I press my hips to his and wrap my arms tightly around his neck so my breasts are pushed against his chest. Leo has not parted his lips for me, but he has not pulled away yet.
Then words come between us, tugging Leo away as surely as a hand on his shoulder. A man asks, “Who’s the tart?”
And Leo pulls away from me.
I look past him to the man standing on the beach between us and the house. He is an older version of Leo, still fit but with the marks of age and bad choices etched upon his face.
“Father,” Leo says, as he turns to face the man and tucks me behind him. He still holds on to my hand; even now, he does not let go of me.
“She’s a pretty enough piece,” the man says. “What’s your name, darling?”
I don’t know what I am to do, so I whisper, “Leo?”
“Go inside, Eden, and stay in your room.” Leo sounds angrier than I’d known him capable of becoming. He leads me around the man before he releases my hand. “I’ll be in soon.”
“Afraid of a little competition?” Leo’s father asks.
“She’s younger than me, younger than your son.” Leo steps closer to his father. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
He laughs. “You sound like your mother.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” Leo squares his shoulders. “If you hit me like you hit—”
“Don’t,” Leo’s father interrupts.
They are quiet then, standing staring at each other like two animals about to clash. Neither man moves, creating the illusion of the present and the future remembering themselves. Leo is determined not to become his father; he’d said as much to me one afternoon. The servants swear he was nothing like the man . . . except when he is.
“Go to your room, Eden,” the man repeats his son’s order and then adds, “Lock the door.”
And so I do.
***
When Leo comes to my door late that night, his eye is blackened, and his lip is split. He’s never come to my room at night, but I know that he has thought about it. I’ve heard his steps stop there many nights, heard his hand on the knob, but he’s always walked away. Until tonight.
He is not weeping, but he is shaking.
“I hate him,” Leo whispers, the words feeling somehow more real here in the dark. “I won’t be him.”
I don’t answer because I can’t.
Leo clutches me to him. “That’s why I picked you. If you know what I like, what I want, you won’t make me angry. I won’t ever have to hurt you like he did with my mother and me. You’ll be perfect, and we’ll be happy.”
When I don’t reply, his hands tighten on my arms, and I know I’ll need to wear a long-sleeved shirt tomorrow. It is not the first time he’s left his mark on my skin, but I know now that I shouldn’t cry out yet. He doesn’t want to hear my cries until his mood has passed.
“I can’t hurt you,” Leo says. “Those are the rules, Eden. A selchie maiden cannot leave unless you strike her three times in anger. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Leo,” I agree.
“I haven’t,” he says. In all fairness, he isn’t lying: neither fist not foot has touched me in anger. He is careful even when his temper is unsettled.
“I know.” I don’t bow my head or shudder. I want to cringe from him even as I consider feeding the rage that simmers so close to the surface tonight. I think I could make him strike me in anger, but I am afraid of the pain. “You have never struck me.”
“I hurt her, though,” Leo confesses. “She left me because of it, just like my mother left him.” Leo pauses and stares at me. “If I hit you when I’m not angry with you, is it the same?”
I shiver. There is something in his voice that I’ve never heard before. It’s colder than the seas in winter, and I am afraid. Gently, I touch his unbruised cheek. “Why would you ever need to? I’m yours, Leo. I’m not able to leave you.”
He stares at me, and I try not to flinch away.
“I love you,” he says, and this time it is a question and an order.
So I answer without looking away from him, “I love you.”
He lifts his hands to the arms he just bruised and strokes. I hide my pain easier under a smile and ask, “Will you sleep in here tonight? I’d feel safer with you beside me.”
Leo nods. “Only sleep, Eden. We’re not married or even engaged yet. Until then, there are other girls I can . . . ” His words fade, and then he caresses my face. “I like that you are pure, Eden. Our first night will be special.”
Meekly, I look down, as if I am as shy and innocent as he believes.
“Maybe I’ll get you a ring for Christmas. We could be married on Valentine’s Day then. Would that make you happy?”
“Yes, Leo,” I lie.
***
The house is silent the next day. Leo’s father took him to university. The visit had been a surprise, one the man thought would please his son. At Leo’s insistence, I stayed in my room until after they’d gone.
I decide that afternoon that I will not wear a long-sleeved shirt. Leo isn’t here to see my disobedience, and the staff all knows that he has his father’s temper. They’ve whispered that I’m fortunate that he only grabs me. I smile and say nothing. Leo has ordered me not to speak to them, and I don’t know how to do otherwise.
Days pass in a quiet blur. I spend most of my time reading or staring out the window. Leo has allowed me to paint, so I do that when the mood strikes me. I speak to him every day, although it is not so much speaking as it is listening.
It is night that is different now. Leo had said that I am not to cross the threshold alone, but he did not say I couldn’t climb out of windows. I obey the orders he spoke, but this was not forbidden.
I walk along the water. Sometimes, I stretch my body on the sand and let the waves wash over me. I take pleasure in the sand and salt, and I hope that the brine on my skin does not give me away when I return to my cage. I am sure the staff suspects, but they do not accuse me. They do not bar my window.
