Page 7 of Sweet Venom
Mom pulled back and poked my nose like she used to do when I was younger. “Exactly. My love for you, your father, and brothers is eternal.”
“Likewise, Mommy.” I whispered, feeling like the little girl who got her heart broken once and ran to her mommy to make it all better.
She suddenly clapped her hands, the sound echoing through my half-unpacked apartment. “Oh! I almost forgot!”
I glance up, wary. “Forgot what?”
Her face lit up with the kind of grin that usually spelled trouble. “I brought you a little something for Valentine’s Day!”
A groan escaped me before I could stop it. “Mom, no. You know I hate that damn holiday.”
“Oh, I remember,” she said, her tone far too smug. “That’s why I picked these out just for you.”
She strode over to the counter where she’d left her bag, rummaging through it with the flair of someone about to unveil a masterpiece. My stomach twisted. I braced myself for something gaudy—maybe a pink heart-shaped nightmare or a stuffed bear holding roses.
But then she pulled out—wait.
Black lace garlands twined with blood-red roses. A string of little heart-shaped ornaments, each one detailed with bats and skulls, tucked neatly into their design. There was even a centerpiece—an intricate wrought-iron heart with candles shaped like melting black skulls.
I blinked, caught between disbelief and awe. “Is that... a gothic Valentine’s Day set?”
Mom smirked like she’d just won the lottery. “Saw it in a boutique and thought, ‘Now this is something my girl can tolerate.’”
“Tolerate?” I repeated, reaching for the garland despite myself. “Mom, this is... atrocious.”
Her grin widened as she handed me the centerpiece. “I knew it. You’re welcome.” She shot dad a knowing smile, which made him roll his eyes playfully. I studied the decorations, not hating them at all. “Okay, fine. I like this. A lot. You’ve outdone yourself.”
Mom preened, clearly proud of herself, and started helping me hang the garlands along the windows. “See? Even my holiday-hating daughter can appreciate a little festive flair when it’s done right.”
I rolled my eyes but smiled. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”
She laughed, and once we finished setting up the “I Hate Valentine’s Day” décor, she headed out to grab food and coffee. We hadn’t eaten since this morning, when Dad brought turkey sandwiches from a nearby deli.
A soft meow broke the quiet, followed by a gentle brush against my leg.
“Oh, you finally graced us with your presence,” I muttered, glancing down at my snobby little feline companion.
Prince, my cat, strutted into the room like he owned it—his white fluffy tail held high, his almost-white eyes narrowing as if inspecting the place for royal quality. He paused in the doorway, curled his lip slightly, and let out another demanding meow. It was as if he were saying,This is my kingdom. I’ve arrived. Feed me.
“Prince, you really are an asshole,” I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes as I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a can of tuna, and returned.
Prince eyed me like he still wasn’t convinced the apartment met his standards. But when he spotted the tuna, he turned up his nose and flopped dramatically onto my new velvet love seat—as if it were a throne. His soft paws began kneading the cushions in slow, deliberate circles, preparing his royal seat.
“I swear, he thinks he’s royalty,” I said with a laugh, shaking my head. “He’s lucky I love him. If not, I’d have fed him to Verali’s tigers already.”
Prince gave me an annoyed look before finally turning his attention to the food.
Then it was just Dad and me.
“Who packed this?” he barked, holding up a box with my notebooks poking out the top. “And why is this box labeled ‘poops’?”
“I did,” I replied with a smirk, grabbing it from him. “And it saysbooks, not ‘poops’.”
“My girl, your penmanship is shit,” he grinned.
“Just admit my handwriting is better than yours and that you need glasses.”
He grunted, pretending to be offended, but his lopsided grin gave him away. We’d managed to unpack most of the essentials, and though the apartment still looked like a chaotic mix of half-empty boxes, it was starting to feel like home.
