Page 26 of Female Fantasy
Maybe I’m feeling emboldened after the warm reception of my tirade.
Perhaps I experience a moment of temporary insanity.
For whatever reason, I say, “I just found out that Ryke, my book boyfriend and the love of my life, is kind of, sort of real. So I’m going to the city to find him. To meet him. And then maybe our love story can finally begin.”
Nico doesn’t give me any time at all to gauge his reactionto my confession. Instead, he steps on the brakes, jerking us forward.
And I have a single second to process what’s happening before the car behind us collides with the back of the truck and we go flying.
“Fight with us.”
Ryke’s eyes search mine, bright and urgent.
“What?” I ask, sure I have misheard him.
That I have misunderstood.
“Join the resistance, our fight against the sirens,” he says once more. “And together we will liberate Atlantia.”
My mouth falls open, slack. A tiny guppy worms its way into my air bubble and down my throat. I begin to cough, embarrassed.
“You cannot be serious.”
“As a shark attack,” he says.
I regain my ability to breathe and huff out a laugh of disbelief. “But Ryke, I have nothing to offer.”
“Nothing to offer?” he repeats, incredulous.
I nod. “I am just a woman, Ryke. Weak. Feeble. I havespent the last few years of my life catering to a man who never met my eyes, who never spoke my name with an ounce of kindness or gratitude. I spent my days caring for a house that would never be my home, polishing spoons that could never properly feed me, cleaning corners that boxed me in. And I never fought back—did not dare question my position—until you walked through my door and demanded that I go with you. Challenged me to change. So you see, Ryke, I am a liability. For without you, my instinct was to submit. And when I could not take it anymore, I left without argument. I never put up a fight. I simply gave up.”
Before I understand what is happening, the air bubble around me begins to move. I float, turning head over heels, spiraling like a spinning wheel through the ocean’s sky, and Ryke swims beside me until we reach some sort of underwater cove. Another hidden cave, but this one is filled with light, sound, and vibrant life.
Scrolls upon scrolls documenting years of Atlantia’s history.
Knickknacks and artifacts from his travels all over the world, on land and beneath the sea.
Watercolors of a young mer with dark hair and golden eyes.
This is Ryke’s private hideaway, I realize. His haven.
Then he swims toward me, swiftly popping my air bubble.
I puff out a sharp breath, afraid to move.
He leans forward and tips my chin up to meet his face.
“Let me be frank, little minnow,” he says. “When you left that wretched man, you didn’t give up anything. Yougainedeverything. Walking out of that house, quitting yourunsanctimonious union—that was no act of weakness. No, there is only strength in leaving a path that leads to harm. In walking away. You are strong, Merriah.”
My heart waltzes about in my rib cage.
My eyes flicker from his own to his lips. If I were to angle my head just slightly, to lean in and shut my eyes, I could feel his mouth against mine. Soft and firm. Warm and wet.
He grits his teeth. “Have I made myself clear?”
“As a wading pool.”
“Good,” he says, backing away slowly. I feel the absence of his body heat immediately.
