Chapter 7

Chapter

Seven

ZORA

Y ou know how they say you should never meet your heroes? Well, try dating one. Or rather, try being the mate of one. It’s been a month since I became Jay’s “personal assistant,” and it’s been a wild ride.

First, there was the paparazzi incident. We were leaving a restaurant when a swarm of photographers ambushed us. I was blinded by the flashes, overwhelmed by the shouted questions. Jay shielded me with his body and a few well-placed tentacles, but not before some unflattering photos of me mid-blink made the tabloids. That was fun to explain to my mom…

Then came the online comments. I made the mistake of googling myself one night. Big mistake. Huge. “Gold digger,” “fame seeker,” “not good enough for him” - those were some of the kinder ones. I cried for hours. When Jay found me, he posted pictures of us all over his social media with a warning to back the fuck off his mate. Then he spent the rest of the night showing me exactly how “good enough” I am.

The monster celebrities weren’t much better. At our first public event together, a charity gala, I overheard a group of mer-people whispering about how Jay was “slumming it with a human.” He nearly caused an international incident when he barked at them, eyes wild and tentacles on full display.

But then there’s everything else. The day he took me to his private beach house. We spent hours in the water, him in his full kraken glory, me riding on his back as he showed me the wonders of his underwater world.

Or the time he gave me a private “swimming lesson” that had nothing to do with proper stroke technique and everything to do with how long he could hold his breath. Spoiler alert: a very, very long time.

Tonight, we’re at another fancy sports event. The ballroom is all crystal chandeliers, champagne flutes, and a heady mix of designer perfumes almost making me dizzy.

I’m wearing a dress that costs more than my old annual salary - midnight blue silk that whispers against my skin with every movement. Jay’s in a tailored suit that does sinful things to his fucking perfect body, the fabric stretching amazingly across his broad shoulders.

His is hand warm on my lower back. His touch sends a shiver up my spine, a stark contrast to the cool air conditioning. “You look gorgeous.But I’d rather be in the ocean, naked, with you.”

I snort. “Behave, Mr. Lafayette. We’re in public.”

His eyes flash, and he winks. “Never.”