Coral Page 6

Merrick gazed out the privacy glass window after glancing at her legs once more. Do not be that guy. You’re better than that. She deserves more.

  “Where to?” the driver asked from the front. A chauffeur’s cap sat low over his eyes and black driving gloves covered his hands. His accent was difficult to place. Polish, if Merrick had to guess. If anything could be said well of his father, it was this—the man didn’t discriminate against race, color, ethnicity. He hired based on merit. Prided himself on it too.

  Good for you, Dad. Way to keep up those appearances.

  Hiroshi loved to remind his son where they’d come from. Telling him how his Japanese great-grandparents pinched every penny and saved every dime for Hiroshi’s future.

  “They didn’t have equal-opportunity employers back then,” his father had said. “Which is why our company will never discriminate.”

  Bitterness coated Merrick’s tongue and throat. The man had no problem with anyone, no matter where they hailed from or what they believed. But his own son? Merrick could do nothing right. How about an equal-opportunity father? Could he get one of those?

  “Um, Mer?” Nikki’s silky voice jerked Merrick from his internal stew.

  They weren’t moving. Why weren’t they moving?

  Ugh. Right. He leaned forward. “Gary Danko, please. Near Ghirardelli Square.”

  “I know the place, sir.” The driver nodded. Then he pulled into traffic in one effortless glide.

  Merrick sat back and relaxed. Clasped his hands behind his head.

  “You spoil me.” Nikki shifted. She placed a graceful hand on his knee and began tracing little circles with her long, pointed fingernail.

  From the corner of his eye, Merrick glanced at her legs. Again. Her skirt had ridden higher. He closed his eyes. Help me. Help me now.

  She scooted closer and leaned her head on his shoulder. Her dark, curly hair was soft against his cheek.

  Merrick let one arm fall around her. Drew her near. Then he inhaled. What line were his mom and sister always quoting from that old Julia Roberts chick flick?

  Big mistake. Huge.

  He was a goner. Nikki smelled amazing, though he could never place the particular scent. Merrick turned his head. Nikki tilted her face toward his and they began their routine. They’d been here before. Tangled in too much emotion and desire to bother seeing they were completely wrong for one another.

  But it felt good.

  She felt good.

  Merrick ignored the rising guilt. Shoved it out of sight and locked the door. Soon he didn’t know where Nikki ended and he began.

  Then again, he wasn’t sure he ever knew where he began. So he welcomed her touch and tender kisses, not bothering to care how uncomfortable their driver must feel.

  Uncomfortable was Merrick’s life story. But this?

  This was his escape.

  This was how he kept his head above water.

  When the car reached their final destination in under fifteen minutes, they unlocked lips.

  “Your kisses always taste like the first,” Nikki breathed.

  He nodded but couldn’t meet her eyes. He smoothed out his shirt, jacket, and pants while Nikki touched her face and tamed her beautifully wild hair. She closed her palm-size mirror, which served as Merrick’s signal that it was safe to get out and open her door.

  “We’ll be a couple hours,” he told the driver. When he attempted to slip the man a tip, the chauffeur waved him off.

  “Already covered, sir.” He tilted his hat. Adjusted his gloves. “Compliments of your father.”

  Of course. “Thank you . . . ?”

  “Harold, sir.”

  “Thank you, Harold.”

  “It is my pleasure, sir.”

  When Merrick opened Nikki’s door, she rose from the car. Practiced royalty. San Francisco’s paparazzi princess.

  He offered his hand.

  Beaming, she took it but barely held on. When they were eye to eye, she kissed him tenderly on the cheek. So innocent. So different from the passion of moments before.

  A flash to Merrick’s right indicated some tabloid photographer had already spotted them, probably followed them over from Pacific Heights. Paparazzi regularly parked outside their iconic Victorian-style house. Then again, so did social media junkies—forever snapping selfies with the homes straight from old nineties TV shows. This was nothing new.

  Nikki and Merrick turned on the charm and angled themselves so the photographer could get a better shot.

