Chapter 6
Finn
Finn was having a hard time concentrating on what was a very important meeting. If there was one demographic you wanted to get to back you on a political campaign, it was the unions.
Yet all he could focus on was if Iris had gotten his gift, if she was going to come and move in with him like her mother’s spokesperson claimed.
He’d realized his mistake the second the salt water cascaded down his head.
Finn had been regurgitating talking points that he and Henry had discussed in private in the cold, clinical way they always talked about optics.
He hadn’t taken Iris’s feelings into account.
When he’d run back the conversation in his mind, he’d seen all the parts that she may have found insulting.
The regret had been instantaneous.
Henry had been quick to go into crisis mode when he’d found out, insisting that they had to make it right, to salvage the situation.
“There’s simply no time to try to find another wife for you. We have to fix this. Or we have to accept that you’re going to lose this election.”
Losing was not an option.
So, Finn took the one thing he knew about Iris—the fact that she liked to read—and came up with a plan. From what he understood about mermaid books, they were few and far between and printed on kelp paper.
One trip to a local witch-owned bookstore later, he had his peace offering to hand off to Tatiana’s spokeswoman, Maria, to bring to Iris with his message that he still wished to move forward with the contract.
Then all he could do was hope for the best.
Henry seemed convinced that the plan would move through. Enough that he’d been in planning mode all morning: ordering wardrobe selections, making plans for Iris at the salon, setting up etiquette classes, and preparing his plans for rigorous media training.
“I agree,” Finn said after the union leader had spoken. Truth be told, he had only caught every other word. He’d been too busy remembering the look of hurt and outrage on Iris’s face just before she dropped her drink over his head.
There was a bit more back-and-forth before the meeting was finally over. And, for once, Finn had no idea if he’d secured their vote or not. What’s more, he didn’t particularly care.
All he wanted was to get back to his apartment to see if Iris had responded to his gift.
Not because, as Henry feared, it was their only shot at securing the mayoral vote. But because he genuinely felt remorse and regret for upsetting a woman who did nothing wrong except agree to marry him. Likely with immense pressure from her mother or the mercouncil.
They were both cogs in a political machine.
He often wished his own feelings could be a factor in his life and career, so the least he could do for Iris was to be mindful of hers. Especially seeing as they were in his world, not hers. She had to be feeling unsure and vulnerable. Yet all he’d offered her so far were polls and optics.
Finn was sure they could still provide Iris the proper training while taking her comfort into account.
That thought was what had him rushing across town, worried that Iris might have shown up and been subjected to Henry at his most gung-ho—overwhelming her with charts and demographics and the thousand and one things he was going to put on her schedule for the coming weeks.
When he got to his apartment, there were several voices inside, making him sigh as he pushed open the door.
Sure enough, there was Henry in the living room with Iris, the two of them engaged in some sort of argument as she attempted to rip a book back out of Henry’s hands.
“It’s just a book,” Henry insisted.
“It’s my book. And I’m tired of it falling on the floor because you think I walk funny.”
“Funny, I could work with. You’re walking like it’s some sort of … mating ritual.”
“Mating ritual?” Iris sputtered. “I’m a mermaid. Everything about us is very … fluid.”
“Fluid is fine. Sensual is not going to work with our voting demographics.”
“I’m kind of sick of hearing about demographics and polls and—”
“That’s the whole point of all of—”
“What’s going on here?” Finn asked, closing the door behind him as he moved inside.
Iris looked over, her shoulders slipping from up by her ears to a more relaxed posture.
But she took advantage of Henry’s surprise and yanked the book out of his hands.
She hugged it to her chest, and Finn couldn’t help but feel a warm sensation spread across his chest when he saw the cover.
It was the book he’d gotten spelled for her.
“Finn. Good. We are trying to do some training, but your fiancée here is being—”
“Call me ‘difficult’ one more time,” Iris grumbled.
“Now, now, we’re all getting our feathers out of place,” another voice said, tone calming.
Turning, Finn saw a large bird standing on his kitchen island.
“Is that … is that the pelican from the restaurant?”
“That reminds me,” the bird said, “I need to give them a scathing review. Can I borrow someone’s phone?”
“Since when do you know how to use a phone?” Iris asked. Finn guessed that she didn’t even know how to use one.
“Not all of us have been living under a rock—or under the ocean,” the bird told her. “Of course, I know how to use a phone. You know, in theory.”
