Female Fantasy, page 13
A beat goes by before I fully process what he’s saying. “Wait. I’m sorry. You don’t believe in love?”
He shakes his head. “My parents made sure of that.”
I rack my brain for more information. Nico’s parents got divorced when I was in middle school. Before that, they always seemed enamored with each other. I remember them holding hands at Chowder Fest at Olde Mystick Village and making out like teenagers at Clyde’s Cider Mill. But I don’t remember too many details of their breakup.
Nico was a quiet kid. Reserved. He and Tey always hung out at our house or at Kabobs ’n’ Bits. It never occurred to me that there was a reason he didn’t want to go home.
“They were high school sweethearts, right?”
Nico nods, but his eyes are somewhere far away.
“Next-door neighbors. Childhood friends, too. There are pictures of them together as toddlers. Celebrating birthdays. Trick-or-treating. Playing in the tub. Their mothers were best friends and decided that they were destined to be together. They never had a chance to love anyone else. Falling in love with each other was just this accepted thing, as easy to them as breathing or eating or sleeping. It sounds corny, but their families really believed that fate had placed their houses next to one another. My dad always said it was love at first sight, that once he set eyes on her, he knew he’d never want anyone else.”
A frog catches in my throat. “That’s beautiful,” I croak.
“Sure.” His laughter is clipped. “Right up until he cheated on her. He’d been cheating on her, in fact, ever since they were teenagers. With her girlfriends. With his classmates. With her own sister, my aunt. My mom never saw it coming. Christmas was pretty awkward that year. The family kind of fell apart after that.”
My heart drops as he sucks in his cheeks, trying to mask his emotion.
I have the strangest urge to reach out and touch him.
To comfort him with the warmth of my body, the strength of my arms.
My hands clench and unclench.
“Fuck,” is all I can think of to say. “I can’t believe I never knew.”
“Not your fault, since I never talk about it.” He shrugs. “It’s kind of hard to believe in happily ever afters when the best love story you’ve ever heard turns into a tragedy.”
I think back to all the comments Nico has ever made about my love of romance. The quips about living in a fantasy, refusing to face the harsh realities of the world. His cold demeanor when I told him about my breakup with Kyle. His obsession with preparing for a crisis. His pessimistic worldview.
In order to avoid getting hurt, Nico has been steering clear of vulnerability.
He’d rather feel nothing at all.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say. My hand hovers over his like a drone. “For what it’s worth, I get it. I don’t agree. But I do understand.”
Nico doesn’t respond.
He just reaches out without looking at me and takes my hand in his.
Electricity immediately shoots up my arm, setting my whole body aflame.
We lie there in silence. And this time, when my mind settles on that night all those years ago—what I witnessed, what Nico said—it stings a little less. I’m sure my outlook on life, my blind optimism about love, has always triggered him to a certain degree. I’ve always believed he looked down on me. But maybe he was just protecting himself.
Maybe there’s more to that story from all those years ago.
I must drift off, because hours later, I come to. The room is dark, the bedside lamps turned off. I’m still lying on top of the waterbed in my clothes. But Nico is awake, propping something up against his knees, a glowing orb of light glistening from the heart’s other atrium.
I hear the thumbing of paper, the rustle of a page as it turns.
I open one eye, curious.
And my pulse stumbles.
Nico is huddled over a reading light.
And in his hands?
My copy of A Tale of Salt Water & Secrets.
“I do not understand what that means,” I repeat to Ryke.
We sit together under a dome made of sea glass, lit by a string of glowing orbs overhead. All around us, colorful fish move in unison, a staccato dance. Art in motion. We are seated at a cement table covered in ancient carvings, sipping small cups of ale and dining on oysters. The moon hangs heavy tonight, shining past the false bottom of the ocean, all the way to our sea-washed skies. At the edge of the orb, a tiny mer plays the sea organ. Its melody drifts over us like the fog of a new day.