  “You’re so bad,” Nikki mumbled under her breath. Then she kissed the spot below his jaw.

  Snap, snap, snap.

  He nuzzled her dark locks as they walked.

  Click, click, click.

  This was what his father wanted. For his son to be caught in public with Nikki—correction: happy Nikki—so her father would see the papers and social media posts and magazines and be all the more inclined to take Hiroshi’s deal. Pictures didn’t lie. Merrick’s father could woo the CEO of Owens Industries into a merger all he wanted, but images of his daughter on the town with San Francisco’s most eligible bachelor? Mr. Owens would see the companies were a perfect match.

  Merrick loathed his father’s game.

  But here he was, playing it. Could he blame the man for his own choices?

  “Are you cold?” Merrick whispered in Nikki’s ear.

  She shivered and nodded.

  He removed his blazer and draped it over her glowing bare shoulders. When he led her inside the restaurant with his palm at the small of her back, a few more flashes blinded his peripheral vision.

  “Merrick, table for two.” He purposely avoided giving the hostess his last name. He hated admitting he was his father’s son.

  It didn’t matter. Everyone knew anyway.

  The hostess didn’t look up but snatched two menus and led them into the establishment without a word. Her heels click-clacked while Nikki somehow managed to walk in her crazy-tall shoes soundlessly. When they reached their table, Merrick pulled out her seat, removed the blazer, and draped it over the back of her chair.

  “Thank you.” A satisfied blush colored her cheeks.

  His stomach soured. This wasn’t a stunt to her. “Of course.” Merrick took his own seat and smoothed his expression.

  Fake, practiced, concealing his shame.

  “Your server will be right with you.” The hostess pivoted and took her leave.

  He’d been to Gary Danko a handful of times but never with Nikki. This was nice. For a minute, he forced himself to forget why he was here and focus on the company. The atmosphere. The high-dollar food they’d be consuming at zero cost to him.

  Cost in dollars, anyway.

  Beneath the table, Nikki slid her bare foot up his calf.

  Be cool. Be cool. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat for the third time, and pretended not to notice. “You like risotto?”

  She laughed and folded her hands so they concealed a portion of her face. Her doe eyes were the prettiest shade of copper. A man could get lost in those eyes.

  As he all too often did.

  “Risotto is so cliché,” Nikki said.

  Amused, Merrick leaned forward. “What would you propose?” He almost offered to take her for pizza, though he couldn’t imagine Nikki eating with her hands.

  But then she mentioned something about “endives” and “cardamom” and “foie gras” and his hope withered with his appetite. For a second he considered they might have something in common after all.

  However, nothing surprised him. “Order whatever you wish,” he said and placed his napkin in his lap.

  Dad would be so proud. Merrick scowled. He could almost hear the nod of his father’s approval beneath the yawn-fest background music.

  Dinner was a blur of pretentious foods Merrick hated he knew how to pronounce and too-small portions with some fancy glaze and soufflés and champagne. (No such thing as underage when you had his name.) Merrick’s favorite spot at Fisherman’s Wharf distracted
his thoughts—a place the opposite of Gary Danko. His father would have had a stroke if Merrick had taken the elegant Nikole Owens to get a cheap pretzel and Coke, then invited her to walk Pier 39 barefoot.

  Maybe he should have done that after all.

  Their usual lip-lock consumed the drive home. Merrick had been so engrossed in Nikki, at first he didn’t notice the blue and red flashing lights outside his house.

  But then he did notice, and everything else faded with the aftertaste of champagne on his tongue.

  He didn’t feel Nikki squeeze his hand or hear her whisper “I love you” in his ear for the first time as he stumbled out of the car.

  He didn’t react to his mom’s hysterical cries.

  He didn’t cringe at his father’s emotionless expression.

  The only thing Merrick saw was Amaya, pale and unmoving on a stretcher, her ginger locks matted to her temples and forehead.

  Amaya, too small to fill the stretcher with her frame.

  “Son, stay with your mother.” His father placed a hand on his shoulder. “You two can ride down to UCSF Benioff Children’s when she calms down.”