“Finn, this is Mr. Montague Featherington. He is Iris’s Head of Surface Affairs.” The pitch of Henry’s voice and slight tug at his lips told Finn that they shouldn’t take the bird’s position too seriously. “He will be staying in your office.”
“Of course. I’m happy to have you, Mr. Featherington.”
“You can call him Monty. He’s being pretentious.” Iris shot a fond smile toward the pelican.
“Am I being pretentious, or am I simply committed to the gravitas of my role?”
“What, exactly, is that role, Monty?” she shot back. Her sea glass eyes were dancing.
“Well, I am your handler, of course. Your buffer. Your first line of defense against scandal, bad lighting, and subpar crab cakes. Speaking of, shouldn’t we be breaking for lunch?”
“Of course. We can order anything you want,” Finn said. His gaze slid around the apartment. “Henry …” he said, tone frustrated.
“What?” Henry asked, avoiding eye contact.
“Where is he?”
“Where’s who? That hell-beast you call a companion?”
“A hell-beast?” Iris asked, stiffening.
“He’s talking about my cat,” Finn explained. “A cat he made me adopt, I might add.”
“Pets soften your image. Adopted pets speak to the masses who worry about overcrowding in our shelters. The optics were all there. It’s not my fault you picked the nastiest one of the bunch.”
Finn had to admit that Checkers was a bit … spirited. And the animosity went both ways when it came to how Checkers felt about his campaign manager.
“Did you lock him in the bathroom again?”
“I’m not a monster. I locked him in the office.”
“In my room?” Monty balked.
Finn just barely held back a laugh at that. Iris didn’t bother.
“It wasn’t your room when he locked the cat in there,” Iris reminded him.
Finn opened the office door, and Checkers came barreling out, making a beeline for Henry in a flurry of calico rage.
“Hey, no,” Henry scolded, jumping to get his legs away from the cat’s claws. “This is designer, you monster.”
“You brought this upon yourself,” Finn told him.
“I hope you’re not allergic,” he said to Iris, feeling another pang of guilt for not knowing more about her.
Even if their arrangement wasn’t a love match, he should at least know about any allergies or other medical conditions she might be dealing with.
“I hope he likes me more than he likes Henry. Though, there were several times today that I wanted to claw at him too, so I get his reaction.”
“Ha ha,” Henry said as Iris shot him a saccharine smile.
Checkers, seeing Monty, leapt up onto the island, trying to decide what he thought of the giant bird.
“Hello to you, sir,” Monty greeted him. “Do you speak?”
“No, he’s just a normal cat,” Henry told him. “Thankfully. Can you imagine what he would have to say?”
“Monty!” Iris hissed.
Finn looked back to find the pelican attempting to see if Checkers would fit in his beak.
“I wasn’t really going to eat him,” Monty said with a fluff of his chest feathers.
No one in the room seemed overly convinced of that fact.
“Maybe we should order some food,” Finn offered.
“Yeah, that might be a good idea,” Iris agreed.
As he reached for his phone, he caught Iris sending the pelican a stern look.
“Well, I’ll get going. I have a lot to set up.”
“I told you I’m not getting my toes snipped.”
“Toes snipped?” Finn asked.
“It was a whole thing,” Henry said, sighing.
“I’m not deforming myself because you don’t like my feet.”
“Anyway,” Henry went on. “I have to set up Iris’s spa treatments, her etiquette classes, and get the ball rolling on the wedding plans. We are cutting things dangerously close. You and me, tomorrow, nine.”
“What’s tomorrow at nine?” Iris asked.
“The gym. He also wants to change my looks,” Finn told her.
“Just your calves. Shorts season is coming. We can’t have you caught on the golf course with subpar calves.”
“I don’t understand,” Iris said. “I thought you managed his campaign, not his appearance.”
“They are one and the same. Welcome to politics,” Henry said.
With another reminder of the next day’s itinerary, he was off.
Finn led him to the door, and when he came back, he heard Iris hiss, “Triton’s beard, Monty, what is wrong with you?”
When he rounded the corner, he saw her lifting his cat into her arms and away from the pelican, who had a bit of fur clinging to his beak.
“I’m impressed. He won’t even let me pick him up.”
Iris said nothing to that as she sat down on the sectional, trying to put the cat to her side, but he climbed back onto her lap and immediately started to purr.
“He’s vibrating. Is that a good thing?”