“Kiera,” he murmurs.
Then he’s kissing me, and I forget about everything else for a moment. His lips are soft and gentle, moving against mine with the kind of tenderness that makes my chest ache. I kiss him back, letting myself get lost in the sensation—in the way his hand cups my face, in the warmth spreading through my body, in the electric awareness that zings between us.
He deepens the kiss, his hand sliding into my hair, and I press closer. My fingers find the fabric of his shirt, gripping it. This is real. This moment, this connection—it’s real.
But so is Victoria’s voice in my head.Temporary. Beneath him. He’ll get bored.
River pulls back and rests his lips on my forehead, giving it a soft kiss. “I’m really glad you’re here,” he whispers.
The words should make me happy. Should fill me with warmth and hope. Instead, they make the hollow feeling in my chest expand until it feels like it might swallow me whole.
Because I’m falling for him. Really, truly falling. And the more I let myself feel this, the more it’s going to destroy me when it ends.
When, notif. Because Victoria was right about one thing—I’m not in River’s league. I never will be. I’m the girl who got kicked out by her parents, who slept under a bridge, who works at a bakery and lives in a studio apartment above a bookstore. And he’s River Stone, former child actor, documentary filmmaker, owner of a house with five bedrooms and three and a half bathrooms.
We’re from different worlds. And eventually, he’s going to realize that.
I settle back against his chest, trying to focus on the show playing on the screen. River’s arm is around me, his fingers tracing absent patterns on my shoulder. On screen, the mermaid is discovering the human world, wide-eyed and innocent, believing in love despite all the reasons she shouldn’t.
How naive.
River presses another kiss to the top of my head, and I close my eyes against the burning sensation behind them.
I’m in love with him.
The realization hits me with the force of a tidal wave, stealing my breath. I’m in love with River Stone. With his kindness and his patience, with the way he plays Barbies with Skyler and stands up to his mother for me and believes in my dreams even when I don’t believe in them myself.
I’m in love with him, and it’s going to break me.
Because I can’t ask him to give up his inheritance for me. Can’t ask him to choose between his family and a girl who cooks for a living. Can’t let him sacrifice his future for something that’s temporary anyway.
Victoria was right. I need to stop fooling myself.
The hollow feeling expands, filling every corner of my chest until there’s no room left for anything else. Not hope. Not happiness. Just this crushing certainty that I’m going to lose him, and when I do, it’s going to hurt worse than anything I’ve ever experienced.
I go quiet, emotionally pulling back even as I physically stay pressed against his side. River doesn’t notice—he’s too caught up in the show, making occasional comments about the plot and the characters, his voice rumbling through his chest beneath my ear.
And I stay silent, watching the mermaid fall in love with the human who can never truly be hers, and trying not to think about how much that story mirrors my own.
CHAPTER 21
RiverStone
Friday, June 18
The candlelight flickersacross Kiera’s face as she studies the menu at Le Jardin, and I’m trying to focus on the elegant French descriptions instead of the knot that’s been tightening in my chest for the past ten days.
She looks beautiful tonight. She always does, but tonight she’s wearing a simple black dress that makes her pink-streaked hair seem even more vibrant, and minimal makeup that somehow makes her eyes even more striking. She’s here, sitting across from me at this intimate table with its pristine white tablecloth and crystal stemware, and yet I can’t shake the feeling that she’s already halfway out the door.
The past ten days have been wonderful on the surface. Perfect, even. Every evening, Kiera has arrived at six o’clock sharp with her bag of ingredients or her eagerness to tackle whatever mystery ingredient I’ve prepared. We’ve cooked together, eaten together, laughed over my terrible attempts at Korean pronunciation.
And every night, after dinner and dishes, we’ve settled onto my couch to watch two episodes ofLegend of the Blue Sea. She curls up against my side, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders, and for those couple of hours everything feels exactly right. Her head rests on my chest. My fingers trace absent patterns on her arm. We exist in this bubble where the rest of the world doesn’t matter.
But something’s wrong.
I can’t quite name it, can’t point to any specific moment when things shifted. But that sparkle that used to light up her eyes when she looked at me—it’s dimmed. The walls I worked so hard to help her lower are creeping back up, brick by careful brick. She’s pleasant, engaged in our conversations about cooking techniques and K-drama plot twists. But there’s a distance there now, a guardedness that wasn’t present before.
And the kisses. Heaven help me, the kisses are killing me.
