Gena Showalter: The Nymph King

The man didn't walk away as she'd hoped. "I think perhaps I need to—"

"Shaye, darling," her mother called airily. The expensive scent of her perfume wafted from her, blending with the aroma of sugar and spice as she floated to Shaye's side. "I'm so glad you've met your new stepbrother, Preston."

Stepbrother? Not another one. Showed exactly how much contact Shaye had had with her mom these past few years. She hadn't known that groom number six had children. Actually, she hadn't even met her newest daddy until an hour before the wedding.

Shaye glanced at Preston. "I've never played well with others," she said to smooth the edge of her earlier rudeness. But that was it, nothing more.

"So I hear," he said, chuckling.

He was even more handsome when he laughed like that. Looking away, she gathered two plates and passed them to the people behind him. "It was nice meeting you, Preston, but I really need to finish serving the guests."

The band chose that moment to break into a soft, romantic ballad. Preston still didn't take the hint and move away. "I never thought I'd say this, but would you like to dance with me, little sister? After you're finished here, of course."

She opened her mouth to say no, but no sound emerged. She wanted to say yes, Shaye realized. Even though her stepbrothers and sisters changed more frequently than her clothing and she'd most likely never see this man again, she wanted to say yes. Not because she was attracted to Preston or anything like that, but because he represented everything she'd always denied herself. And need to keep denying yourself. Safer that way.

"No," she said. "Just... no." Once again she turned her attention to the cake.

Her mother uttered a strained laugh. "There's no reason to be rude, Shaye. One dance won't kill you."

"I said no, Mother."

There was a heavy pause, then, "You," her mom said, voice suddenly hard. She pointed to one of the other horrendously clad bridesmaids. "Take over the cake. Shaye, come with me."

Strong fingers curled around Shaye's wrist. A second later she was being dragged out of the reception tent to the edge of the beach. Here we go again... She sighed. This always happened. Whenever she and her mom were forced to share the same space, Tamara always erupted, and Shaye always left reminded of what a disappointment she was.

God, I don't need this. Sand squished between her sandaled toes as a warm, salty breeze wrapped itself around her, swishing her grass skirt over her knees. Slivers of ethereal moonlight illuminated their path. Waves sang a gentle, soothing song.

Her mom's velvety brown eyes—eyes exactly like her own—narrowed slightly. She dropped Shaye's hand as if touching it could cause premature wrinkles. "You're treating my guests as if they're diseased."

Shaye wrapped her arms around her middle. "If you knew me at all," she said softly, "you'd know I treat everyone like that."

"I don't care how you treat everyone else! You will treat everyone here, including Preston—no, especially Preston—with respect. Do you understand me? Just—" she shoved a wisp of hair from her face "—pretend you have a heart for a few hours."

That stung. Badly. But Shaye forced herself to smile. "Why don't you go find your new husband and let him calm you down? This kind of upset will only cause you to shrivel up like a raisin."

Gasping in horror, her mom patted the skin around her eyes, feeling for crow's feet. "I just had Botox. I shouldn't have a single line or crease. Do you see a wrinkle? Do you see a goddamn wrinkle? I can't lift my brows to find out—the muscles won't work."

Shaye rolled her eyes. "Are we done here?"

Her mom stomped her foot and ground out, "I've finally found the love of my life. Why can't you understand that and be happy for me?"

"Uh, hello. This is the sixth love of your life."

"So the hell what? I've made mistakes in the past. That's better than cutting myself off from relationships like you've done, just to avoid getting hurt." She paused, raised her chin. "You spurn everything male, Shaye. You never date."

No, she didn't. Not anymore. She'd always been leery of the roads she would have to travel to obtain the fabled happily-ever-after. At one point, however, she had tried the dating thing. She'd quickly discovered that men never called when they said they were going to call. They weren't interested in her as a person; they were interested in getting her out of her clothing. They admired other women when they were supposed to woo her.

They lied, they used, they cheated. And they weren't worth the trouble.

Shaye twirled a strand of grass around her finger. "I wish you all the best with your new husband, Mother." No reason to rehash everything. Again. "Now, I'm going home."

"You're not going anywhere until you've apologized to Preston." A finger was shoved in her face. "You treated him shabbily, and I won't have it. I won't have it, do you hear me?"

She had treated him shabbily, and she felt bad for it. But she wouldn't apologize. That would invite conversation. Conversation would invite friendship, and friendship would invite emotion. Emotion, ultimately, would invite everything she'd worked so hard to avoid. "Do you truly expect me to obey a parental command from you? Now? After a childhood of being raised by nannies?"

"Well, yes" was the hesitant response.

"You're forgetting something. I'm the Ice Princess of Bitterslovakia, the Grand Duchess of Bitterstonia and the Queen of Bitterland. Isn't that what you've called me over the years?"

A gentle roll of waves splashed in the distance.

"I should have known you'd act this way," her mom snapped. With an angry flip of her wrist, she tossed a dark tress over her shoulder and glared out at the water. "All I've ever wanted was a nice, normal daughter. Instead I'm stuck with you. You won't be happy until you've ruined my wedding."

"Which one?" Shaye asked dryly, pushing aside her hurt. She much preferred the icy numbness she usually surrounded herself with. That numbness had saved her during childhood, sweeping her away from depression and desolation and into a life of satisfaction, if not contentment.

"All of them, damn it." Tamara didn't face her, but continued to stare out at the pristine water. Another splash sounded, this one closer. "You're jealous of me, and because of that you've never wanted me to be happy. Every time I'm close, you do something to hurt me."

Of all the things her mother had said, that cut the most. After all, Shaye was here because she wanted her mom to be happy. She'd never shoved the woman from her life, because, despite everything, she did care. It was something she'd fought against and hated, but there it was. The girl who wouldn't let herself care for anything or anyone else still wanted her mommy's approval. Ugh. "Don't blame me for your misery. You alone are responsible."

"Conner and I wanted this day to be perf—" Tamara's eyes widened, glazing with lust as her words jammed to an abrupt halt. "Perfect." She sighed dreamily. "Hmm. So perfect."

The way her voice dropped to a husky purr, as if she wanted to peel off her dress and dance naked in the moonlight, had Shaye blinking in confusion. "Um, hello. Arguing here."

"Man." There was a hypnotized quality to the word, an entrancement that spoke of passion and secret fantasies. "My man."

"What are you talking about?" Shaye dragged her gaze to the ocean. Her mouth fell open in shock.

There, rising from the water like primitive sea gods, were six gloriously tall and muscled barbarians. The moon settled reverently behind them, enveloping them in a golden halo. Each of them carried a sword, an honest to God, I'll-slice-you-into-a-million-pieces sword, but she couldn't seem to make herself care. They also carried unconscious scuba-clad men, some anchored under their arms, others draped over their backs. Again, she couldn't make herself care.