Nights here are growing colder, and I miss my other-self. The thick fur of my selchie form would allow me to be warm in the water. Without the skin that he has stolen from me, I am trapped in this human shape. Soon it will be too cold to enter the sea for even these few stolen hours.
Tonight, I think of what has been stolen from me, and I scream. My voice is almost lost under the crash of waves, but I hear other selchie-kin in the waves echo my cries. They know I am here, have known for months. I’ve seen them as they dart away, trying to hide themselves to spare me the pain. Tonight they answer, and I scream until my throat feels like it might bleed.
“Are you hurt?”
I open my eyes. A man, one I’ve seen walking on the beach when I was hidden inside the house, is bending over me. He looks so different from Leo—tan where Leo is pale, clothes tattered rather than pristine, gaze concerned instead of possessive.
“Do you need me to help you stand or . . . something?” He holds out a hand, but when I simply stare at him, he says, “Or I could call someone if you want.” He pulls a phone out of one of his trouser pockets. “Here.”
“No.”
I stand up, and he looks away quickly. My clothes are wet and clinging. I laugh, and he glances back at me. His gaze is steadily fixed on my face.
“I don’t need a phone,” I say. “I was calling to them when you arrived, but they can’t come to me. They can’t help me.”
He stares at me like he thinks I might be mad, and I know that he has no idea that I am selchie. He thinks I am a girl, one perhaps crazier than those he knows. He does not know I am Leo’s.
And I decide then that I will not tell him.
“I do need some things,” I say firmly, not needing to whisper or speak meekly since he is not Leo.
“What?”
“Your name, a friend, a kiss.” I step back, forcing him to look at me. “Someone to talk to at night.”
He swallows before saying, “Robert.”
“And the rest?” I prompt.
When he simply stares at me, I decide that I am beyond tired of silence. Selchies have always come on land to lie down with human men. Leo may not know that, but I do. I am no more innocent than any other creature with appetites. I strip off my wet clothes as Robert stares at me.
“I am lonely here,” I admit.
Robert looks around like he expects to see someone watching him or perhaps someone to tell him what to do. There is no one on the beach at this hour. Tonight is the first night I haven’t been here alone, and I think this man is a gift of sorts, that the universe has decided that I deserve some happiness.
I step closer and say, “This is not a trick. We are alone, and I am sad.”
“You want to . . .” His words fade as I step closer.
“Yes.”
I don’t expect the bliss I find. Maybe it’s only because I’ve been so lonely. Maybe it’s because I am not asked to be someone I’m not. Maybe it’s simply because I am choosing this. I don’t know. What I do know is that we meet in the dark most nights after that. He tells me about his plans. (He’s going to Europe to “experience life” in the spring.) He tells me about his family. (They are wealthy and indulgent.) He tells me about his best friend. (A sad, messed up man whose father has all but destroyed him.) He tells me that he’s meeting his best friend’s girl here in a few weeks. (She is sweet and innocent, and Leo is going to bring her here to propose.)
***
It is November now, the day before Leo returns. We are to be having a dinner for a holiday he calls Thanksgiving. Leo has called almost every night, and after he tires of talking, I climb out my window and meet Robert on the beach. Tomorrow, everything will change. I will lose Robert. If he doesn’t keep our secret, I may be set free by Leo’s anger. I would prefer Leo choose to give me my freedom, but I have thought much about inviting his anger.
He need only hit me three times. Then I am freed. I think I can endure three blows easier than the slow death of many years in this cage.
“Do you want to come to my friend’s house with me tomorrow?” Robert asks that night as he’s holding me in his arms. He’s asked me to meet people so often that I can’t help but feel sorrow for the way I’ve kept these secrets. He’s a good person, and if not for my imprisonment, I would stay with him for the next few months. I might even meet him on European shores. I cannot offer either because Leo took those choices from me.
“I like you.” I sit up and look into his eyes.
Robert grins. “That’s good, since I think I love you.”
I wish it could be simple. For a moment, I think I might love him. He’s funny and kind, and he makes me feel happier than I have since I became a prisoner. He treats my body like it is rare and precious—and he treats my words the same. If I were free, I could love him. I tell him more of the truth than I have other nights.
“I could love you,” I admit. “If I were free to do so, I could love you, and if you still want me after tomorrow . . . I would go on exactly as we are. I would meet your friends and walk at your side.”
Robert kisses me before saying, “You’re strange, Edy, but I like it. Is that a yes? Will you come meet Leo? We’ve been friends forever, before his mom disappeared. He’s peculiar, but I think things are turning around. He met someone, and he sounds happy.”
“I will be there.” I brush the sand from my arms and bare chest, stalling before I confess. I do not meet his gaze as I dress and stand.
When Robert comes to his feet, I ask, “Will you walk me to the house tonight?”
“You’re finally going to tell me where you live?” He’s teasing, but there is a happiness in his voice that I can’t miss.
“I don’t live there by choice, Robert.” I glance at him and don’t try to hide my sorrow. “I’d leave if I could.”
He hugs me closer to him as we walk. “My family could help you. We can go to them and—”
“They can’t,” I interrupt. “Not with this. He owns me.”
