The waiter appeared with food, and she blinked because she hadn’t remembered ordering. She glanced at the half-empty wineglass and couldn’t for the life of her remember drinking so much as a sip. Julian was bad, bad for her brain. He was as bad as some wasting disease. She wouldn’t survive, either.

“Julian,” she began again, and promptly shut up when it came out more as a plaintive wail than a protest.

“I’ll send a car for you, Nina. No one needs to see you getting into a vehicle with me. I don't why you are so worried about that... I'm not. I’ll have my driver pick you up from...