Maybe she’d show Alessandro where she kept it. Maybe she’d trust him with this secret self, the way he’d trusted her with his stories of the curse.
Maybe having it all was actually possible.
She closed the trunk gently and returned to bed, curling against Alessandro’s warmth. She felt him surface briefly (awareness of her return, a mumbled sound of contentment) before sinking back into dreams.
She should have known better.
By noon, The Salty Siren was buzzing with the usual Saturday chaos. The weekend crowd was larger than usual; word had spread about Alessandro’s dragon-fire demonstration for little Jamie Sullivan, and half the town’s children had invented reasons to visit.
“They want to see fire tricks,” Marina whispered to Alessandro as a group of young brownies pressed their noses against the display case. “You’ve become an attraction.”
“I am not a performing seal.”
“No, you’re a performing dragon. Much more impressive.” She kissed his cheek, and embarrassment flared hot across the bond, but underneath it, a reluctant pleasure at being liked for something other than his money or his name.
Dante had taken up residence at the corner table, laptop open, occasionally throwing sarcastic comments at customers who looked too impressed with his brother. Bea kept finding reasons to visit the crystal shop’s storage room, which happened to share a wall with Dante’s preferred seat. They bickered constantly. It was oddly charming.
Everything was annoyingly charming today. Sunlight through the windows making the pastry cases glow. The sourdough starter bubbling like it was in a good mood. And Alessandro, who had somehow learned to anticipate her movements in the kitchen without being asked—passing her the whisk, catching the tray she nearly dropped when Mrs. Thornberry delivered another punchline that only Mrs. Thornberry found funny.
They’d decoded more of her grandmother’s recipe. The Curse-Breaking Cake, the curse-breaker hidden in the cookbook,was looking more possible by the day. Alessandro’s researchers had confirmed that similar spells existed in dragon lore. Combined with her grandmother’s selkie magic, they might actually be able to break the Draven curse.
Marina should have known that was when things would go wrong.
The bell over the door chimed at half past two, and the temperature in the bakery dropped.
Not literally, though Marina’s selkie senses registered cold sliding into the room, brimstone beneath what smelled like Tom Ford Oud Wood. She looked up from the register and felt her smile freeze.
The man in the doorway was handsome in a polished, uncomfortable way. Silver at the temples. A tailored suit that hung the way only money like inheritance taught suits to hang. Eyes that assessed everything they touched like merchandise at an auction.
Alessandro’s recognition reached her first, a tightening behind her sternum, then obligation, then distrust, each one layered over the last like sediment.
“Alessandro!” The man’s voice was warm, familiar, utterly wrong. “I heard you were still in town. Thought I’d check in on my favorite Draven.”
“Malachar.” Alessandro’s professional mask slid into place. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Surprises keep life interesting.” Malachar’s gaze swept the bakery, cataloguing everything with a predator’s attention. When his eyes landed on Marina, calculation flickered behind the charm. “And this must be the young lady I’ve heard so much about. The baker. The selkie.”
He said ‘selkie’ like it was a particularly interesting species of prey.
“Marina Pearl.” She didn’t offer her hand. “Can I get you something?”
“Just coffee. Black.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Alessandro speaks highly of your establishment. I had to see it for myself.”
“Alessandro has excellent taste.”
“He does now.” Malachar’s attention shifted to the walls, the shelves, the recipe book displayed on its stand near the register. “What a charming little place. Very… authentic. Is that a family cookbook I see?”
Marina’s hand moved instinctively to cover the book. “It was my grandmother’s.”
“Ah, yes. The late Mrs. Pearl. I’ve heard she was quite the baker herself.” He said it like he’d heard more than that. “Selkie traditions are so fascinating. All that ancient magic, passed down through recipes and songs. So rare these days.”
Marina felt like she was being measured for a cage. A trap.
Through the bond, she pushed her unease toward Alessandro.Something’s wrong. Don’t you feel it?
He felt it. She knew he did. But his response was muted, complicated: years of obligation tangled with present-day doubt.
“Malachar has been advising my family for years,” Alessandro said, and Marina heard the subtle emphasis.He’s helped us. Be careful.
