Page 45 of Melancholia

Really, I should know this. I remember looking at the wine menu after he said it. I remember searching for the price, just to see how much it was, and being unsurprised that it was in the upper range of red wines.

“It…it was a red wine,” I say carefully.

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

I’m glad he can’t see the face I make.

“And it started with an O.”

Opulence?

Oppenheimer?

…Okay maybe not Oppenheimer.

Shifting on my bed, I force myself to sit up, my hand dropping from my chest. “It started with an o,” I say, half to myself. He doesn’t reply, but I didn’t think he would. “It was…it was.”

It was a word I’m never going to be able to pronounce.

“Fuck, seriously? It started with an o and it was red just isn’t enough? You really expected me to memorize the wine you drank?” My yelp of indignation is louder than I intend it to be. “Was it something like Ornamental?”

“Is that your final guess?”

It’s going to have to be. But I know it isn’t right, which makes something sink in my chest like a rock.

“Yeah,” I huff. “Yeah, I guess it is. I know that’s not right, but⁠—”

“Ornellaia.” He says it once, and I still don’t think I could pronounce it. “An Italian wine at an Italian restaurant.” I swear I hear the barest hint of reproach in his tone, and I almost feel like a child failing a pop quiz in the third grade all over again. Only this time, it isn’t fractions, and I don’t have a twin to cry on about it.

“That was an awful game.”

“It was an easy one. But you still lost. So we’ll play again today, later, and you’ll do something for me right now, Nell.” The way he says it causes a shiver to climb my spine, feeling more like claws than tingles.

I hesitate, not knowing what to say, and not wanting to say anything that will make this real. Well, more real than it is. There’s a strange, dream-like quality to the world around me as I stare down at the bed, my legs crossed under me and everything feeling just not quite right.

“What do you want from me, Amir?”

It’s a loaded question. One that I’m not sure he’ll really fall for, or if he’ll just ignore it and give me the superficial answer.

What do you want from me since I lost this game?

When in reality, part of me is asking something a little different.

What do you want from me at the end of all this?

He doesn’t answer at first. In fact, the silence is so drawn out that my stomach twists, and I suddenly have the fear that he’s going to give me the answer to what I’m really asking.

“Go look outside your door for me.” The words break through my racing thoughts, and I’m on my feet before I can even think about what I’m doing. My mouth opens, and I’m about to ask why, but I close it, deciding to just find out for myself.

Though I doubt there will be another nice bone necklace waiting for me. Or another bouquet of dark, perfect flowers.

I’m right, of course. The only thing sitting in front of my door is a box that I heft into my arms. It isn’t heavy, which only makes my stomach flip with more than a small amount of concern.

“Is this where you turn me into a drug mule?” I sigh, like I’m resigned to that fact. “Doomed to search the county for your clients and⁠—”

“Adorable imagination, Nell.” Amir’s voice is dry as he cuts me off, and completely unimpressed. “But no. You’ll have to wait another day for that particular fantasy to come true. And unfortunately, seeing as I do not deal drugs, it won’t be coming from me. Open the box.”

I don’t open the box at first, and I’m not sure if it’s completely from fear, or if the spike of rebellion I feel in my chest has something to do with it.