Chapter Twenty-Five
The next few days are hard, colored by a new awareness of how sharp my grief is, even after all these years.
I haven’t felt close to a lot of people in my life.
Maybe my mom’s right, and I’m not the easiest person to get along with.
Maybe I don’t put enough effort into being likable or social.
The why doesn’t really matter. The result is the same.
When I do connect with someone—really connect—I forge my bonds tight.
Letting go isn’t a release. It’s a violent rending, leaving me fractured and fragmented while the world asks me to carry on as if I was whole.
Dylan doesn’t ask me to pretend anything at all.
He lets me sit quietly with my tea and my thoughts on the back porch every sunrise, even if I stay there for hours after, and he hands me tissues when I tear up without warning over my grandmother’s silly breadbox or the rapiers that still hang over her headboard, the ones we used to take down and block sword fights with.
He listens to me talk about the costume parties and elaborate themed dinners and, of course, the sailing.
I can still picture her so clearly, when she deftly secured a taut sheet as the sails caught a new burst of wind, the crew leaped into action, and I shouted orders from the bridge.
I let myself think the words now that she’s gone until I can say them.
Then I say them until they stop feeling like a shard of glass in my heart.
We agree to keep conversations about my academic job search and the future of the house to a minimum for a few weeks.
I apply for the grant-writing job and a few others I find on my own.
While I’m waiting to hear back, Dylan and I resume work on A Siren Calls, galvanized by the renewed possibility of eventual publication.
It feels good, diving back into Grams’s notes and her imaginary world, holding on to parts of her that aren’t gone and giving them new life.
Day one is sluggish, but on day two, we reach a major plot point where Zane finds out Amorosa has ulterior motives for luring him onto her island.
One of his crew members—a young woman named Maud who stowed away on the Zephyr’s Revenge as a means of escaping her abusive father—snaps him out of his spell, and together, they renew the search for the key that will eventually unlock the cave on the Island of Diamonds and Desire.
Zane awoke to a tap on his shoulder. In an instant, the sword he kept close was in his hand, the point denting the tender flesh of a slender, lightly freckled neck.
Maud shot him a murderous glare, pinching the blade and drawing it away as though it was a pesky insect, nothing more. She had a habit of doing that, of treating the things he valued as though they were inconveniences. She had a habit of glaring, too.
“It’s time,” she whispered. “Mulligan and Malarky are keeping Amorosa busy over near the camp we set up earlier tonight, but you know Mulligan.”
“I know Malarky, too.” Zane leaped to his feet, sheathing his sword as a wad of fabric hit his face. He caught it as it dropped, looking down to find his rumpled trousers.
“I know we’re in a hurry”—Maud’s gaze dipped momentarily, her expression aggressively unimpressed—“but we’ll be more efficient if you sheathe that, too.”
He might’ve argued the point, but every second counted, so he quickly donned his trousers and joined Maud in the hushed but frantic hunt, careful to restore every rug, pot, painting, stool, book, and candlestick.
With only two days left before Amorosa’s island vanished for another hundred years, he couldn’t risk her mistrust. Or her wrath.
As he crouched and searched for loose floorboards, Maud dug through a glittering jewelry box, drawing out a long, heavy strand of pearls.
“Is all of this from her previous victims?” she asked.
“Her victims or her lovers.”
Maud scoffed. “Same difference.”
Zane raised a brow, not entirely comfortable with this classification, though he didn’t have time to offer a counterpoint because the door handle rattled and turned.
After a brief exchange of panicked glances, Maud tucked herself behind a curtain while Zane scrambled to his feet and grabbed a nearby ewer of ale. In the next second, Amorosa flung open the door, her eyes bright, her long dark hair whipped by the wind.
“You’re not sleeping,” she said, her voice pure velvet as she prowled toward him.
His eyes darted to the sword that lay sheathed on the bed. He might’ve reached for it, but he’d seen her wounds seal themselves, leaving no scars behind.
“I woke up thirsty.” He gulped back a thick swig of ale. “And I missed you.”
She stepped in front of him, took the ewer from his hand, and set it on the table.
“Two little schoolboys called me out to play.” Her perfect teeth sank into her perfect lip as she smiled a perfect smile.
“But they didn’t like the games I suggested.
” She raked her fingernails down his bare chest in a way that had delighted him hours earlier but now set his nerves on edge. “They didn’t like losing, either.”
Zane drew in a breath, praying he hadn’t sent two of his best men to their deaths. A second sharply drawn breath followed, faint but audible, and Amorosa’s attention flew to the curtain. Zane grabbed her chin, yanking her face to his.
“I’ll play your games,” he said. “I’ll play all of your games.”
He kissed her hard, dragging her onto the bed, his desire for her only half feigned after the long hours they’d spent in hot pursuit of mutual pleasure.
She resisted at first, but as he yanked down her chemise, palmed her breasts, and drew a peaked nipple into his mouth, she freed his straining erection and rode him with the passion of a lover and the violence of a monster, for she was both, as he knew now, and still he wanted her.
He craved her. He needed her. He could forget the key.
Why had he ever thought it was important?
She was all that mattered, and he’d gladly sacrifice his ship, his crew, his quest, his everything to stay on this island with her forever.
Later, as she collapsed on top of him, with her skirts bunched around her hips as she straddled his groin, still holding him inside her like she owned both his body and his soul, a flicker in the darkness drew Zane’s attention toward the window.
Maud. He’d forgotten Maud, still tucked behind the curtain but carefully positioning a hand mirror so it reflected the sole of Amorosa’s bare foot.