Across the table from me, Ryke smiles. He has shifted back into his human form and is wearing a navy-blue fitted suit that hugs every toned, expertly carved inch of his torso. In the glow of the orbs, his eyes shine bright like molten gold, and his dark hair falls into his eyes. He glances up at the moon, then back down at me, shaking his head in wonder as if I am responsible for its presence.
I lean forward and groan. Every inch of my body is sore from our training sessions. My abdomen is taut, my legs liquid. I can feel my pulse in all four quadrants of my body. Even my eyelids hurt each time I blink. But it is working. Every day, I feel myself grow stronger and more capable. Earlier this morning, I came close to disarming Ryke with a sword. My hand-to-hand combat needs more work, but as soon as I perfect my punch and stop leaning so far into my left knee, I should be able to use more force. Ryke has taught me how to escape from the most difficult sailor’s knots, to pick the lock of any treasure trove. Each night, I go to bed exhausted but with a sense of excitement for what is to come the next day.
If my husband were to see me now, he would hardly recognize me.
And the idea sends a shiver down my spine.
“Fifteen hundred years ago, Amphitrite was a hero to our kind—part mer warrior, part goddess of the sea. She fought for our people in the primary wars, when the mer had to reclaim the oceans after they were captured by creatures who claimed it to be their territory. In the lore, she distracted the godlings with a dance before slaughtering them all. She was our salvation, but she died shortly after her final battle, succumbing to her wounds. But it is rumored that her lineage lives on in a human bloodline. She was a shifter, you see. While recuperating on land, she took a human lover, a sailor. The two fell in love, and she went to live with him, but when the time came to call the mer to war, she had no choice but to leave him. She did not even have a chance to bid him farewell.”
“How awful,” I say, my mind drifting back to the creek cottage. To the story I had been told as a child about the sailor and his lover. “He must have been heartbroken.”
Ryke nods. “As was she, but she knew her duty. The Conch of Hippios belonged to her. It is blessed with the holy water of the gods. She was the first and last to blow it. When she passed away, it fell into the possession of the ruling sovereign of the mer. But her descendants are its rightful owners. I am beginning to suspect that her blood might flow through your veins.”
My pulse begins to race. “Does that mean I can shift?” I ask, perhaps too eagerly.
“So many questions,” Ryke laughs. “No, my minnow. If my suspicions are correct, your blood would be far too diluted to hold any true mer properties. Any connection to Amphitrite would be distant. But still, if you are her kin, you are more valuable to the cause than I could ever be. Worth protecting with armies and weapons. More precious than your weight in gold.”
My stomach drops.
Valuable to the cause.
Is that all I am to Ryke?
Precious not because of who I am, but what I am?
I swallow my disappointment.
“And why is that, my prince?”
Ryke grins wickedly, and I trace the muscle working in his throat with my eyes, wishing I could do the same with my tongue.
“Because only you can wield the objects in her treasure trove.”
I raise a brow. “There are more magical objects besides the conch?”
“There are four, to be exact,” he says. “Unfortunately, I could grab only one when I fled Atlantia. The others are hidden in the palace, guarded heavily by the sirens. Which is why tomorrow night, I plan to go undercover to retrieve them. The mer are having a ball in honor of the annual Eve of Sinking Stars, an important holiday to our people. They will be distracted, providing me with a perfect opportunity to steal the treasure trove.”
I surprise myself by standing suddenly, slamming my hands onto the table.
“You cannot go!” I practically shout. “It is far too dangerous. You are going to get yourself killed.”
“Now, now, minnow,” Ryke says with a smirk. “I am flattered that you worry so much for me. But Dylan, Guinn, Kai, and Mira will all be in attendance. They will ensure my safe return.”
My heart races as I imagine Ryke, my Ryke, in the belly of the beast.
Not that I have the right to call him that.
“Take me with you,” I say.
“Absolutely not.”
