Galen has had to begrudgingly allow room for Grandfather, to accept that he’ll be taking up some of my time now, too. And Grandfather has come to terms with the fact that I’m not a child—or a fingerling, as he calls it—and that Galen and I need time alone. Oh, at first he was inconsolable. In fact, he threw such a tantrum when he found out we were going to share the same off-campus apartment—separate bedrooms for crying out loud—that we were barely able to get our deposit in on time and almost missed out on our dorm rooms.

Separate dorm rooms. On opposite sides of the campus.

But today everything changes, and Grandfather seems to recognize that. To be honest, he seems almost contented.

So we glide through the water in silence, Grandfather and his self-assurance and me and my jitters and my waterproof pack. The ocean is calm today, in stark contrast to the churning vortex that is my stomach. I try to appreciate the fish around us, the pod of dolphins playing below us, the beauty of the canyon-like drop-off ahead of us. There is more seaweed floating around than usual, which means that a few extra minutes will be devoted to washing it out of my hair tonight. Seaweed is like the Silly String of the ocean—it never comes out.

But those are short, fleeting thoughts. All I can really think of is Galen—and how all of him will be mine in a matter of hours. The delicious contours of his lips when he smiles. The silhouette of his body walking toward me in the moonlight. The way his embrace seems to be the one thing I’ve been missing all my life. Everything that is Galen will belong to me.

And ohmysweetgoodness, I’m nervous.

I feel Grandfather slow down and I peer around him. We’re almost there. The light from the sun becomes brighter, glistening off the surface like a sprinkling of diamonds. Just ahead of us, the ocean floor slants upward toward shallower water. In front of that, a mound of sand piles its way up to the surface, forming an island.

The island Galen picked for us.

Grandfather eases us to the surface, and I think my heart might stop. When we reach the top, I let out a breath I’d been holding for longer than I should. But I can’t help it.

This is the day.

The island is a masterpiece of tropical beauty. Palm trees form a protective wall around the lush forest farther inland. Coconuts freckle the beach sand where low tide leaves a dark wet stripe across the shore. Seagulls overhead squawk in a chorus, lazily gliding in the breeze instead of flapping their wings.

The island is perfect.

Grandfather takes us to the beach where Mom waits for us, waving like a crazed person. As if we could miss the giant pink flower in her hair. Or the immense boat she rented rocking gently a few yards away—it’s way bigger than we talked about. What she could possibly need a boat that humongous for is beyond me. It’s like a three-story house cradled in an overgrown canoe.

When I think I can touch bottom, I let go of Grandfather’s shoulders and fall slightly behind him.

He turns to me and smiles. “It was an honor to bring you to your island, Granddaughter.”

I nod, suddenly feeling excessively shy. “Thank you.” I don’t know if there’s something else I should say. This is a Syrena tradition. Traditionally, my father would be swimming with me to my mating ceremony, supposedly to impart last-minute words of wisdom or something like that. Kind of like how the father escorts the bride down the isle. But since Dad is gone, Grandfather volunteered. And he either forgot the words of wisdom, or he didn’t have any.

He swims away then, probably to the other side of the island, where there is hopefully a change of clothes waiting for him. When he was informed he would be among those standing on the beach, he got all agitated, muttering to himself for a solid hour.

Old people.

I adjust my pack on my shoulders right before Mom slams into me. I’m still knee deep in the waves so the impact makes a healthy splash. Since Mom’s not really a hugger, this affects me down to the most basic of levels. I had counted on her to be my rock today, the stable one. That might not work out.

“Galen is already here,” she says, which I already know, but I feel a flutter in my stomach anyway at the sound of his name.

“What’s with the yacht?”

She leads me by the wrist down the beach and to the plank connected to the boat. “Grom and I are going to have a second honeymoon after the ceremony.”

“Ew.”

Rayna materializes on the deck of the boat wearing honest-to-God coconut boobs and a grass skirt. She gives us the classic princess wave, all wrist wrist, elbow elbow. I toss Mom a questioning look. She shrugs. “She wanted to help with something, and Galen already ran her off the other side of the island. Something about catching the decorations on fire.”

“Fan-flipping-tastic.”

“Hush. She’s just going to do your nails and hair.” Just? She caught fire to decorations, and now she’s going be to wielding a flat iron near my head mere hours before my mating ceremony? If there was a time when I didn’t need singed hair, it would be rightfreakingnow.

Everyone is going to be at this ceremony. The Triton kingdom. The Poseidon kingdom. Half the town of Neptune, at least. All eyes on me. That’s how I know something is going to happen. Rayna will crisp my hair, or burn a welt into the side of my face. A seagull will relieve itself on my dress. Or what could be more fitting than me tripping into Galen on our wedding day? Just like old times’ sake.

“Emma, if you don’t want to do this, you have to tell me right now.”