Page 14 of The Rusalka and Mr. Right

HE’S DIFFERENT FROMthe men I have drinks with, then feed from. Different from the party boys.

Or maybe it’s because I’m different. I treat him differently. I’ve handled our encounter differently.

It’s because he’s your first solid meal in weeks. It’s because you want to savor it and get a third hit. Maybe a fourth before you leave in the morning.

You probably did the same thing last year at this time.

I tell myself that... but I know I didn’t.

“So. You’re obviously beautiful, amazing in bed, and dinner smells fantastic. Is there some boyfriend who’ll be showing up with a baseball bat anytime soon?” Kev’s voice is playful, but there’s a hint of genuine worry in it.

Normally, I answer any curious man with a pat, “I’m single.”

Tonight, more comes out. “I’m single... I... I had a partner. Fisherman. He... There was a boating accident and—I’m single. It was a long time ago.”

Kev sidles up to me. Behind me. His arms wrap around my waist. “I’m sorry.”

“The world should be. He was funny and kind and sweet.”

“The good ones leave too soon,” he murmurs.

I swallow and grind pepper on the steak, wanting it to have a hearty crust. I reach for the salmon, putting it in a sizzling second pan, skin-side down so it crisps.

“I’ll make some microwaved baked potatoes. Don’t tell my mom.” Kev busies himself next to me.

It reminds me of Gregor and I. He’d clean the fish. I’d mend his nets. Or his sweaters. He’d sing to me in his bellowing bass voice...

Kev hums. Something I recognize, faintly, from the fifties? Sixties? It stayed popular.

My Girl.

He’s hummingMy Girl, and my insides suddenly sparkle like the lights on a Christmas tree.

No. No sparkles. No comparing! No sweet talk—well, not until after dinner when he eats you for dessert.“The water is boiling for the asparagus,” I say needlessly. I’m the one boiling the water. I’m the one pointing the short green stalks into the steaming pan.

“This is so nice,” Kev sighs, getting out two white plates with a thin green border. “A romantic dinner for two with the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Stupid sparkles inside. They just won’t dim.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT Iexpected. I guess I figured we’d eat, and then maybe there would be awkward conversation until we hit the bedroom or she decided to leave. I didn’t expect us to talk until almost midnight, for her to teach me dirty words in Russian (not Siberian, that’s not even a language), or for her to be so mind-blowingly smart. She speaks a dozen languages! Russian, Finnish, French, German, English, Norwegian—and some other ones I can’t remember right now. Somehow, we get to talking about the local college, and Marina is an expert. We talk about science and anatomy, and Marina takes it all in.

She’s good for my ego. She seems genuinely interested in learning about the nerves and muscles of the human body, as if she’s going to be using all of this knowledge later.

I think I’m good for her ego, too. When it comes up that I never liked history because it wasn’t exciting, Marina asks me to name any historical event I know of in the last three hundred years, and I randomly pick a couple.

“The secret to good history is to tell it like you were there. Or like it’s a story, not a couple of dusty figures and a sea of pointless dates.”

And then I listen, absolutely mesmerized, while she tells me about how Napoleon was in love with his Josephine, but he broke it up to be with a younger bride who could give him a son, and of his fortunes and losses, and his exile on Elba.

I remember that old fairytale about Scheherazade, and how she kept herself alive for 1,001 nights with her amazing storytelling.

Marina would give her a run for her money.

“That’s whack. He loved her.” I’m rinsing out the glasses and still shaking my head over Napoleon's jerk move to Josephine. (Did you know he wasn’t that short, either?)

A pair of soft lily-white arms wrap around my waist. Hands begin to massage my chest, thumbs brushing firmly over my nipples and sending an unexpected vibration of pleasure right to my cock. “He was an emperor. He needed an heir.”

“Adoption?”

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