“Edy, no one owns you.” Robert shakes his head. “Is it like an immigration thing or does he have something he holds over you?” He steps in front of me. “Is it a legal thing? Did you do something illegal?”
“I can’t explain.” I shiver a little from both the cold air and the fear that presses against me. “I care for you, but he owns me. Unless he lets me go, I can’t leave.”
Robert continues arguing as we walk, but when we stop at the side of the house, his words stop. His mouth opens and closes once before he finds speech again. “Mr. Ponties owns you? I know his son, and—”
“Leo,” I correct. “Leo owns me. He is not bringing his girl here. I am here, and I cannot leave.” My anger spikes, and I gesture widely at the house. “It is my prison.”
He says nothing.
His silence continues as I climb up the side of the house and into my room. When I look back, he stands below me staring up at the window, staring at me with confusion plain on his face. I tell him, “I will be here tomorrow when you come, and when he is gone back to university, I will come to you if you still want.”
But he still says nothing. My lips are sore from his kisses, and my body relaxed from our pleasures, but he does not speak to me. I do not know what he will tell Leo.
As I stare out at the sea, I remind myself again that I can accept three blows in anger to be free of these land-dwellers.
***
I wait anxiously for the sound of Leo’s arrival. The staff has made the house welcoming. Fresh flowers fill vases, and Leo’s bed is made up with clean linens. I’ve been made ready too. My hair is brushed thoroughly, and my skin is scrubbed clean of the salt and sand that usually adorns it. It was when they suggested that I be sure to get the sand all off that I knew that they were all too aware of my secret. They might tell him. Robert might tell him.
And here I sit, awaiting my jailer.
My not-so-secret sojourns at night are the only freedom I have known since Leo imprisoned me. I am afraid that these hours with the sea and with Robert are ending. If Leo takes these away too, I am not sure how I will endure.
“Eden?” Leo’s voice fills the house, and at the unhappy tone in it, I worry suddenly that he’d expected me to be waiting at the door like a faithful puppy.
I go to him and look past him. Dread creeps into my voice, but I blame it on the person he fears. “Are you alone or is he . . .?”
Relief unclouds his expression as he accepts my lie, as he chooses to believe I was not at the door because of fear.
“No, love. He’s not here.” He embraces me. “I should’ve told you. My father won’t be here. It’s just us.”
“I’m glad,” I murmur, reminding myself to be meek. I have almost forgotten that in the joy of the nights with Robert when I am allowed to be myself, to speak as I please, to do as I want. I concentrate though. I can do this again. I can be the Eden Leo has been trying to mold me into being. I duck my head slightly. “I’m glad he’s not here.”
And just like that, Leo is happy.
He talks as is his increasing habit in our nightly calls, and I listen in silence as I am supposed to do. It is stifling, like restraints drawn tighter by his very words, but I stare at him with the affection I would give to the sea. I look on him and pretend he is Robert.
Come evening, I am tired. The burden of being around Leo is wearing, and I almost refuse when he asks if I’d like to go out. Then he adds, “The staff says that you do not even ask to go for walks.” He smiles at me with a strange pride. “You’re a good girl, Eden. I like that you obeyed so well.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the door. “Take off our shoes, and we can go out.”
He stands and waits for me to obey. This is not new, but it has been months since I’ve had to kneel before him. It takes more effort to do so now. I bow my head to hide my face. I can do that now that my hair is longer.
Leo’s hand strokes my hair as I kneel and remove first his shoes and then my own.
Then, as I had when he lived here with me before, I hold up my hand, so he can pull me up to stand beside him.
He does not release me.
We walk, and I try to remember that I am to be thrilled by this small gift, by this permission to touch the water that is my rightful home.
“Would you like to wade in?”
This is new, and even though I do so every night, I am still grateful. “Yes.”
“You earned this, Eden.” He releases my hand.
I wade out until the water swirls around my hips. My eyes close, and I tilt my face to the sky. For a moment, I am happy, but then Leo speaks my name. I open my eyes and stare at him.
“By spring, maybe we can go swimming, or”—he holds out a hand—“maybe you’ll be pregnant by then.”
When I reach his side, he takes my hand and squeezes it. Then he releases me and draws a small box from his pocket. “I know we said Christmas, but I feel like we shouldn’t wait. We can be married at Christmas instead.”
He opens the box and withdraws a ring. I was taught about this human custom, so I would know what to do when this moment came. The ring is beautiful, but I have no use for shiny rocks. I know I am expected to be happy, so I smile at him and hold my hand out to him obediently. He doesn’t ask if I want to be wed, but I couldn’t answer freely even if he did.
“In a few weeks, you’ll be my wife.” Leo slides the ring onto my finger and then kisses me briefly, a brush of the lips and then he’s withdrawn. “I’ll be twenty in the spring, and my trust will be all mine then. I’ll find us a place near the university.”
“You mean live away from the sea?” My heart pounds like waves crashing in a hurricane, and I’m afraid to meet Leo’s eyes.
He laughs though. “We can’t live here, but we’ll still visit. The ocean gave me you. I can’t stay away from it all the time.”