  Merrick jerked from his touch. Stumbled.

  “Have you been drinking?” Hiroshi asked.

  Merrick didn’t answer. Instead, he staggered toward the stretcher. “Wait.” He held up one hand as rain began to fall.

  The paramedics halted, allowing him to see his sister before she was taken.

  He uttered a single question through his teeth. The only question that mattered. “What did he do to her?”

  The older paramedic returned the question with a furrowed brow.

  His father had finally cracked. Finally stopped using his words to make Merrick’s sister feel worthless. Now he’d shown his true colors.

  Black-eye blue. Bruise purple. Blood red.

  Merrick’s taut arms and fists shook, his veins close to bursting. He would kill his father for this. He could report him at last. The cops couldn’t do much for verbal and emotional abuse. But this? Amaya wasn’t even eleven yet. They couldn’t stop him from reporting it. Merrick was eighteen. Between him and Mom, his sister would be taken care of. Could this be the final straw that convinced her to leave his father for good?

  He hoped so.

  “What. Did. He. Do?” Merrick asked again. Cuts covered her arms. Some old. Some new. How long had this been happening? What kind of sick person would—

  The paramedic shook his head. “I’m not sure what you mean.” A pause. Then, “This was a suicide attempt. If not for your father, your sister would have died.”

  Merrick’s jaw went slack. He examined Amaya more closely. The cuts . . . Most of them were . . . old. Scabbed and scarring. There were some fresh ones too, but nothing that appeared deadly.

  He glanced at her right arm. A tight bandage covered a wide space between elbow and wrist. The bandage was soaked with blood and rain.

  Suicide? Amaya? The girl who still wore pigtails and slept with a stuffed dog?

  This didn’t make sense.

  He squeezed her freezing hand once, twice, three times. Then he backed away.

  They lifted his unconscious sister into the ambulance and his father followed, stepping inside without glancing in his direction once.

  Merrick’s mother wailed again.

  The doors slammed.

  He wanted to scream. To pound on those doors until his fists bled. But he didn’t. He had to be calm, collected. If this was their chance to get away from his father, Merrick would have to remain cool.

  He gazed up at his mother where she waited on the porch steps. She watched the ambulance as it raced away, sirens fading in the distance. She was no longer crying, just staring. Staring and unmoving. A marble statue, sunken to the bottom of the sea.

  He took her hand and led her inside. She didn’t say a word as he handed her a towel from the hall closet.

  “Get changed, Mom. Maya needs us.”

  She nodded, looking right through him, and headed upstairs. Once she was out of view, Merrick paused, then did a quarter turn. From the family room, their lit Christmas tree stared back at him, the symbol of hope and light mocking him where he stood. The holiday was over, with New Year’s mere hours away. But there would be no more celebration. No chorus of “Auld Lang Syne” or cheers when the ball finally dropped.

  He walked to the tree and yanked the cord from the wall. Hard. Then he bolted back outside to let Harold know they’d be needing his services a little later than normal.

  “Is Maya okay?” Nikki asked.

  “She will be,” Merrick said, pushing control into his voice.

  Inside was a different story, though.

  Inside raged a squall.

  Inside, he was undone.

  Who knew a person could drown without ever stepping foot off land?

  Seven

  Coral

  Parties happened often in the winter palace.

  Jellyfish-jar lanterns swung from thick ropes salvaged from sunken ships. Mirrored tabletops reflected the moonlight that shone down through the open rafters, and lavish foods richer than royalty filled every belly. The water smelled of tropical perfumes, imported from warmer waters. The music bore the colors of laughter while the tapestries sang of masked sorrows.

  This was King Jonah’s favorite game of pretend. Music. Dancing. Delicate foods too pretty to eat. Anything and everything he could use to distract them all from what awaited beneath the surface.

  Their people were cursed.

  And everyone was talking about it.

  One might think after so long they’d grow tired of the same old gossip. But merfolk were nothing without their pristine memories and unrelenting reminders. They were a people divided.

