Iris was mostly silent through the whole process, save for the occasional question about an item Monty was asking for.
She was a lot more sheltered than he—and he ventured, Henry—had realized. Finn had been operating under the assumption that mermaidian royalty would have had many occasions to leave the ocean and experience the surface.
That was clearly not the case.
Monty had needed to demonstrate to her how to use a fork to eat her food. What a dishwasher was for. How the television worked.
Finn let the pelican take the lead, not wanting it to seem like he was condescending to Iris. She had a poor enough impression of him since brunch; he was going to attempt to win back her favor.
Because despite the arrangement being only on paper, Finn couldn’t help but hope for it to turn into something real. Sure, he would do what needed to be done for his career. That said, who didn’t want to fall in love with their partner? To have someone to share all the highs and lows with? To lean on? To create warm memories with? Maybe, if he was lucky, to build a family with?
By the time he’d gotten out of the shower later that night, he’d found Monty asleep, perched on the end of his desk in the office. Iris passed out on the sectional. He wasn’t prepared for the rush of warmth that flooded his chest, this strange, bone-deeprightnesshe felt filling him at seeing her there, in his home like she belonged.
“That’s not gonna work,” he murmured to Checkers,who was keeping watch over his new favorite person from the back of the couch.
Finn slid his arms under her slowly, not wanting to disturb the first moment of peace she’d known all day.
She jolted hard as he lifted her up, but he just pulled her more tightly to his chest. “You’re okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
As he walked, she seemed to go more and more lax against him, likely from a lifetime of the comfort of currents in her sleep. He couldn’t help but wonder if her sleepy mind confused his arms with those same currents, like something safe and steady.
He placed her gently down on his bed, pulling the covers up over her body. He was incapable of fighting the urge to swipe her soft pink hair from her pretty face.
But he didn’t let himself linger; he just gathered his pillow and then went to sleep in the living room.
Where he drifted off with the scent of her in the cushions and all over him, giving him vivid, steamy dreams he had no right conjuring up for a woman who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
He wanted to believe that could change.
Not because of polls or favorability ratings.
But because every time she let her guard down—even a little—it cracked something open in him too.
And he didn’t want to close it again.
7
Iris
Iris woke up slowly, then all at once, jolting upright in an unfamiliar bed in a strange room, all of it washed in that aged driftwood smell that clung to Finn like a second skin.
How had she gotten in his bed?
For one horrified moment, she worried she might have followed her desire right into his room. She felt a wave of relief when she realized she was still fully dressed, tragically.
Sure, some part of her was A-okay with the idea of getting naked and glandular with Finn. Especially after that delicious foot massage and the way such a chaste touch somehow managed to spark little fires of need to break out through her body. She was a mermaid, after all. They were sensual creatures. She enjoyed getting warm and steamy with a partner as much as the next person.
The other part of her, though, that still found Finn—even after hours in his company—stuffy and stiff, constantly bringing the conversation back to politics andsurface-level observations, wanted nothing to do with some base, biological response to a man she was being forced to marry.
“That’s enough of that,” she mumbled to herself as she climbed out of bed, feeling aches in her land legs she hadn’t anticipated. She went into the bathroom to brush out her hair before changing into one of the outfits Henry had left for her—long, flowing pale blue pants in a material he’d called ‘linen’ and a tight, white, silky top he’d called a camisole, though she couldn’t quite remember what else he’d said about that particular garment.
There was a rich, thick scent in the air as she made her way into the common area.
“What is that?” she asked, sniffing the air.
“That, my sweet sea spawn, is ground-bean juice,” Monty declared, producing two mugs (gray, of course, like everything in Finn’s home). “The humans call it ‘coffee,’ and I find it is best served with a lot of cream and sugar. Enjoy.”
She took the mug, the heat teasing her fingers, making a shiver rack her system. “Why is it so cold in here?”
