“I don’t think I really understood how you felt until now,” I admit. “To want so badly to be somewhere else.”
“I should never have assumed you belonged only to me,” Oliver says. “I wish there was a way to tell your mother you’re all right.”
At the mention of my mother, a cloud passes over my features.
Oliver touches my cheek gently. “Is there anything I can do to make you happy?”
“You can hold me,” I say, and in that instant, I am pulled into his arms again. I can feel his heart beating against mine, and the heat of skin. I can feel his fingers spread across the small of my back. He is every bit as real as I am. “Oliver,” I repeat slowly, the magic of this miracle truly sinking in. “You canholdme.”
“That’s not all I can do,” Oliver says. He frames my face with his hands and gently, tenderly, presses his lips to mine.
This issonot like Leonard Uberhardt, the first boy who kissed me, or rather swallowed half my face. This is sweet and soft. It’s like there is a whole story Oliver is telling me without words, as if what he’s feeling can’t be described, and has to be experienced instead.
When we break apart, I am breathing hard, and I cannot take my eyes off his.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” Oliver says.
I wind my arms around his neck. “Let’s do it again,” I suggest.
He puts his hands on my wrists and pulls me away. “I should think you, of all people, would realize we’ve got other things we need to do first.”
He’s right, of course. I want to go home. But that doesn’t mean I’m not disappointed, just a little.
Oliver seems to notice, for the first time, what I’m wearing. “What happened to you?”
“Mermaids,” I explain.
“I’m surprised they didn’t try to convince you to stay away from me,” he says. “They’re generally not too fond of men.”
“So what’s your plan? How do we get back home?” I ask.
“Well,” Oliver says, his face flushing. “I’m still trying to figure it out.”
“But youalwaysknow what to do. No matter what situation you’re thrown into, or whatever scrape you wind up in, you figure a way out.”
“That’s just the way I’m written,” Oliver confesses. “If I were truly clever, I’d be out of this book by now.”
“But in the book you always—”
“In the book I also fall in love with Seraphima everytime,” Oliver interrupts. “And believe me, that’s an act.”
I feel chilled all of a sudden. The enormity of my situation is becoming more clear. I’m stuck in a fairy tale that may never be opened again. After reading the story so many times, I’ve confused bits of the true Oliver and the fictional Oliver. I’m just not sure anymore what’s real.
I don’t realize I’ve said it aloud until Oliver reaches for my hand. “Weare,” he says. “Thisis.”
By now the sun has slipped lower in the sky and has painted the horizon a vivid orange. “We’d best be getting home,” Oliver says, and I sit up a little straighter. “And byhome,” he says, wincing, “I meant the palace.”
He tugs me to my feet and leads me down a beaten path through the field. I can feel the warmth of his shoulder against mine, and I can smell the scent of pine, which clings to his tunic. In front of us, fairies dance like fireflies, writing our initials in the dusky violet sky. I find myself smiling at their acrobatics, amazed to see the tiny creatures right before my eyes. As much as I want to leave this world, it’s breathtaking.
I am so wrapped up in the moment, in fact, that I don’t even see Seraphima until she is three feet in front of us. She stands with her eyes wide, her pale blond hair cascading down her back, her perfect features frowning in confusion. “Oliver?” she asks.
“Oh, um, hi, Seraphima,” he says. “Have you met… my cousin Delilah?” Oliver turns to me, whispering. “It’s nother fault she’s clueless. I don’t want to hurt her. Just go along with me.”
Seraphima bestows the sweetest smile upon me. “Delilah!” she says, grasping my hands in her own. “I justknowyou and I are going to be the best of friends!”
I muster a smile in response. “I bet,” I manage.
“It’s getting late, and my mother’s expecting us,” Oliver says.
