Of Poseidon (35 page)

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“Grom says he hopes you won’t miss his mating ceremony.

It would hurt his feelings.”

“He’s going to mate with Paca? You’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t have followed you across the world if I wasn’t sure.”

Galen ignores the twist of excitement in his gut. “She’s not a royal.”

“And Emma is?”

“Good point.” If Grom would be willing to mate with Paca, who’s not a royal, would he be willing to mate with Emma? It doesn’t matter, stupid. He’s mating with Paca.

“Anyway, the ceremony will be in two moon cycles. Grom wants to keep it a secret for now while he thinks of a way to present it to everyone else. The only thing he can think of is to have her demonstrate the Gift to an audience. Otherwise, he’ll have blood on his hands.”

“That’s a good idea.” Grom’s already treading in icy waters by taking a Poseidon mate against Antonis’s wishes. But because of who Grom is— fi rstborn, third- generation Triton royal—

he’s basically rendering the law obsolete by mating with Paca, who is, by the law’s standards, a common. Which isn’t fair, since King Antonis’s refusal to produce more off spring forced him to this decision. But would the kingdoms see that? Would they see it as a self- sacrifi cing eff ort on Grom’s part to keep the benefi t of the Gifts? Or would they view it as a power- hungry move to rule both kingdoms— especially given Jagen’s reputation for

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treasonous talk?

0—

“He wants you and Rayna both to stay away until he

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announces the ceremony. I told him you had plenty to keep you occupied until then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you brainless as a reef, minnow? You can have Emma now. Why you’re wasting your time here in Eggland— Galen?

Galen, wait for me!”

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25

I’M NOT sure if all Syrena have bulletproof endurance or if Galen is particularly blessed with it. Even now, as I lock the front dead bolt while Mark holds his car door open for me, Galen is blowing up my cell. I slide into the passenger seat of the pickup truck and try to or ga nize my face into a convincing expression of relaxed, even though my insides are twisting faster than a whirl pool.

I thought Galen had given up trying to talk to me. I mean, what else is there to say? He played me like an Xbox. A broom and dustpan couldn’t clean up all the pieces of my heart he shattered. I’ve been so stupid. But not anymore.

Keeping distance between us at school hasn’t been easy, but I’ve managed. And when I sense him in the water in front of my

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house, I get out. By Wednesday, he stopped calling me. He even 0—

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skipped school today. So what’s his deal now? Doesn’t he see that I need to get away from him?

And why can’t I have an ignore button like my phone? As I hit it, his calls disappear from the screen and the ringing stops. But the tingles are still at my fi ngertips, as if he sent them through the phone to grab me. Shoving it in my purse— the pockets on skinny jeans must just be for show ’cause nothing else is fi tting in there— I smile at Mark.

Ah, Mark. The blue- eyed, blond- haired, all- American quarterback. Who knew he had a crush on me all these years? Not Emma McIntosh, that’s for dang sure. And not Chloe. Which is weird, because Chloe was a collector of this kind of information. Maybe it’s not true. Maybe Mark’s only interested in me because Galen was— who wouldn’t want to date the girl who dated the hottest guy in school? But that’s just fi ne with me.

Mark is . . . well, Mark isn’t as fantabulous as I always imagined he would be.

Still, he’s good- looking, a star quarterback, and he’s not trying to hook me up with his brother. So why am I not excited?

The question must be all over my face because Mark’s got his eyebrow raised. Not in a judgmental arch, more like an arch of expectation. If he’s waiting for an explanation, his puny human lungs can’t hold their breath long enough for an answer.

Aside from not being his business, I can’t exactly explain the details of my relationship with Galen— fake or otherwise. The truth is, I don’t know where we can go from here. He ripped

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holes in my pride like buckshot. And did I mention he broke my heart?

He’s not just a crush. Not just a physical attraction, someone who can make me forget my own name by pretending to kiss me.

Not just a teacher or a snobby fi sh with royal blood. Sure, he’s all of those things. But he’s more than that. He’s who I want.

Possibly forever.

But I’m not in danger of becoming “that girl.” The one who throws away her college education in favor of marrying some guy right out of high school. The one who sacrifi ces everything she wants in order to make his dreams come true, to make him happy. The one who hangs on his every smile, his every word, bears his children, cooks his dinner, and snuggles up to him at night. Nope, defi nitely not in danger of becoming her.

Because Galen doesn’t want me. If that kiss were real, I might have thrown scholarships to the wind and followed him to our own private island or his underwater kingdom. I might have even cooked him fi sh.

Sure, Galen would love for me to do all those things. With his brother.

So it’s a good thing I’m being proactive about my own recovery by going on a date, even if it is a rebound— and even if I’m rebounding from a relationship that didn’t actually exist.