“I have been training for this. I am strong enough to maintain an air bubble on my own now. I will no longer be swayed by the current. Mira can dress me so that I fit in with the mer. No one will even be able to tell that I am human.”
“Were you not listening when I told you how valuable I believe you to be?” Ryke snaps. “It is too dangerous, Merriah. I cannot lose you.”
“And I cannot lose you!”
We stare at each other, out of breath.
Our chests rise and fall in unison.
Heat flares between us. This time, I’m certain it is not just my imagination.
Ryke knows how my husband treated me.
Trapped me.
Took away my agency and ordered me around like a common whore.
And yet he still expects me to submit?
“Please, my prince,” I whisper. “None of the sirens know what I look like. I am your best bet, your secret weapon. Use me.”
Ryke shuts his eyes for a moment.
When he opens them again, his expression is one of reverence.
“I do not want you to go,” he says, blowing out a short breath. “But I will never force you to stay behind. The choice will always be yours, my minnow. The decision will always lie with you.”
I reach for his hand and squeeze it tightly. “Does that mean…”
The next time he smiles, the roguish expression reaches his golden eyes.
“Merriah, will you please escort me to the Ball of Sinking Stars?”
And though I cannot see myself, I know my face matches his.
“It would be an honor.”
Chapter Eleven
The next time my eyes flutter open, light is flooding into the motel room, coloring every inch of the space a majestic golden hue. Both of us must have fallen asleep before thinking to draw the hideous paisley curtains. I yawn, reaching over to the nightstand and feeling for my phone. When I can’t find it, the truth dawns on me.
My phone is gone.
It was taken by Dumb and Dumber last night.
They’re probably halfway to Panama right now.
I cringe at the memory of the paper bag over my head, the sight of Nico tied to that chair…
Nico.
Everything he did for my brother. For my family. For me.
Misguided, to be sure. But brave.
I suddenly become aware that Nico is all over me, everywhere at once. Somehow, in the middle of the night, we became entangled. His arms are wrapped around my waist from behind, the scruff on his chin scraping the juncture where my neck meets my collarbone. One calf is folded over my knees, his chest against the small of my back. He’s breathing softly against my skin, eliciting involuntary shivers. And I can feel the shape of something harder, something growing, digging into my backside.
Even weirder, the revelation does not repulse me. If anything, it makes my body react. I fight the temptation to arch my back, to squirm against him, not wanting to wake him up and ruin this rare moment of quiet.
“What time is it?” he whispers against the shell of my ear.
“No idea. No phone.”
He hums for a moment, and then his body freezes as he realizes where he is and who he is holding. I wait for him to panic, just as we both did in the truck less than twenty-four hours ago. But instead, after a second of uncertainty, I feel his tension melt away. The muscles in his body relax once more, as if settling into the decision to not make this weird.
The memory of waking up in the middle of the night and seeing him hunched over my annotated, dog-eared copy of my favorite book comes rushing back, faded and blurry, like a dream within a dream.
I blink as a novel emotion invades my senses, causing the blood in my brain to thrash violently against my ears.
“We should get going,” I tell him, breaking the spell.
Begrudgingly, he untangles his limbs from mine. I feel his absence immediately, missing the heat of his body, his breath against the nape of my neck.
“To New York,” he says, a bite of bitterness in his innocuous words. “Your soul mate awaits. Right?”
I swallow, staring at the floral wallpaper, which distorts in front of my eyes like a kaleidoscope. “Right.”
What in the siren’s name is happening to me?
Ever since I mustered the courage to walk away from Kyle and serendipitously discovered A Tale of Salt Water & Secrets, Ryke has been my dream man. Beautiful, attentive, supportive Ryke. Nico is the polar opposite of Ryke in every way. Stubborn to a fault. Pessimistic like he’s paid to be. For my entire adulthood, he has treated me like some naïve, starry-eyed kid with no knowledge of what it’s like to survive in the real world. He has tested my belief in happily ever afters, stolen away my childhood and its innocence. Nico has always refused to take me seriously. That’s one of the only facts of the universe I can count on.
