Chapter 11
Iris
“It’s time,” Henry declared as he strode into the apartment first thing the morning after the long-awaited debate. It seemed like there were more and more ‘very important events’ as the deadline to the election—and her upcoming wedding—drew closer with each passing day.
Iris didn’t even know how that went. She was pretty sure she’d rather watch coral grow than tune in to a political debate.
It was bad enough that she couldn’t escape it every time Henry was in the apartment. She wasn’t going to volunteer for more of it in her free time.
If Henry was expecting her to ask what it was time for, he would be waiting a long time. She focused on making her coffee—what could she say? She’d grown fond of the pressed bean juice. She hadn’t had a word to give Henry since the time she’d overheard him refer to her as ‘the accessory.’
“Don’t you want to know what it’s time for?” he pressed, since Finn hadn’t appeared yet.
Her answer was to loudly stir her coffee.
“It’s rude to do the silent-treatment thing.”
Iris’s hand slapped down on the counter. “Oh, so now you’re concerned about what is rude?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means it’s not okay for me to not talk to you, but it’s totally fine for you to refer to me as Finn’s accessory?”
“Hey, no need to get emotion—”
“I dare you to finish that sentence,” she cut him off, taking a step closer to him. “Dare you.”
“What’s going on out here?” Finn asked, walking out of the hallway in a pair of hastily pulled-up slacks. No top. Because that’s what she needed right then. Half-naked Finn.
“A small misunderstanding,” Henry claimed.
“Right. Because I couldn’t possibly comprehend your meaning with my tiny little female merfolk brain, right? So clogged up with emotions that a thought can’t pass through.”
To that, Finn’s head cocked to the side, his brow raised. Almost—dare she think it—annoyed.
But no.
A real emotion from Finn?
That wasn’t possible.
“Care to explain why Iris seems to think you’re insulting her?”
Something in Finn’s tone had Henry holding up both hands in a placating gesture.
“Iris overheard something … uncharitable I said to you. She is understandably upset about it.”
Finn glanced between them.
“He thinks I’m as useful as cufflinks.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“They’re an accessory, aren’t they?”
“Oh, that,” Finn said. He exhaled hard. And Iris absolutely did not notice the way his chest widened and his abdominal muscles contracted. Nope. Not her. “Iris, I already had a talk with Henry about that comment. You are not an accessory. You are a valuable member of this team.”
Well, then.
If he’d wanted to douse the flames of her growing desire, he’d certainly accomplished that.
“Well, as teammates,” she said, biting off that last word, “Henry has some sort of announcement.”
Finn watched her for a second, brows furrowed like she was a puzzle that didn’t quite make any sense.
“What announcement?” he asked, finally looking to his campaign manager.
“It’s time.”
“Really? So soon after the debate?”
“It’s the perfect time. We’re still riding high on the good press coming from that. It’s the perfect time to go public.”
When neither of them thought to clue her in, Iris gritted her teeth and asked, “Go public with what?”
“Your relationship,” Henry said.
Some part of her wanted to ask: already?
The other part, though, was surprised it had taken so long.
Clearly, she was slacking with her sabotage plans if Henry was so confident about Finn parading her out in public.
Maybe she should have pulled out all the stops. Dyed her hair tentacle-green. Gotten a large tattoo of Poseidon riding a narwhal. Insisted on wearing seaweed robes. Or piercings. Lots and lots of visible piercings. With seashell chains connecting them.
“What did you have in mind?” Finn asked while Iris tried to figure out what she could wear to mess with the date.
“That new supper club.”
“The one run by a banshee?” Finn asked.
“Yep. The ambiance? Terrifying. But the lamb shanks? Divine.”
“Why there?”
“Because it’s mildly controversial. Your appearance there is likely to cause a stir. Even without a mysterious woman on your arm.”
“Why is it controversial?” Iris asked, ready to take up for a fellow paranormal, even if she didn’t know them.
“The rumor is the waitstaff is almost unbearably rude. And most people leave with a migraine thanks to all the screaming. But when some people bring up the very real flaws of the establishment, others start saying people are just being judgmental of banshee culture. So on and so forth. It will look good that you are eating there. It will look better if you come out afterward seeming pleased with the experience and at the very beginning stages of being in love.”
“Did you have any plans tonight?” Finn asked, looking at Iris.
She’d been planning to hit up the bookstore since Arden had monopolized her entire day once he’d shown up. But she couldn’t let it get back to her mother that she was being difficult.
