The Mermaid's Curse (California Mermaids Book 1) (12 page)

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Xavier

It was bad enough that Victoria had to interrupt my moment of celebration with Oceania. But when Oceania goes pitching backward into the swimming pool so suddenly that I can’t even reach out to catch her, I know that things cannot possibly get worse.

I watch in horror as Oceania’s fragile silk dress splits right down the middle, falling off into the water when her legs morph together into a mermaid’s tail. A buzz of excited chatter breaks out amid the throng of guests closest to the pool. Some people gasp, while others avert their gazes out of respect for Oceania’s modesty, but most keep a running commentary of what they’re seeing, as if talking about it makes it more believable. I don’t think that many of them see Oceania’s tail, since the dark water mostly obscures its shimmer.

Above the hum of the crowd, Victoria’s voice rises shrilly. She leans over the pool, squinting her eyes as she hones in on Oceania’s transformed body.

“I knew it!” she exclaims, her mouth gaping open. “I knew that girl tricked you into falling for her by some kind of magic spell. Why, she’s a sea siren, for Heaven’s sake.” She wrinkles her nose at Oceania’s tail. “That is positively revolting.”

“Please leave me alone,” I say quietly, sidestepping her and kneeling over the pool to help Oceania out. “Don’t you think you’ve caused enough trouble already?”

“On the contrary,” Victoria huffs before she stomps off into the crowd. “I should think you’d thank me for revealing this harlot for what she truly is.”

By this time, Mother has begun to herd the curious guests into the house. Mr. Burgholt, who had been standing closest to Victoria, Oceania, and me, casts one last glance over his shoulder. “Well, I’ll be darned. She’s a fish,” he says to his wife, shaking his head.

“No, you nincompoop. She’s a mermaid. There’s a difference,” his wife replies. “And stop staring at her bosom,” she adds, slapping him on the arm and covering his eyes with a white-gloved hand.

After the last of the guests have disappeared inside, my mother and Amelie return, scrambling toward the pool with a stack of fluffy towels. Father huffs and puffs as he follows closely on their heels, asking, “What in the world is going on here?”

His eyes widen as he looks into the water and sees Oceania flopping her tail, propelling herself to the side of the pool in one long stroke. For once, he’s completely speechless.

“Robert, darling,” Mother says. “Perhaps you should entertain the guests inside, and begin to send them on their way for the night. I’ll help Oceania to clean up.”

Father just nods, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath as he walks into the house.

Meanwhile, Oceania’s face has gone as white as the moon above, and her eyes fill with tears when I place both hands under her armpits and gently hoist her out of the water, placing her on a lounge chair.

“Please don’t cry,” I tell her, pulling out my white handkerchief to wipe away the tears that have already begun trickling down her cheeks. “Everything is all right, my love.”

“N-n-no, it’s not,” Oceania says, her teeth chattering in the chill of the night air. “I’ve ruined your party.”

Mother immediately drapes a towel around Oceania’s shoulders, covering up the tiny seashell top, while Amelie rubs another over her tail until it dries and changes back into legs. I try to console Oceania the entire time, telling her that not many people were close enough to notice her secret, but she continues to sob as though her heart is breaking. When she finally calms down, Mother speaks.

“Oceania, darling,” she says, her face full of compassion. “Come, let me take you inside. You must be positively frigid. How would you like a warm bath?”

Just as Oceania shakes her head, Mother seems to realize the absurdity of her offer. “Oh, forgive me—that involves water, doesn’t it? Not the best idea for a mermaid in human form, I presume. But please, come inside and I’ll have the butler build you a fire.”

Making sure that Oceania is modestly covered with both towels, Amelie and Mother lead her inside, but not before my mother turns to me.

“Xavier, dear. Why didn’t you simply tell me that I was right when I guessed that Oceania had an element of the supernatural? If I’d known she was a mermaid, I could’ve made sure to keep her—and the guests—away from the pool.”

