Chapter Eleven / A Terrible MistakeMature

            As politely as he possibly could, Seymour ripped off a chunk from his loaf of bread and consumed it.  “So, what brings you to Carvil?”

            Duncan answered before Fiona opened her mouth.  “We’re here ’cause she’s getting married.”

            “Will you shut the fuck—?” She cut herself off, looking at Seymour abashedly.  “Sorry.”

            “No fucking problem.”  Seymour raised his eyebrows.  “But I suppose that means you’re taken, then?”

            “My fiancé,” she said in voice just above a whisper, “has no interest in me, and I have no interest in him.  Frankly, he’s a sexist asshole who just wants to marry me so I can squeeze out his children.  He’s paranoid, disingenuous, violent, not particularly bright, and quite plain of appearance, really.  I don’t consider myself taken.  Not by him.”

            “Oh, dear,” said Seymour.  “That’s an unenviable situation.”

            “To put it mildly.”  Fiona sighed.  “What about you?  Are you single?”


            “I don’t like the sound of that.”

            “It’s a bit of a long story, and I’m not at liberty to disclose most of it, but in essence, a couple nights ago I hooked up with someone.  Next morning, they tell me that they love me.”

            “Shit.  That’s the stuff of nightmares.”

            “Right?  Now he’s getting all touchy-feely and trying to follow me everywhere I fucking go, and I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

            “‘He?’”  She sighed dejectedly.  “Don’t tell my you’re gay, too.”

            “If I were gay,” Seymour said, “do you think I would be trying to pick you up right now?”

            “A valid point.”

            The merman tore off and swallowed another mouthful of bread.  “And before you ask, no, I have not comported myself like an adult and talked with him about my concerns.  I’m just going to hope that he doesn’t think I’m his boyfriend or anything—not that he’d ever call me that, since he seems so committed to playing straight for reasons too illogical for me to comprehend.  Something about his life depending on people’s perception of his likelihood of having biological children.”

            Fiona rolled her eyes.  “Secretive, egotistical, focused to the point of obsession upon producing an heir—he sounds like my fiancé.  Does he also have a stupid haircut and a fuck ton of money?”

            Seymour laughed, a bit uncomfortably.  “Wouldn’t it be funny if they were the same person?”

            “Aye.  But no.”  Here she shot a meaningful glance in Duncan’s direction, a look that only Seymour could see.  “They can’t be.”

            “Yeah, it would certainly be unlikely.”

            “But what a remarkable coincidence.”


The End

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