Her first instinct was to protest. Loudly. She barely knew how to navigate her feelings in private. How was she supposed to parade around the city on Finn’s arm like she wasn’t a walking, spiraling identity crisis?
But if she pushed back too hard, it might get back to her mother. And that, frankly, was worse than any dinner with banshees.
“Oh, well, I was going to attend my first Necromancy For Beginners class …”
“Necromancy For Beginners?” Henry repeated.
“How to Raise the Dead Without Raising Eyebrows,” Iris said. It was a real class. She’d used the phone Arden had insisted they go out to buy—then learn how to use—to track it down, wanting to have it in her back pocket if the conversation called for it.
“Necromancy,” Henry repeated, giving Finn a look she couldn’t quite interpret.
“I’d hate to cut into your new hobbies,” Finn said.
“So long as I don’t miss next week’s class …”
“What’s that one?” Henry asked.
“Séance & Song: Summoning the Dead with Showtunes.”
“So we can expect necromancer singing in the future,” Henry observed. “Great. Anyway. Tonight. Eight. I already made the reservation. Finn, wear the slacks and a shirt but no jacket. Iris, I will have something sent over.”
“Why can’t I pick out my own clothes?”
“Because I’m half afraid you will find something in a material printed with vintage torture devices or something. Eight. Happy faces. So in love. I can’t be there to coach you. But make me proud.”
With that, he was gone.
Iris felt like the air got instantly thinner once he left the room.
She couldn’t quite decide if Henry was that insufferable, or if she was viewing him through a lens of principled hatred.
He was the man behind Mr. Mayor. She couldn’t help but wonder how much of Finn’s utter lack of personality was because Henry claimed his likes and hobbies didn’t pass muster with a focus group.
“I’m sorry he springs things like this on us,” Finn said when Henry was gone. “He forgets that people have lives.”
“Maybe because you don’t have one.”
That was mean. And she even regretted it the moment it was out of her mouth. But things couldn’t be unsaid.
Finn watched her for a moment. Then his mouth opened and closed before he gave her a tight nod. “That’s fair.”
It really wasn’t.
But Finn was already moving past it. “Do you have any concerns about this part? The possible paparazzi …”
“Not really, no.” How much worse could it be from the usual gawking she got?
“You may have some concerns about Henry’s outfit selection.”
“Why?”
“The shoes. He’s not going to send over flats.”
“Ugh,” Iris grumbled, looking down at her feet that seemed to be in a constant state of minor pain if she so much as slipped them into anything other than the sandals that Monty had brought home as some sort of swag gift from a party.
“Kind of speciesist to go with shoes with a toe loop,” he’d said, waving down at his own feet. “Not all of us have toes.”
“We’ll be sitting most of the time,” Finn reassured her now. “I’m going to go get dressed.”
There was a knock at the door about an hour and a half later, interrupting a scene in her book that was getting steamy.
“I’ll get it,” Finn said, holding up a hand at her and making his way to the door, returning a moment later with a garment bag and a box of shoes. “Told you,” he said.
“How high are they?”
In answer, he draped the garment bag over the arm of the couch and opened the box for her.
They were surprisingly casual espadrille jute-wrapped wedges. With a closed toe, of course.
“Well, at least they don’t have those icepick-thin heels,” she decided.
“Henry is not without mercy.”
“Oh, come on. You and I both know he went with wedges because he’s afraid I’ll fall on my face and embarrass you.”
“I know you’re determined to dislike him,” Finn said, closing the box lid and handing it to her. “And he has earned some of that. But if you give him a chance, he’s not all bad. He just wants the best for us.”
Henry wanted the best for Finn.
She only factored in for image purposes.
“No, not on the table,” Finn said. His voice was tight as Iris tried to set the box there.
“Why not?”
To that, Finn winced a little as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Superstition,” he admitted. “My mother always said it is bad luck to put shoes on the table. Or a purse on the floor. Or not to throw salt over your left shoulder if you spill it. She was full of superstitions. Most of them stuck somehow.”
That was an interesting tidbit that made him seem just a little more like an actual human being, not a campaign cutout of a man.
“My aunt Lydia is full of them too,” she admitted. “Though we have very different ones.”
“Like what?”
“Never brush your hair on a full moon, always swim clockwise around a shipwreck. Oh, and finding two pearls in a clam means you’re going to have twins. Or someone is coming to visit. She could never keep that one straight.”
“Do you follow them?”