My feelings were real. That’s all that matters, isn’t it? There’s no stipulation in the broken- heart rule book that states the relationship had to actually be authentic, right? Sure, I’m gray- shading

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the line that separates stable and crazy, but the point is, there is 0—

a line. And I haven’t completely crossed over to lunatic.

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Mark sitting next to me proves it. I’m moving on. Getting on with my life. Staying in school. Enrolling in college. Cooking chicken instead of fi sh. Dating other people. And with enough luck, I’ll be kissing other people by the end of this date. Even if it doesn’t mean anything.

“Is everything okay?” Mark asks as we turn onto the interstate.

“Sure. Why?” But we both know why he’d ask.

Mark’s obviously too much of a gentleman to point out that I’m getting more space time than an astronaut. He says, “You just seem quiet to night. I hope I didn’t already do something to screw this up.”

I laugh. “That’s exactly what I was just thinking. That I didn’t want to screw it up, I mean.”

He nods, gives a knowing smile.

“What?” I say.

When he shrugs.

“No. You gave me a look,” I say, crossing my arms.

“No I didn’t.”

“I don’t date liars.” Anymore.

He laughs. “Fine. If you must know, I don’t think there’s anything you could possibly do to screw this up.” I can’t help but smile. “Oh, you shouldn’t have said that out loud.” Good- looking, smart, funny. And now sweet. So quit waiting for your purse to ring, stupid.

“You might remember that you forced me to say it out loud.

But don’t worry. I’m not superstitious.”

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“I’m not either.”

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The drive to Atlantic City is just over an hour, and we pass it by playing Twenty Questions. Mark is the youn gest of four brothers, wants to be either be a physicist or an animator at Disney World— he promises to decide before he graduates college on his football scholarship— and his most embarrassing moment was when he walked in on his parents while they were doing the deed. Last week.

His questions for me are almost the same, word for word.

Except the one he asks when we pull into the parking lot along the boardwalk strip. “Question number nineteen is, Who keeps texting you to night?’ ”

Here we go again. Since Mark seems to saturate the air with easygoing, the whirl pool in my stomach had turned into no more than a swirl, as powerless as a fl ushed toilet, even when my purse beeped. But now that swirl is more like an island-swallowing vortex. Things are going too well to night to ruin it with the truth, but since this could be the fi rst of many dates with Mark, a lie would ruin it, too. “It’s Galen.” Mark takes a sharp breath. “Okay. So I’m ditching my origi-nal question number twenty for a new question number twenty: Should I be worried about Galen?”

I laugh. “In what way?”

“Well, in any way, I guess. For instance, he’s a big guy. Does he know how to fi ght? Does he know how to shoot a gun? And did you tell him where we were going to night?”

“No. Why?”

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“Because he’s standing outside your window.” 0—

My gaze whips around to settle on Galen standing inches

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from the truck, arms crossed. Mark is courteous enough to roll down the window for me, since I’m too stunned to move, talk, or breathe.

“Emma, can you please come talk to me for a minute?” Galen says, eyes hard.

“Hey, Galen. How’s it going, man?” Mark adds a little edge to his normally friendly tone.

“Mark.” Galen nods, jaw tight.

“Kind of surprised to see you, man. Are you here with anyone?” Mark is good at BS.

“In fact, I am. I’m here with Emma.”

“Really? How’s that?”

“She’s my girlfriend. I thought I’d made that clear before, Mark.”

Mark chuckles. “Well, I’m not sure where you’re from, but in this country, when one party breaks up, they both do. Learned that one the hard way myself, so I feel your pain, man.”

“Not yet,” Galen mutters.

“I’m sorry? What did you say?” By the sound of it, Mark really didn’t hear him. By the look on Galen’s face, he wasn’t really meant to. But I heard it. And I know what he meant.

“He didn’t say anything,” I tell Mark, fi nally able to move my mouth other than in the direction of hanging open.

“Yes, he did, Emma,” Mark whispers to me, patting my leg.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle this.” Leaving his hand there, he calls around me to Galen, “Now what did you just say? Or is it worth repeating?”

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It feels like hot lava is oozing over me. That, along with a

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sense of dread. When I turn back, I’m not surprised when my nose almost touches Galen’s through the truck window. But he’s not looking at me. Mark seems unaff ected by the glower. Galen talks through clenched teeth. “I said not yet. You haven’t even begun to feel pain. Yet. But if you don’t take your hand off her leg—”

I open the truck door. Galen steps back to let me out.

“Emma, this is insane. You don’t have to talk to him. I can hold my own in a fi ght if he wants to push it that far,” Mark says for Galen to hear.

Football player that he is, I doubt Mark has ever been beaten with a steel pipe, which is exactly what Galen’s Syrena fi sts will feel like on his face. I give him an apologetic smile. “It will only take a second. I’ll be right back, okay?” As I step away from the truck, Galen slams the door shut.