On that sole was a single, stark tattoo. A tattoo of a key.
“Later, we’ll have to change that later,” Dylan says as we take a break to make sandwiches and discuss the next chapter. “Iris never skipped over the sex.”
“Fine, but only if we can rehearse it first.” I sneak him a quick kiss in passing. “At least we finally found a place to use a straining erection. Grams would be so proud.”
Dylan sends me a flash of amused side-eye. “No comment.”
I get out the mayonnaise and veggies as he plates the bread.
“I like Maud,” I say. “I think she’s underutilized.”
“We could have her help with the ink-to-silver spell.”
“We could, though we haven’t established her as someone skilled with magic.”
“She could deal the fatal blow in the final fight before they leave the island.”
“Maybe.” I consider this idea as I slice veggies and Dylan grabs the chips. “Though as archetypes go, she’s not really a mage or a fighter. She’s more of a scrappy thief.”
Dylan sets down the chip bag and steps up behind me, caging me against the counter and setting his lips against my ear. “We could make her Zane’s new love interest.”
I spin around, sparking with excitement for both his flirty closeness and his suggestion.
“Grams didn’t write that,” I say. “He’s all about Amorosa, even though he knows she’s manipulating him. She’s gorgeous, strong, and sensual, the kind of woman he always falls for.”
“Exactly. The kind of woman we’ve seen him with in thirty-four books already.
Maybe it’s time to shake things up. Have him fall for a girl he isn’t immediately attracted to.
Someone who doesn’t look perfect and charm a room simply by entering it.
Isn’t that what you told me you wanted to see more of back in July?
Less instant chemistry? More depth and reality? ”
“Well, yeah, but . . .” I trail off, the idea already taking hold and playing out in my head with astonishing clarity.
Zane and Maud escape to the ship to find the spell.
They fight over how to execute it while building a grudging respect for one another.
They get stuck in tight quarters while hiding from Amorosa, igniting the first hint of sexual attraction.
We could even put them in a closet, honoring Grams’s favorite trope.
Maud continues to glare, her guard up, while Zane starts seeking out those glares.
By the time Amorosa’s island gets engulfed by fog and the two stand together on the deck of the Zephyr’s Revenge, him with a map and her with a compass, we’re desperate for a first kiss, one no one gets to see until the next book comes out.
Everything clicks into place. I’ve been clinging to the wrong things for weeks. I don’t need a realistic table to fully engage with this story. I need a realistic relationship.
Dylan laughs under his breath, still caging me in. “You should see your face.”
I manically pat at it. “What? Why? Do I have tomato on my cheek?”
“You have excitement on your cheek. And in your eyes. And in your smile.”
I cover my mouth, instantly self-conscious, but Dylan draws my hand away.
“Don’t. It’s beautiful.” He smiles down at me, softly, and when I beam up at him in response, he presses my hand against his chest while he traces the lines of my face as though my expression is something rare and precious and he’s trying to memorize it before it disappears.
The thought stings, knowing what might come, but I let it go before it sets in.
“Do you think we can take that much license?” I ask.
“I think we can try. We can change it later if people disagree.”
I wilt against him. “By people, you mean my mother.”
“I doubt she’ll know what came from Iris and what came from us, as long as the world we create feels the same and we’re consistent with the characters Iris already established.
We’re more likely to get notes from an editor, though they might enjoy seeing a few changes from Iris’s outline, too.
It’s more than seven years old. And she left it to you, not to her publisher, her agent, or the head of the estate.
She trusted you, and maybe her story could use an update. ”
I glance around the kitchen, unsure I can handle one more thing that needs updating.
“You seem so confident about this,” I say. “How did you get through it the first time?”
Dylan draws back to blink down at me. “Get through what?”
“Writing an entire novel without a comprehensive plan?”
“Iris always had a comprehensive plan.”
“I’m not talking about Iris’s books.”
“Ah, right.” He nods in understanding, and while he scratches his neck and tugs his ear, he doesn’t fidget for too long. “I made my own plan. I also let the story evolve as I wrote it, which might not have been the best idea, given the mess that ended up on the page.”
I press my palm against his chest until I can feel his heartbeat, and the passion he hides in self-criticism about inertia that I don’t think defines him as much as he claims.
“How do you know it’s a mess?” I ask.
He steps away, busying himself with the chips. “I just know.”
I open my mouth to ask the obvious follow-up question, but Dylan shoots me a look that begs me not to, and it’s answer enough.
I might be leaping to conclusions, but I doubt it.
He told me his ex-wife was an editor and that he valued her opinion on his writing.
Why wouldn’t he have shown her his manuscript?
And why wouldn’t he have taken her criticism to heart?
“Will you ever let me read it?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “You have better things to read.”
I’m not sure this is true, but his reticence to discuss his novel is as clear as ever, so when he diverts the topic back to A Siren Calls, I follow willingly, a whole new story about a dashing pirate king and a feisty stowaway unspooling in my head and a smile stretching across my face.
“I can’t believe I’m genuinely excited to make stuff up,” I say.
“I’ll tell you what I’m genuinely excited about.” Dylan’s eyes sparkle with mischief. It’s one of my favorite looks on him. It’s rare but so joyful, and so free of walls.
“What’s that?” I ask, playing right into his hands.
“Postponing lunch so I can pay my rent.” With a grin and a whoop, he flings me over his shoulder and carries me upstairs, where for the rest of the afternoon, he fulfills the terms of our recently agreed-upon tenancy arrangement.
No cash changes hands, but he earns his lodging several times over, and the next time my parents ask if he’s paying rent, I’ll just nod and smile.