Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“I will wait out here if you need anything,” Maria said, insisting on standing in the hallway as Iris and Monty made their way into the room a few moments later.
“Oooh, this is nice,” Monty declared. “Those better not be down pillows,” he said, waving a wing toward the bed. “I mean, I’m not a fan of geese. They’re nasty little sky demons. I once got mugged for my sandwich. I’m still in therapy about it. If I wanted to be chased around and snapped at, I’d go visit my Aunt Cora again. Still, we can’t support any bird-plucking industry.” He gestured down at his own pristine feathers. “Well, what are you waiting for? You need to bathe. You still have seaweed in your hair, for Triton’s sake.”
“How do I turn on the water?” Iris asked.
With a long-suffering sigh, the pelican led her into the bathroom, turning on the tap, showing her how to adjust the temperature, demonstrating how soap and shampoo worked, then explaining she must dry herself with a towel afterward.
Iris ran the water while stripping out of her clothes.
As she slipped into the water, her legs fused, familiar magic stitching her back together. She let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
The moment her legs vanished, she nearly wept with relief. The tight, uncomfortable awareness of them had made her feel like someone else entirely, foreign and exposed. But as her tail curled beneath her as it always had, she felt some of the tension slipping away.
She lingered longer than she should, soaking in the quiet. The hum of the water pipes was no ocean song, but it was better than nothing.
She had to admit, there was something quite nice about the citrus soap and the sudsy shampoo. Her only regret was having to drain the water and dry off, watching her beloved tail disappear, when Monty knocked at the door to remind her that this was real, that her time was up.
She combed her hair before opening the door to the other room and walking out to find Monty … wearing a crown. More precisely, her crown.
“Why, yes, I do look quite dashing,” he said, speaking to an invisible audience. “But that is no sur—oh …” He trailed off, seeing Iris.
“Having fun?” she asked. “That is a priceless family heirloom, you know.” She was a little surprised to find that Juna had packed it. They typically only wore their crowns for special occasions. “I feel like it might be too much for a meeting, though.”
“I operate under the belief that a crown is always a good idea. But the decision is yours. Even if it is the wrong one.”
After some fiddling, the two of them figured out how the gown was supposed to go on, and she slipped into it. It felt a bit like wearing a jellyfish—soft, clingy, and probably going to sting her if she moved wrong.
Once dressed, Iris moved in front of the mirror on the back of the closet door.
She didn’t recognize the girl in the glass—hair sleek, eyes wary, mouth set in a line that didn’t belong to someone free.
“Do I look … human?”
“Not even remotely. But that is not a bad thing. Come here. Let me smell you.”
“Smell me?” she asked. But the bird was already making his way over, ducking his giant beak down and sniffing her.
“Good. Not a hint of seaweed. You smell … citrusy. Like a very expensive cocktail. Or a scented candle named High Maintenance. Yes, I do believe you are presentable enough.”
“As always, your praise is truly humbling,” she quipped.
“I am a giver. Come on. Let’s go snag you a husband.”
“I’m not going to marry him, remember?”
“Sure, sure. Let’s go ruin your engagement with the devastatingly handsome, perfectly groomed politician with the award-winning smile. I stand with your right to terrible decision-making, Iris.”
She thought Monty was being dramatic, as usual, about her would-be fiancé’s appearance.
But after she convinced him he couldn’t come in the restaurant and mustered the nerve to do so herself—touching the coral charm she still wore under her dress, just once, quick, like the breath she suddenly couldn’t take—she followed the hostess’s directions down the back path to the last table.
Where Finn Westrock was waiting for her.
And, if anything, Monty had been underselling his good looks.
Merfolk were known for their beauty. And Iris was sure she’d seen the best of what male beauty had to offer.
She was incredibly, fully, monumentally wrong.
Because Finn Westrock was devastatingly handsome.
He had to be six-two, seemed fit beneath his stuffy blue suit, and had bone structure that seemed to be carved out of coral limestone—sharp, defined, not meant to yield. And his cheekbones could cut like shale ledges—high, angular, beautiful. And his eyes, well, they glowed green like algae at midnight.
She never expected to be seeing so much of her homeland in his face.