“I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” she says. “Now, come inside with us. Let’s all have a cup of hot chocolate and talk about what just happened.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Oceania

Arabella and Amelie are so kind, giving me warm clothing and settling me in a nest of blankets on Arabella’s long couch in front of the fireplace. I watch, mesmerized, as the flames lick the logs with greedy, blue-tipped tongues. Orange embers dance back and forth like little sparks of magic.

Predictably, the guests have cleared out, most likely realizing that they’ve just seen the highlight of the party of the year. Soon, it’s only Xavier, Arabella, Amelie, Robert, and me in the parlor.

Now that the shock has worn off, Robert looks, in a word, livid. He has turned bright red all the way down to his massive, walrus-like neck.

“Oceania, my dear,” he says, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. “I wondered why you were so secretive about your family and where you came from. I had my theories, but I certainly wouldn’t have guessed that you were a mermaid.”

When he leers at me with his flat, shark-like eyes, I shiver, despite all the warmth in the room. I wish I could shake his hand off my shoulder, but I fear that would be terribly impolite, especially in his own house.

Luckily, he removes his arm when Arabella shoots him a pointed glance, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Mr. Rose, I wish I could’ve told you the truth from the beginning, but I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Most humans are very skeptical of mermaids. They think we’re not real.”

“I can’t deny that,” he says. “And what happened tonight was really not your fault. I didn’t see everything, but I did notice Miss Simonsen stepping toward you, and you backing away. She was quite aggressive really, an unattractive trait in a woman.”

He glances at Xavier. “Perhaps I was wrong to steer you so directly into Miss Simonsen’s arms. You may have seen her true character before I did. But still, you’ve defied me repeatedly, and lied to me. I need a word with you—alone. Come to the study.”

Robert leads Xavier out of the room, both men’s footsteps echoing down the marble hallways. I feel horrible for Xavier, and from the somber looks on Amelie and Arabella’s faces, I’m sure they’re feeling the same way.

We sit in uncomfortable silence for a moment. I strain my ears, trying to make out the conversation between Xavier and his father, but they’re just too far away for the sound waves to carry, even with my sharp mermaid hearing.

Sighing, I lean back on the couch, and Arabella asks with false brightness, “May I offer you more hot chocolate?”

“Yes, please.” Even though my stomach rumbles in protest after the overindulgent dinner, I simply can’t refuse a second helping. We mermaids aren’t used to heavy meals, and, naturally, we don’t have delicacies like chocolate on the ocean floor. I could never eat or drink this way every day, but I don’t see any harm in partaking while I’m here.

As the maid bustles in with a fresh pot of hot chocolate, Arabella asks, “So, Oceania, are your parents expecting you home, or would you like to stay the night? We have several guest rooms if you need accommodation. I’m sure that you don’t want to plunge to the bottom of the ocean again—the water is so cold.”

“Thanks for your offer, Mrs. Rose, but my parents are expecting me. And you don’t have to worry—the chill of the water is something that we mermaids are prepared for. Our body temperatures regulate almost instantly, as soon as we dive in. It’s only when we emerge onto land that we feel the cold.”

“So interesting,” Amelie says. “That wasn’t in the book that I was reading. Perhaps I could write a more thorough one, now that I’ve met a real mermaid.”

“Oh, Amelie, dear. Let’s make sure Oceania approves of being your research subject before you put her in a book,” Arabella says, her bright eyes dancing as she smiles at her daughter.  

“I wouldn’t mind,” I tell Amelie with a laugh. “But, you know, since we’re all being so honest with each other, I really want to know what’s happening in the other room.”

Arabella sighs. “Don’t we all, dear?”

Chapter Forty: Xavier

Father closes the door of his study with an ominous slam, shutting us off from the rest of the house. At that moment, my entire world becomes darker—literally.

Mother chose the decorations for all the other rooms, which means they sparkle with vibrant, whimsical shades of blue, red, and gold. The study, however, is entirely the product of my father’s fancy. Hideous gargoyles leer down at me from the borders of the ceiling, while paintings of stern-faced ancestors glare over from the dark-paneled walls. Occlusive shades obliterate much of the light from the lamps, casting the entire room in a dismal, depressing glow.

