Page 37 of Goldilocks

“My freckles?”

“Ha. ‘Freckles’. I love that. There’s a spotted eel living in the tunnels. We will call him that. Freckles.” The woman leaned back in her seat, and she lifted her hand, waving at the empty air. “You can call me Vi. I am Belle’s mate.”

Chapter Fourteen

Two women emerged along the path, each carrying a tray laden with food. A plate loaded with salad, cheese, and slices of toasted bread with butter melted into it was placed in front of Sam.

“I am the mate of Goldilocks’s sister, and I’m human, not merfolk,” Vi explained. “Please, eat your fill. What wine do you prefer? Something light for breakfast is most suitable.”

One of the women returned with an ornate jug and poured a white wine into each of their glasses. She quickly retreated after pouring, and Vi slipped her gloves off before picking up her cutlery. Sam copied her, hyperaware of Goldilocks’s fixed stare as he took his first bite. The vegetables weren’t familiar, but Sam was willing to try them, given the fragrant, appetising smell. Yven spread the soft cheese onto his bread and Sam copied that too. Sam couldn’t help but watch Goldilocks when he, too, picked up his cutlery, beginning to eat like a normal person. He had sharp canines – Sam was very familiar with them after all of Goldilocks’s snarling – and he’d always pictured him ripping into his food. Something uncivilised and vicious.

Goldilocks neatly forked salad into his mouth, chewing and swallowing so tidily that Sam couldn’t help but stare, wondering at his own surprise. Goldilocks had shucked oysters for Sam only the other night, something that required precision, practice, and patience. Of course the merman could use cutlery.

“I wonder if you might demonstrate how your boat functions for me?” Vi asked.

“Alright.”

“Goldilocks said you painted the hull yourself? You are an artist?” Vi’s eyes gleamed with interest.

“It’s more of a hobby,” Sam explained. He cast his gaze around the garden and recalled the numerous murals, the decorated tapestries and the many statues in the rooms he’d passed through. “Are you one?”

“An artist? No, though I am a patron to many. My interest lies in academics and tending the gardens.”

“You planted this garden? It’s beautiful.”

Vi’s smile was sharp but seemed genuine. “Thank you. Do you like the wine?”

Sam took a small sip. It fizzed on his tongue, fruity and aromatic. His surprise must have shown on his face. “Yes. It’s very different from the wine we have at home.”

“In a good or bad way?”

“A good way.”

“Drink plenty, then. I’ll have a bottle set aside for you. My brother’s estate is prosperous; you will find no better grapes for making wine anywhere in the world.” Vi seemed pleased. “And perhaps I can now say inanyworld? Might I see your portfolio? Goldilocks seemed quite smug when describing your talents, and if you’ve impressed him, then I am sure I will be as well.”

“I don’t think—”

Sam’s objection died as a woman approached, carryinghissketchbook. He opened his mouth to object, shooting Goldilocks a look, but he saw that Goldilocks was already leaning in to look at the pages too.

“I don’t think—”

Goldilocks’s hand found Sam’s knee, stopping him as he began to stand. “Be still,” Goldilocks instructed.

Sam reddened.Be still?

Goldilocks seeing the paintings was one thing. He was the model; he watched Sam make them. He posed for him. He insisted that Sam paint and draw them. But there was something so viscerally exposing havingotherpeople slowly flip through the pages. Seeing page after page of Goldilocks. Seeing study and devotion and obsession.

“No wonder,” Vi murmured to herself. “Sam, youmustallow me to commission you. You would do a superb job painting the statue of Belle. Look at how you have captured his scales! His hair! Belle had the same colouring. You did not meet her, but you would not need to. This is perfect.”

Goldilocks puffed up, a proud expression on his features as if he were the one being complimented.

Vi turned the page, and a rare drawing that wasn’t of Goldilocks turned up. Connor was lying on the lounger on his yacht; Adonis was resting with his head on his lap. Yven and Vi both stared at Connor, their expressions changing. It wasn’t painted; this one was simply a sketch he’d done while they’d been hanging out together.

Yven’s swallow was audible. “This is…him?”

Goldilocks made an impatient noise in the back of his throat and flipped over to the next page, where he was back to being the subject.

“How much for the book?” Vi asked.