Page 66 of Edge of Stars

Which makes it all the better when Maximus nods with scholarly approval but smiles with fatherly love.

Somehow, he seems to read those thoughts with a sweeping study of my face. His lips notch a little higher before he explains, “It’s Greek. You probably know that already.”

“I didn’t,” I murmur, stroking a hand along his beard. “But that makes it even more awesome.” And you, amazing man, for thinking of it.

“The word means victory.” His tone, newly solemn, has me inwardly predicting what will follow. “And if we can stack even that odd in her favor…”

I join my other hand to the first, framing his face while nodding my understanding of his trail-off. All the things he can’t commit to words. All the what ifs we can’t dedicate to action. All the control that’s thoroughly out of our hands.

But only for now.

I have to believe it. I press the conviction into him too, entwining it into his psyche with my stare.

But nothing’s going to seal it better than a kiss. So…I give in.

Not for long. Not very deep. Not the senseless sensuality I’m still craving, but enough to impart him with the point.

We’re not going to quit. I won’t let it happen, and neither are you.

We will be victorious, my love. All three of us. I don’t know how or when, but—

I snap back from him, my eyes and mouth wide, as something that feels like my answer already bears down on us.

No. Not down. It’s rising up—from the lagoon itself.

It’s the parade and the fireworks. A whirlpool that grows from a minor skipping plunk to a swirl the size of a house in less than ten seconds. But the vortex is more than that. It’s a reverse rainbow cone of color, aqua and teal becoming marigold then marmalade, but none for very long.

The beginner hues die out as soon as the persistent red appears. It’s not a gradual arrival either. This is like a whole vial of food coloring dumped in the mix.

Or blood.

“Holy sh…”

Maximus doesn’t dawdle on the profanities. “Kara.” He lurches and hauls me tight against him with the same fierce motion. “Closer,” he orders until his makeshift loincloth slips from between us and into the water. “Don’t let go of me, understand?”

I nod without a word against the wall of his pectoral. He remains taciturn now, joining me to watch as the shimmering fabric is pulled into the crimson waters.

Into them—but not any further down, below them.

The whirlpool isn’t behaving like it should. What’s left of my wedding gown is just staying there in the violent eddies, rolling around as if it’s in a lunatic laundry cycle—remaining as white as it was when I zipped it up at the chapel.

“What’s…going on?” I finally mutter. “Why—”

“Huh.” Maximus’s interjection is an astounding one-eighty from his terse growl. He sounds like we’re still simply lying here, newly awestruck at the stars and the fireflies. “The light’s coming from under the water. From something…that’s coming up.”

“Holy shit.”

It’s a joyous feeling to at last complete it—but even more so when I know there’s more to add. Better things. So much better.

“Poseidon’s back already.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

MAXIMUS

I figured it wouldn’t take my uncle long to assess the aftermath of Typhoon Wedding and report back but still anticipated we’d be waiting a minimum of twenty-four hours. That was, of course, working in a typical flight time back to LA from Chania or Heraklion—not magic water bubble speed.

I’d blame the mental space-out on naked dock time with my wife, but the first passenger to depart the transport at the dock is better prepared to do the job for me.