But she’d likely never considered that her marriage would end up being onland.
His mind flashed back to Iris diving into the pool in his building, the enthusiasm of her movements, the joy on her face.
She clearly loved the water.
It was in her blood.
Every time she looked at him instead of the sea, she was reminded of what she was losing, of what he had stolen from her.
Something sacred.
Her verynature.
“Is she complaining?” Henry asked.
“No. She never complains.”
Except about the temperature of the air conditioning. And why human beings had yet to develop a comfortable shoe. And the fact that her favorite Chinese food place closed too early on Tuesday nights. And, of course, that the sequels to certain books weren’t even written yet, let alone close to publication.
She said almost none of those things directly to him, though. Most of it was things she’d grumbled to herself or confessed to Monty. Or, even on occasion, to Checkers. To his credit, he was happy to warm her lap anytime she wanted it.
Iris rarely, if ever, spoke to him, unless she absolutely needed to. It was something that bothered him more with each passing day. Even if, admittedly, he’d never been great at bringing up random topics of conversation, unless they had to do with politics or his campaign.
He’d been coached on who to be for so long that he wasstarting to worry he’d forgotten who hewas—under the talking points, beneath the plans.
“Then why are you asking about the arrangement?”
“I want to know if she agreed to it. Or if she was forced into it.”
“I think, in a way, it would be both, wouldn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
“Why these thoughts all of a sudden?”
“I dunno,” he lied. “I guess it’s just the first time I’ve slowed down enough to really think about the situation.”
That may have had a small part in it.
But Finn knew what had changed was the dynamic between the two of them.
Anytime he thought about the incident in the hallway, he swore he could still feel her, could still hear her moans.
Then the kiss on the street.
The reason for it may have been manufactured, but the passion itself was all organic.
But after both instances, when he’d maybe been expecting softness and sweetness, he got coldness and guardedness.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted him—he’d felt it. But something always snapped shut afterward. Like desire for him was dangerous. Like it cost her something. And he didn’t know why.
It was hard not to worry that he’d overstepped some line, even though in both instances, he’d had enthusiastic ‘yeses’ from Iris.
Because if Iriswantedto be there, if she’d agreed to the marriage, why was she having such severe reactions to the relationship between them evolving into something more real?
It made no sense.
“I can put some feelers out, but I doubt we will be able to get any kind of straight answer. It will all be spin about how the princesses are overjoyed to improve ocean and surface relations.”
