Peter reached for Tiggy’s hind-leg. She turned, unsure if this was him being playful or about to be another display of his anger.
“I’d like to roast her back legs,” he said.
Grace laughed, more out of shock than from finding the funny side of a man she barely knew, saying he’d eat his own dog.
“Why?” she asked, raising the glass of wine to her lips. She drank a large gulp, almost choking herself.
“Some ancient cultures ate their loved ones after they died, so that they’d become part of them forever.”
Grace took another sip from her wine, the richness coating her tongue.
“And others used the skulls of their loved ones as wine cups,” she said, not taking him seriously.
“Ohhh, that’s a good idea.”
He grabbed at Tiggy’s skull and cupped it tightly. She twisted back and forth to free herself.
Peter flicked a finger beneath her collar to keep her in one place. He reached for his wineglass and place it beside Tiggy’s head.
“About the right size,” he said.
Grace studied his face, desperate for any sign of this being a joke, but his eyes stared lovingly at the dog.
“What if I died before you?” she asked.
“I’d Romeo myself,” he said, knowing that would impress her.