Happy Hump Day, folks. I just finished some revisions on a scene for Mermaid of Sicily, and lemme tell you… this book is RAGING HOUSE FIRE hot.

I don’t want to give away any spoilers! However, I do want you to have a first look at one of the magnificent mermaid colonies featured in the new book. That’s right! I’m giving you this special sneaky-peeky at the Senegalese mermaid outpost.

Scroll down to read. Hope you get swept away!

Missing the sex, violence and glamor of Mermaid of Venice?

Fear not! Book Two in the series, Mermaid of Sicily, releases on September 20th. Pre-order your copy today!

MERMAID OF SICILY: CHAPTER 10

December 22nd

Rip Cure looked more like an outpost at a Jimmy Buffet resort than it did the headquarters of a budding surf and skate empire. A young kid grabbed a board and waxed it, before heading toward a sign that read Plage. Gia parked her motorcycle between a row of beach huts and approached a group of men sitting around a driftwood table. A tall fellow stood to greet her.

“Here she is,” he grinned, “the world’s most famous mermaid.”

“I assume you are Prince Moussa?” she inquired, silently critiquing the man who stood before her. 

He flung his long locks over one shoulder and raised a hand to the sky, “Oui. C’est moi. Come in, come in.”

Rushing her inside his surf shop, he proceeded to pour her a cool glass of bissap. He topped it off with a mint leaf, and they took a seat at a bar top table fashioned from a longboard. 

“Before we get into it,” Moussa started, “I want to let you know… I’m not taking on any more of my mother’s little…” he turned his head to the side and squinted at her, “...little projects.”

“Pardon me?” 

“You heard me.”

“Queen Awa specifically told me to come to Dakar and find you.”

“The Queen commands the colony, not The Prince,” Moussa leaned back, flashed a fake smile, then took a sip from his glass. 

“Where is your mother?”

“Why do you ask?” Moussa laughed. “Are you unhappy with the service? Would you like to speak with the manager?”

The corners of her mouth slipped down. As a last piece of business with Yiannis, Gia had instructed him to close all her establishments temporarily. She needed to figure out how to staff up again—and quickly—but with a complex multinational structure, reconfiguring her business without her army of mermaid cousins would be a very complicated undertaking. 

Her brain turned over possibilities. 

She missed Vittore and wished she’d gone to Santorini to pick him up instead of coming here to Senegal. Vittore always had good ideas. After all, he’d been one of the original architects behind her parents’ casinos. The clubs, however, had been Gia’s addition to the Acquaviva portfolio. 

“What a shame... I came all this way,” Gia sighed, placing her empty cup on the table. She reached for her bag to leave. “I suppose I should—”

“Gia,” Moussa rolled his eyes, “clearly we’re going to host you here. My mother would disown me if I didn’t dust the red carpet off for your stay… however brief it may be.” He turned his head and yelled over his shoulder, “Oumar! Come in here mon amour.” 

In walked a barrel-chested man with a short afro fade and a chin beard. 

“Gia, this is my husband, