: rat turd. Daddy had been very particular about his chocolate. ‘That’s not even chocolate,’ I told Win. ‘It barely has any cacao in it.’

‘So, give me some of the real stuff then,’ he said.

‘I would but I promised your father I’d keep you out of the way of illegal activity.’ I slipped the bar into the pocket of my cardigan and then I took his hand and led him into the living room. ‘So, I need to ask a favour of you.’ I told him about the family wedding in Westchester.

‘No,’ he said. He smiled and crossed his hands over his knees.

‘No?’

‘That’s what I said, isn’t it?’

‘Well, why not?’

‘Because I still haven’t gotten over your rejection of my invitation to the Fall Formal and I’m a person who holds a grudge. Am I meant to do everything you say, Anya? If I did, wouldn’t you lose respect for me?’

He had a point, I suppose. ‘You seem to have made up your mind.’

‘Yes, I have.’ Then Win laughed. ‘I’m disappointed! Aren’t you even going to try to reason me into it? Aren’t you going to try to make me an offer I can’t refuse?’

‘It’s not going to be very fun and I barely want to go myself,’ I said.

‘Is this your pitch?’

‘My family is a bunch of hooligans,’ I continued. ‘One of my cousins will probably get super drunk and end the evening by trying to touch my boob. I’m just hoping no one tries to touch Natty’s or I’ll seriously have to deck someone.’

‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘But I want to try your chocolate first.’

‘Are those your terms?’

‘It’s your family business, isn’t it? I can’t go to this wedding without being informed, can I?’

‘Well played, Win.’ I stood up. ‘Follow me.’

I set rice milk on the stove top to heat. I took the chocolate out of my pocket, then I checked the date just to make sure it wasn’t from last fall. I unwrapped the silver lining and smelt it to confirm. (Did Fretoxin even have a scent?) I lowered the heat once the milk began to boil, then added a little bit of vanilla and sugar, stirring the milk until the sugar dissolved. I chopped up the chocolate into fine pieces and whisked it through the hot milk until the chocolate was more or less melted. Finally, I ladled the mixture into two cups and sprinkled cinnamon over the top of each. Daddy had always made it look so easy.

I set one cup in front of Win. He moved to pick it up, but I pulled it back. ‘Last chance to change your mind.’

He shook his head.

‘Aren’t you worried about ending up like Gable Arsley?’

‘No.’ He drank at an even pace until he finished. Then he set down the cup and didn’t say anything.

‘Well?’ I asked.

‘You’re right. It’s definitely not what I had before.’

‘But did you like it?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘Let me have yours.’

I pushed my cup over to him. He drank more slowly this time, contemplatively, even. (Is it possible to drink contemplatively?) ‘It’s not what I expected it would be. It’s not sweet. It’s too substantial to be called sweet. It’s probably not to everyone’s taste, but the more I drink it, the more I like it, I think. I can see why they banned this. It’s very . . . intoxicating.’