  Those who had avoided the Disease.

  And those too weak to overcome it.

  Coral pushed all thoughts of curious stares aside and tried to focus on this night. Her night. Her excited fins fluttered in synchronicity with her heart. She peered around the stone pillar. After what happened the other evening with the crown princess, Coral was sharp as a swordfish. Her muscles seemed to grate against her bones and her nerves electrified. She hadn’t seen or heard her oldest sister since.

  A shell horn sounded, announcing the arrival of another guest. “Presenting Lukiss and Laura Lye Dunes of the Northern Shore.”

  A couple swam forth beneath the main archway, hanging vines of ocean ivy parting in ripples at their entrance. The merman was somewhat slumped over, and a bored look washed his shadowed face. The merwoman was his opposite in every way. Though she showed no teeth, her amber eyes appeared to dance in time with the upbeat tempo of the orchestra. Even from this distance, Coral could hear the refrain those eyes produced—joy.

  Emotion. Hidden there beneath the surface where no one wanted to look.

  Coral inhaled a breath. Exhaled. A group of merboys and maids her age entered, which made her cheeks warm and her stomach backflip. Why did her father invite them? She didn’t even know them. Not that things were much different back in their Atlantic merdom. Coral had never been one to fit in. East or west, north or south, she remained a mermaid out of water.

  Once again she found herself wanting to cling to the one person she was most comfortable with. Coral scanned the room for her oldest sister. There must have been dozens of merfolk from every region of the Northern and Southern Shores. More boys than maids, she noticed.

  Please don’t tell me Father is already searching out a suitor for me.

  She gasped, then hiccupped. He was. Why didn’t Coral see the signs? His prodding, pushing her to make her debut? All those merboys she didn’t know? He was presenting her. This party was more about finding her a match than it had ever been about her birthday.

  Of course it was.

  The crown princess remained nowhere to be found. Instead, Coral spotted Jordan. She twirled at the center of the sea glass–mosaic dance floor, wrapped in the arms of her chosen suitor, Duke. Neither appeared happy.
<
br />   Coral was about to make her grand entrance when two familiar faces approached the pillar a few feet from her. Her two favorite mermaids in all the sea.

  Coral moved to greet the future queen and their grandmother, thankful she could postpone introducing herself to a stranger for a few more fathoms. But then her sister said her name in a low tone and Coral whirled out of view. The mention was not directed in greeting.

  She’s talking about me. Curiosity won and she remained hidden.

  “Coral knows now,” the crown princess said. “I don’t know what else to do, Grandmother.”

  “Your youngest sister is no threat. The question is, does your father know yet? Has he figured it out?” Their grandmother tasted her green jellied kelptini, her expression a mixture of amusement and grace.

  “I don’t think so.” Her sister fiddled with the pearl bracelet on her wrist. Her downcast expression matched the inflection in her dreary voice. “But it’s only a matter of time, Grandmother.”

  “You are right about that.” Their grandmother had never been one to sail around uncomfortable situations. Now was no different. “Have you considered your options? You could come live with me.”

  The crown princess smoothed her scales. “I can’t go back there. It’s too much.”

  Go back where? What was she talking about?

  “I understand.” Their grandmother floated a few inches to her left, smiling and looking out at the ballroom. “I am here. I will even go with you to tell the king.”

  “Father would kill me before Red Tide ever got the chance.” The crown princess hung her head.

  Coral pressed her back against the stone, pulse pounding and mind racing faster than a runaway current. They stayed quiet for a spell, giving Coral a chance to calm her breathing and collect her scattered nerves. She examined her far-too-glittery skin and touched the updo she’d tried to achieve after Jordan didn’t have time to help her get ready. Coral looked a fright. She had never been good at mermaid things—not the way her sisters were.

  “Look,” their grandmother continued. “Sometimes you have to swim through a bit of darkness . . .”

  “. . . if you’re ever going to surface in the light.” Her sister finished the mantra their grandmother often spoke to them. A scraped fin? A bruised scale? This was forever the remedy.