They stood there in the darkened bakery, surrounded by the smell of bread and the silence of evening. She looked at him. He looked at her.
And for just a moment, twenty-five days didn’t seem like nearly enough.
They both looked away at the same time.
“Goodnight, Alessandro.”
“Goodnight, Marina.”
She headed for the stairs. He settled onto the too-small couch, still feeling the warmth of her smile through the connection between them.
Outside, his phone sat dark and silent in his pocket. Malachar’s number, deleted without reading. But the demon’s words echoed anyway, circling like vultures in his mind.
The Pearls were there when the curse was cast.
He looked toward the ceiling, toward where Marina was probably brushing her teeth, humming something off-key, completely unaware of the history tangled between their families.
Tomorrow, he’d think about what that meant.
Tonight, he was just tired.
The couch was still too small. His feet still hung over the armrest. But the apartment smelled like cinnamon and seaweed, and somewhere above him the water pipes groaned as Marina turned off the faucet.
He was asleep before she finished.
Chapter Seven
“Hold it level,” Marina hissed.
Billionaire dragons, as it turned out, could not carry a tray to save their lives. She watched Alessandro navigate the Sweetwater Beach Club with the grace of a newborn giraffe. “Level. That means parallel to the floor.”
“I’m aware of what level means.”
“Then why are my crab puffs sliding toward certain death?”
Alessandro adjusted his grip. The tray tilted the other way. Three crab puffs made a break for it, tumbling onto the pristine sand below.
Marina rescued the tray before more casualties occurred. “Maybe just… stand somewhere and look decorative.”
“I don’t do decorative.”
“You do now. Go stand by the ice sculpture and intimidate anyone who tries to touch it.”
She left him there, glowering magnificently in his designer suit while mermaids in sequined sarongs swam circles around the club’s infinity pool. The birthday girl, a sweet two-hundred-year-old named Coral who didn’t look a day over thirty, had specifically requested Marina’s honey lavender scones. She’d also requested crab puffs, lobster tartlets, three kinds ofbruschetta, and an elaborate tiered cake decorated with edible pearls and sugar seashells. The order had kept Marina baking until midnight, her hands aching, her eyes burning, the kind of exhaustion that came from doing something that mattered.
Alessandro had stayed up with her. Not helping exactly, he remained useless with anything requiring delicacy, but keeping her company. Making coffee. Reading contracts while she measured flour.
She wasn’t sure when that had started feeling normal.
“Marina!” A familiar voice cut through the party chatter. Mrs. Waverly, the selkie grandmother who ran the beach club’s sunset yoga classes, descended upon her with the determination of a small hurricane. “Darling, the scones are divine. And your young man…” She nodded toward Alessandro, who was indeed standing by the ice sculpture looking like he wanted to set it on fire. “Such a catch. Very handsome. Very… intense.”
“He’s not my?—”
“Don’t be modest, dear. Everyone knows about the bond.” Mrs. Waverly patted her cheek. “Your grandmother would be so pleased. She always said you needed someone to crack that shell of yours.”
Marina blinked against the sudden sting in her eyes. “She did?”
“Oh yes. Many times. ‘Marina needs someone who’ll push back,’ she used to say. ‘Someone who won’t let her hide.’” Mrs. Waverly’s eyes crinkled. “Looks like the universe was listening.”
