Page 26 of The Dandelion Princess
I kiss her cheek. “That’s not a minidress. It’s a handkerchief,” I tell her.
She spins. “Lars and Bianca’s wedding was an iconic moment of Sondish history,” she says, pointing the tip of her boots. She reaches blindly for Tom before she can confirm that he’s there. He takes her hand.
“You know Lars and Bianca?” I ask him.
“I know my girl is letting me wear a frilled shirt in public,” he grins, a vision in powder blue.
Suddenly Alix gasps, gripping my arm. “Marc!” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. Not unusual. Alix is a crier. “I’m sorry I dragged your costume. Did you coordinate with Ella?”
“What did they coordinate?” Tom asks.
“I’m never asking for another present again,” she lies, rushing past me to a figure descending the stairs. It’s all a blur of color and motion until I register who it is. Then I am caught likea portrait of a Seongan king, frozen on silk, lined in ink, kept in holy silence. Ella has arrived, and my mind slides a door between me and my gut reaction with a hard crack, containing it behind a thin, translucent barrier. The sound of the party retreats and my heart thunders in my ears.
I arm myself with familiarity, trying to force what is breathtaking into something that feels commonplace. This is just Ella. We’ve attended birthday parties, rugby matches, cocktail events, and bonfire nights, and this is not the first time I’ve seen her in a gown. But the door between what I feel and what I’m supposed to feel glows as warmth and light bleeds though, overtaking cold reason.
This is not just any gown. The green, figure-skimming dress rests on the points of freckle-kissed shoulders, and light ripples as she walks. Her crown is made of sea glass, shells, and tiny pieces of driftwood, the net sweeping over dark eyes. Her skin— My rigid collar presses into my neck and the knot high up on my chest holds me together. Her skin is lightly dusted with iridescent scales painted down her arms, across her collarbones, and up the delicate cords of her neck.
Alix threads both her arms through Ella’s and mine, smiling up at us in turn. “There was this drama I was obsessed with, years ago,” she explains to Tom. “I made it my whole personality, and,” she hugs my arm closer, shaking it with the intensity of her feelings, “these are the characters: the King of Seong and the Queen of the Ocean. I’m dying. Dead. You’re going to marry a corpse bride.”
“I’ll get us adjoining graves,” he smiles.
With Alix’s explanation, my confusion clears.
Mermaid in Moonlightwas twenty-four episodes of implausible romantic slush that nevertheless caught fire with international audiences, setting off the Seongan Tsunami—a tide of cultural influence carried by artists and performers across theworld. It told the story of a mythical being who, for the love of a king, pledged to live as a queen by daylight, retreating each nightfall to the rocky pools of Gongboja Palace. In the end, her longing for freedom consumed her royal lover, and he slipped into lapping water to join her world.
“You planned this?” Alix asks.
“Of course,” I smile, looking over at Ella.Play along.
Ella shakes her curls off her shoulder and she gives me a glance that makes my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth.You think I’m new here?
“Tom,” she asks, leading them into the ballroom, “did you have to glue on all that chest hair?” I watch them go, my eyes tethered, possibly forever, to the swish of her hips.
Ella was supposed to arrive as a cat bus or a formless, wandering spirit, shrouded from head to toe in a black cloak and porcelain-white mask. Why isn’t she a formless spirit? Where is the costume that was supposed to create a perimeter? What is happening to me? I rake through my robes, locate my cell phone, and stab out a reckless message to Noah.
Who in hell let your sister out of the house looking like this?!?! You wanted her to stay out of the papers? Someone should be fired or sent to prison.
My thumb hovers above the send button and I wrestle with my longstanding commitment to female empowerment. I growl.
Delete, delete, delete.
I grab a bottle of soju and a shot glass from the bar and escape through the long windows to the cool terrace. It’s quiet enough that my thoughts catch up to me, demanding my attention. I toss back a measure of alcohol, the taste at the back of my throat sharp and bracing. I fill the glass again.
My heart slows. These reactions I keep having to Ella aren’t jet lag or heart disease or lightheadedness. They won’t disappear with a workout or a baby aspirin or drink of water. They’ve beenthere for maybe years, I recognize. Background noise, suddenly boosted.
The rough stone balustrade bites into my palms and the stars blink fitfully through threatening clouds. The fact that she is Noah’s little sister seems to matter far less than how much I want her for myself.
Hell. I close my eyes.
It’s attraction.
This much truth squeezes through my defenses before I pull the drawbridge up, put my back into it, and cut off an army of more dangerous thoughts clamoring at the gate. I pass a shaky hand across my mouth. It’s just attraction. The green sequins sway in my memory, clouding my judgement.Significantattraction, I amend.
This is the moment Noah prepared me for with his two commands: don’t date his sister, and watch over her as he would. I can’t wish away this attraction, but Ella is my unwitting ally when it comes to keeping my thoughts to myself. My stomach tightens as her words echo in my mind.Not one newspaper would waste a drop of precious ink to document how not into each other we are.
Right. It’s as clear as day that this…interest I have for her will have to pass. I’ve been gone a long time, and there are other attractive women in the world. I crane my neck, look through the window, and try to find one. Just one.
The room is dark, and I’m on the wrong side of the glass, but Alix must have invited everyone in Sondmark with a Swiss banker and boarding school trauma to this party, so—whui-ho—time to find some other girl to think about. I’m sure it can be done.
