Forgive My Fins
Page 54
“You’re all right?” he demands. “They didn’t see you?”
“No,” I manage between terror-induced pants. “It went perfectly.”
As if he’s not content to trust my statement, Quince releases me and checks me over. Making sure there isn’t a hook in my fin or something.
“I did it,” I gasp, still reeling from the thrill and the fear. “I really—”
Quince’s mouth is on mine in an instant.
His arms are around my waist, mine around his neck. It’s the fear, I know it’s the fear. And the bond. And the adrenaline. That whole I-was-this-close-to-death-and-am-really-really-really-glad-to-be-alive emotional response. Anxiety and relief and joy swirl between us until I can’t tell which are his and which are mine. I can’t not be kissing him right now.
The urgency in his kiss tells me he feels the same.
But before my body can begin to calm, another shadow moves above us. And stays.
My heart nearly explodes in my chest.
“Well, well, well,” Daddy’s voice says from above. “I think this Challenge is over.”
Oh, no! I jerk back and stare wide-eyed at Quince. His mouth is just as red and swollen as mine probably is. I can’t even hope that Daddy didn’t see what just happened because the evidence is still visible. And all I can think is, Oh, no.
“Daddy,” I gasp, putting as much distance between myself and Quince as possible. “I thought you weren’t coming until afternoon.”
He levels an unreadable look at me. “It is afternoon.”
“Oh,” I mouth.
Daddy turns his gaze on Quince, who doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. Instead, Quince straightens his spine and says, “My apologies, sir. Your highness.”
Some sort of patronizing male look passes between them, and I feel like throwing a giant conch at his head. At both their heads.
“It was a mistake,” I hurry to explain. “See, there was this fishing boat, and we were trapped, and I made fog—just like you taught me—and then I ran back, and my legs nearly gave out, and then Quince was there.” I cast an accusing glance his way, certain that he is somehow to blame. A slow, deep breath brings my crazed babbling into check. “Our emotions were heightened by the prospect of getting caught. It was panic.” They are both looking at me with identical blank faces. “Nothing more.”
Goodness knows I wouldn’t knowingly kiss Quince for any other reason.
Right?
I have a feeling that last thought read clear as day across my face because Quince drops his gaze and then swims for the surface. I shouldn’t feel bad—everything I said was the truth—but part of me wants to go after him and apologize. I feel rotten for hurting him.
“Lily,” Daddy says, swimming down to me.
I turn away from the surface to look at him. Like a deflated life raft, I feel all my anxiety and the rush seep away. “It was a mistake, Daddy,” I explain calmly. “Just a mistake.”
Wasn’t it?
“Was it?” Daddy asks, echoing my own question. But rather than sounding regal and authoritative, he sounds just as confused as I am. “Was it all really a mistake, Lily? All of it?”
“Of course,” I say. But it is a whispered protest.
“At first, I thought maybe—” He shakes his head, showing uncharacteristic uncertainty. “But now, after this weekend…and the last…”
“Nothing’s changed, Daddy.” I swim closer, trying to plead with my eyes. “I promise.”
“I know. It’s just that I can’t help feeling that you’re not seeing things clearly. All the signs are there and—” Then, as if he just realized the funniest thing, he laughs. He pulls me into a gentle hug. “Oh, how I wish your mother were here,” he says. “She was far better equipped on the subject of relationships.”
Though I want to insist that Mom would see that this bond was ridiculous, a small part of me refuses to speak for her. I never even met her. How could I begin to know what she would say?
“Let me have a few minutes to speak with Quince,” he says. “He should have a voice in all of this as well.”
As Daddy swims up to the surface, to ask Quince for his opinion—great, now I feel guiltily for never having taken that into consideration—I float over to the pool wall. I can just imagine what they’re saying. Daddy will ask Quince what he wants to do, and Quince will confess some sort of ridiculous undying feelings for me, and Daddy will declare it a match made in heaven. But who knows? Maybe I’m holding too high an opinion of myself. Maybe Quince doesn’t want to be shackled to a mermaid anyway. Maybe he doesn’t want to be doomed to spend the rest of his life in whatever form I’m currently manifesting—soon to be almost exclusively mer—which is what will happen if the bond is formalized.
Did I even tell him about that little problem? No, because I never thought it would be an issue. I never thought we’d be in a position where the bond becoming permanent was even a remote possibility. Well, I need to tell him now so he knows what he’d be giving up.
Energized, I kick to the surface. As I burst into the air, transfiguring on the way and hoping to bring Quince over to my side of the argument, I hear Daddy say, “One week, son. I give you one week to change her mind.”
“No!” I shout, landing feetfirst on the sand and running at them. “No, we have to tell Quince about the form sharing, about how if the bond isn’t severed, he and I would always have to be in the same physical form, and once I return to take my place in court, I’ll rarely use my terraped—”
“No,” I manage between terror-induced pants. “It went perfectly.”
