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)
There were no curves. No motion. Just edges. Sharp corners. Soulless.
Iris wandered toward one of the enormous windows, placing her palm against the glass. Outside, she could see the bay glimmering in the distance. But she couldn’t feel it anymore. The barrier had dulled it. Separated it from her.
It was beautifully displayed. But locked behind something clear and cold.
Like her.
“Oh, this will do,” Monty declared, waddling into the apartment. “This will do just fine. Where are our rooms?”
“Uh, about that,” Henry said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “We were only expecting Iris. Finn only has one bedroom.”
One bed?
Of course, there was only one bed.
The surface world had a sick sense of humor.
“But Finn does have a small office we can outfit for you, Mr. Featherington.”
“I suppose that will do.”
“Wait,” Iris said, brows pinching. “If there’s only one bed, and Monty gets the office, where am I sleeping?”
“In the primary bedroom, of course.”
“Where is Finn sleeping?”
“In the same bedroom.”
“Where is Finn? Can I speak to him?”
She didn’t want to speak to him, not really. But his absence rankled regardless.
He’d invited her to move into his home—technically dragged her into it by political contract—and he couldn’t even be bothered to be around to answer her questions?
Part of her wanted to be angry. The other part … wasn’t sure if it was disappointment or relief.
Maybe both.
“Finn is at a meeting with the werewolf construction workers’ union. He will be home later.”
Iris’s gaze moved around the space, her eyes landing on the enormous L-shaped couch. She supposed that would do. Or she could insist on sleeping in Monty’s room. Or, if she got her way, in the bathtub. She had to pick her battles.
“You mentioned preparations,” she said, looking at Henry. “What are we preparing for?”
“To turn you into a proper political wife.”
Iris didn’t know whether to laugh or bolt back to the sea.
6
Finn
Finn was having a hard time concentrating on what was a very important meeting. If there was one demographic you wanted to get to back you on a political campaign, it was the unions.
Yet all he could focus on was if Iris had gotten his gift, if she was going to come and move in with him like her mother’s spokesperson claimed.
He’d realized his mistake the second the salt water cascaded down his head.
Finn had been regurgitating talking points that he and Henry had discussed in private in the cold, clinical way they always talked about optics.
He hadn’t taken Iris’s feelings into account.
When he’d run back the conversation in his mind, he’d seen all the parts that she may have found insulting.
The regret had been instantaneous.
Henry had been quick to go into crisis mode when he’d found out, insisting that they had to make it right, to salvage the situation.
“There’s simply no time to try to find another wife for you. We have to fix this. Or we have to accept that you’re going to lose this election.”
Losing was not an option.
So, Finn took the one thing he knew about Iris—the fact that she liked to read—and came up with a plan. From what he understood about mermaid books, they were few and far between and printed on kelp paper.
One trip to a local witch-owned bookstore later, he had his peace offering to hand off to Tatiana’s spokeswoman, Maria, to bring to Iris with his message that he still wished to move forward with the contract.
Then all he could do was hope for the best.
Henry seemed convinced that the plan would move through. Enough that he’d been in planning mode all morning: ordering wardrobe selections, making plans for Iris at the salon, setting up etiquette classes, and preparing his plans for rigorous media training.
“I agree,” Finn said after the union leader had spoken. Truth be told, he had only caught every other word. He’d been too busy remembering the look of hurt and outrage on Iris’s face just before she dropped her drink over his head.
There was a bit more back-and-forth before the meeting was finally over. And, for once, Finn had no idea if he’d secured their vote or not. What’s more, he didn’t particularly care.
All he wanted was to get back to his apartment to see if Iris had responded to his gift.
Not because, as Henry feared, it was their only shot at securing the mayoral vote. But because he genuinely felt remorse and regret for upsetting a woman who did nothing wrong except agree to marry him. Likely with immense pressure from her mother or the mercouncil.
They were both cogs in a political machine.
He often wished his own feelings could be a factor in his life and career, so the least he could do for Iris was to be mindful of hers. Especially seeing as they were in his world, not hers. She had to be feeling unsure and vulnerable. Yet all he’d offered her so far were polls and optics.