The ornately-carved wooden desk is bloated and grossly oversized, like Father himself. He plops down on the overstuffed desk chair, his eyes boring holes in me.

“I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life,” he says, folding his hands across the desktop.

I clear my throat and slide into a chair across from him, waiting for him to continue. This wasn’t how I’d expected our conversation to begin—admitting to his embarrassment sounds an awful lot like showing weakness, something that he wouldn’t normally do.

“As I told you in the parlor, I can understand your feelings about Miss Simonsen. I was displeased with her character, or lack thereof, tonight. But if you knew that she was not the woman for you, why didn’t you just take up with another suitable young lady, one with good family and connections? How dare you bring that mermaid here? She’s a freak, a deformity. She belongs in the circus, not in my home, flopping about half-naked in front of everyone we know in Monterey. Do you have any idea what this is going to do to my reputation, and to yours?”

“I really don’t care. I love Oceania. There are more important things than reputation.”

Father shakes his head, his jowls lolling back and forth like the skin flaps on a bulldog’s face. “Of course you would think that,” he says, his voice low and bitter. “You’re young, and you’ve had a privileged upbringing. I came from a poor family in New York City, and I grew up with nothing.”

He gestures around at the hideous but expensive décor of the study. “Everything here, everything you so callously take for granted, I’ve had to build, by coming west to find my fortune.” He narrows his eyes. “I’m not going to let you ruin it.”

“I don’t want to ruin anything, Father,” I protest. “You had a dream of wealth, and you achieved it. But I have a different dream. I want to be a conductor and musical composer, and I want to live my life with the woman I love. I’ll never be like you, but I don’t want to fight with you, either. Can’t you just let me live my own life?”

My father releases a loud, blustery breath. “No, I can’t, because you’re immature, and you don’t know what you’re giving up. You’re spoiled, and completely ignorant of what it’s like to live in poverty. I grew up that way, and when I met your mother, she was singing in a traveling opera company, making a pittance. That’s what will happen to you and this Oceania if you pursue these foolish dreams of yours.”

“But Father, Mr. Burgholt has already offered us positions with the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra. Those musicians earn decent wages. I may not live as lavishly as you do, but I’ll have a life that I love.”

“I don’t understand you, Xavier,” Father says, sagging into his seat like a deflated hot air balloon.

At that moment, I actually feel sorry for him. For all his bravado and bluster, he is just a worn-out, aging man who gave his best years to the pursuit of wealth and security. I wish that he’d had a son just like himself, so that he might possibly be happy. But I know, just as strongly, that I can’t be that son.

“I’m sorry,” I say, bowing my head. “I wish I could be what you want me to be, but I can’t. I’d be miserable doing what you do every day.”

Suddenly, Father heaves his massive girth upright, placing strong fingers under my chin and jerking my face up to look into my eyes. “You would be miserable? What does that matter? Do you think I’m always happy?”

I swallow hard. “Um. No?”

“Damn right,” he spits out, releasing my face and pounding both fists on the desk. “I worked hard and built up a fortune so that you could have a better life, in all the best circles. You’re such an ingrate.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” I say, trying my best to appease him. “I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful for your hard work—”

“I don’t think it, I know it,” he interrupts, his eyes shooting fire. “You’ve tried my patience, and you won’t listen to reason, so now, I will give you what you want. Live your life of music and poverty. But if you change your mind, remember that you’re not welcome in my life.”

I gasp, his harsh words striking me like an upper cut to the jaw. “Are you telling me that I can’t come home if I don’t agree to work for you and break things off with Oceania?”

“Oh no,” he says, his voice cool and menacingly soft. “You can come home. Your mother and sister love you, after all. But I am disowning you—no more college, and you will have none of my fortune. Amelie will inherit it all, and her husband will replace you as my true son. You’ve chosen this life for yourself, and now, you must deal with the consequences.”