As if he’s not content to trust my statement, Quince releases me and checks me over. Making sure there isn’t a hook in my fin or something.
“I did it,” I gasp, still reeling from the thrill and the fear. “I really—”
Quince’s mouth is on mine in an instant.
His arms are around my waist, mine around his neck. It’s the fear, I know it’s the fear. And the bond. And the adrenaline. That whole I-was-this-close-to-death-and-am-really-really-really-glad-to-be-alive emotional response. Anxiety and relief and joy swirl between us until I can’t tell which are his and which are mine. I can’t not be kissing him right now.
The urgency in his kiss tells me he feels the same.
But before my body can begin to calm, another shadow moves above us. And stays.
My heart nearly explodes in my chest.
“Well, well, well,” Daddy’s voice says from above. “I think this Challenge is over.”
Oh, no! I jerk back and stare wide-eyed at Quince. His mouth is just as red and swollen as mine probably is. I can’t even hope that Daddy didn’t see what just happened because the evidence is still visible. And all I can think is, Oh, no.
“Daddy,” I gasp, putting as much distance between myself and Quince as possible. “I thought you weren’t coming until afternoon.”
He levels an unreadable look at me. “It is afternoon.”
“Oh,” I mouth.
Daddy turns his gaze on Quince, who doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. Instead, Quince straightens his spine and says, “My apologies, sir. Your highness.”
Some sort of patronizing male look passes between them, and I feel like throwing a giant conch at his head. At both their heads.
“It was a mistake,” I hurry to explain. “See, there was this fishing boat, and we were trapped, and I made fog—just like you taught me—and then I ran back, and my legs nearly gave out, and then Quince was there.” I cast an accusing glance his way, certain that he is somehow to blame. A slow, deep breath brings my crazed babbling into check. “Our emotions were heightened by the prospect of getting caught. It was panic.” They are both looking at me with identical blank faces. “Nothing more.”
Goodness knows I wouldn’t knowingly kiss Quince for any other reason.
Right?
I have a feeling that last thought read clear as day across my face because Quince drops his gaze and then swims for the surface. I shouldn’t feel bad—everything I said was the truth—but part of me wants to go after him and apologize. I feel rotten for hurting him.
“Lily,” Daddy says, swimming down to me.
I turn away from the surface to look at him. Like a deflated life raft, I feel all my anxiety and the rush seep away. “It was a mistake, Daddy,” I explain calmly. “Just a mistake.”
Wasn’t it?
“Was it?” Daddy asks, echoing my own question. But rather than sounding regal and authoritative, he sounds just as confused as I am. “Was it all really a mistake, Lily? All of it?”
“Of course,” I say. But it is a whispered protest.
“At first, I thought maybe—” He shakes his head, showing uncharacteristic uncertainty. “But now, after this weekend…and the last…”
“Nothing’s changed, Daddy.” I swim closer, trying to plead with my eyes. “I promise.”
“I know. It’s just that I can’t help feeling that you’re not seeing things clearly. All the signs are there and—” Then, as if he just realized the funniest thing, he laughs. He pulls me into a gentle hug. “Oh, how I wish your mother were here,” he says. “She was far better equipped on the subject of relationships.”
Though I want to insist that Mom would see that this bond was ridiculous, a small part of me refuses to speak for her. I never even met her. How could I begin to know what she would say?
“Let me have a few minutes to speak with Quince,” he says. “He should have a voice in all of this as well.”
As Daddy swims up to the surface, to ask Quince for his opinion—great, now I feel guiltily for never having taken that into consideration—I float over to the pool wall. I can just imagine what they’re saying. Daddy will ask Quince what he wants to do, and Quince will confess some sort of ridiculous undying feelings for me, and Daddy will declare it a match made in heaven. But who knows? Maybe I’m holding too high an opinion of myself. Maybe Quince doesn’t want to be shackled to a mermaid anyway. Maybe he doesn’t want to be doomed to spend the rest of his life in whatever form I’m currently manifesting—soon to be almost exclusively mer—which is what will happen if the bond is formalized.
Did I even tell him about that little problem? No, because I never thought it would be an issue. I never thought we’d be in a position where the bond becoming permanent was even a remote possibility. Well, I need to tell him now so he knows what he’d be giving up.
Energized, I kick to the surface. As I burst into the air, transfiguring on the way and hoping to bring Quince over to my side of the argument, I hear Daddy say, “One week, son. I give you one week to change her mind.”
“No!” I shout, landing feetfirst on the sand and running at them. “No, we have to tell Quince about the form sharing, about how if the bond isn’t severed, he and I would always have to be in the same physical form, and once I return to take my place in court, I’ll rarely use my terraped—”