So why am I sitting in the center of this heart-shaped waterbed with a fresh face of makeup, dressed in a coquettish baby doll dress and tights, actively trying not to think about the fact that Nico is currently in the shower, presumably very naked?
I really need help.
And to keep my eye on the prize.
Today, I get one step closer to Ryan Mare.
New York City.
The bathroom door opens, and Nico walks out, steam from the shower wafting into the room. There’s a faded towel hanging low on his hips and droplets of water weaving their way down his bare chest.
All coherent thought leaves my brain.
I can’t help it.
Like, I straight-up gawk.
Nico smirks. “Did you talk to the front desk lady?”
I dig my nails into the palm of my hand, attempting to snap out of it. “Yup. I paid the bill—you owe me twenty dollars, by the way—and asked her to call us a cab to the nearest Metro-North station. We need to be downstairs in ten.”
He nods. I don’t miss the way his eyes rake over my outfit. Quickly, as if he’s scared of looking too closely and burning his retinas.
“Can I have a minute?”
“Oh my God, of course,” I say, slapping a hand over my eyes. “I’ll go wait downstairs.”
Mortified, I get up and grab my duffel, then shuffle toward the door, all the while avoiding his gaze. I don’t exhale until I get downstairs, the color in my cheeks rosier than the motel walls. I need to get my shit together before this spirals out of hand.
The same concierge lady as last night is waiting at the entrance. She takes in my red face and throws me a wink. I wish, and not for the first time, that I could blow the Conch of Hippios and be spirited away.
Minutes later, a fully clothed Nico comes downstairs and joins me. “You look nice,” he says without looking at me.
“Go to hell,” I reply.
He bites his lip, fighting a grin. “I’m serious.”
“Me too.”
Holy Furnace, this is awkward. I don’t know how to act around him anymore. Trading insults and smart quips? My bread and butter. Chatting up unimpressive men? I’m practically licensed. But talking to someone who launched a crusade for my family’s honor and inside my panties this morning? That’s uncharted territory for me.
And I’m learning that I’d actually rather go back to being held hostage.
A crush.
Is this what this is?
God, I haven’t had a legitimate crush on someone since…
“Remember when you had a crush on me in middle school?” Nico asks suddenly. As if our minds are in exactly the same place.
“Did not,” I retort halfheartedly.
“Did too,” he teases. “I remember catching you writing our names inside a heart in your notebook with one of those pink gel pens you loved so much. I thought it was so cute.”
“Must have been another Nico,” I insist.
Outside the motel, a car honks. Our taxi. I exhale in relief, then thank the front desk lady and book it outside to avoid continuing this conversation.
“The closest train station, please,” I tell the driver.
“That’ll be New Haven,” he says.
I let out a startled laugh.
“Oh my God. Those shitheads actually did it. They kept their word. They got us closer to the city.” I shake my head. “I wonder what they planned to do with us.”
“About that…” Nico rubs his chin. His nervous tic, I’ve realized. “I have a theory.”
I quirk a brow, waiting for him to continue.
“So, you know how Clarisse told Thomas she was ready to make the trade?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think maybe that trade was…us?”
I think about it for a second. “You mean, like, for ransom?”
In the rearview mirror, I see the taxi driver frown. Nico lowers his voice.
“I’m saying, what if Harry ‘the Hug’ Lester was coming himself to finish the job? What if he hires idiots like Clarisse and Thomas to round up people who owe him money, and when they can’t pay up, he…takes them out? What if they’ve done this before?”
I bite my lip, remember their hushed words. References to a he. That could make sense, of course. But our kidnappers seemed like petty con artists. Thieves at most. Not cold-blooded killers. But maybe they’ve gotten involved with some bad guys who do much worse?
