Forgive My Fins
Page 29

“Sleep as late as you like,” I blurt, uncomfortable with the sudden comfortableness of the situation. The longer he sleeps, the less time I have to spend trying to figure out what to say to him. The less the chance I’ll say something mean or stupid. “I’ll find you before the ceremony tomorrow night. Until then, just lay low and—”
“Hold on,” he interrupts. “You think I’m just going to stay curled up in your guest room all day? No way. If I only get a once-in-a-lifetime chance to explore a mermaid kingdom, I’m not wasting the opportunity. I want to see…everything.”
“Be serious, Quince.” I try to reason with him. “You can’t just swim around Thalassinia, looking in houses and—”
“I know.” Quince swims close, so close that I can feel his body heat in the water. “You can show me around.”
“Uh-uh.” I shake my head. The last thing I want to do is spend more time in his company. Especially with the bond messing with our emotions—or at least mine. I’m already softening toward him, even though I know it’s just the bond.
“Come on, princess,” he murmurs, floating closer still. “I’ve been pretty good about this whole mermaid thing. I think I’ve earned a personal tour.”
My shoulders slump. He has me there. He is taking this really well. No tantrums or freak-outs or even disbelief. And if I were in his shoes—or rather, his biker boots—I’d want to take a look around, too.
“Fine.” I relent. “I’ll give you the royal tour.”
He grins, and I have to consciously stop myself from smiling back. No good can come from forming a stronger connection with Quince.
“I’ll meet you in the breakfast room,” I suggest. “We can leave from there.”
I turn away before his smile infects me. I’m almost through the door when he says, “Good night, Princess.”
Without turning around, I say, “Night, Quince.”
As I swim up to my room, I wonder how it happened that Quince and I are actually being civil to each other. Clearly, the bond can make miracles happen.
Dosinia is floating outside my room—our room, I remember with a groan—when I get upstairs. Like she’s been waiting for me.
“Getting a good-night kiss from your bond boy?” She crosses her arms over her chest and kicks one hip to the side. “He’s decent looking, I suppose. If you go for terrapeds.”
“Drop it, Doe,” I say, pushing past her and into the room. “I’m not up for this right now.”
“Oooh, trouble in paradise?” She hurries in after me, hovering as I swim to my dresser and pull open the bottom drawer, looking for a sleep shirt.
The drawer is full of sequin- and pearl-and glitter-covered tops. Definitely not my style.
“Where are my clothes?” I demand. Jerking open the other three drawers, I find them all equally full of Dosinia’s frilly and borderline-trampy wardrobe. The girl does not get the concept of understatement.
“Sorry,” she singsongs, swimming over to the bed and floating down onto the spongy mattress. “I had to put my clothes somewhere.”
Scowling, I repeat, “Where?”
She gestures at the big steamer trunk under my window. It was a present from Daddy for my twelfth birthday. He’d salvaged the trunk from an old shipwreck and had it restored and waterproofed so it wouldn’t fall apart. I flip open the shiny gold latches and pull up the lid, only to find the entire contents of my dresser tossed into the trunk in a giant messy pile. I don’t have the energy for a fight, so I just grab a top and head for the bathroom.
Doe follows me.
“He’s not your usual type,” she says from the open doorway. “You usually go for the mossy-mouthed, untouchably popular guys. This one seems like he knows where to find trouble without much looking.”
She sounds…intrigued. That’s the last thing I need.
“Let it go, Doe,” I beg. I duck behind the bathing curtain and change out of my tank top. “He’s only here for a day. Not worth setting your hooks into.”
“If you say so.”
When I emerge, she’s not in sight. A quick peek into the room, and I see her slam my trunk shut.
She acts like such a guppy.
“Why did you have to come back tonight?”
I can’t see her eyes because her back is to me, but I can tell from the tone of her voice that she’s on the verge of tears.
When a mermaid cries underwater, it’s not like on land. Her tears just dissolve into the water around her, mixing their salty drops into the salty sea. The only indication that she’s crying is her eyes. No matter what color her irises are usually, when she cries they turn into a sparkling shade that matches her scales. I know from experience that mine turn gold. And Dosinia’s turn bright pink. Like the anemone field in the garden below.
“I didn’t have a choice,” I explain, swimming around behind her. “I had to get him here as quickly as possible so I could get the separation and move on with my life. It’s just…bad luck that it happened to be tonight.” I place one hand on her shoulder, next to her fuchsia-colored mer mark. “I didn’t mean to ruin your party.”
She laughs and shrugs off my hand. “Ruin?” she asks like it’s a ridiculous notion. “Are you kidding? It was the social event of the year.”
She turns and looks me in the eye for a split second before jetting over to the bed and settling in on what has always been my side. But rather than argue—about the bed or the party—I just quietly take the other side and sink in. Besides, how do you argue with a girl whose eyes are sparkling brighter than the moon?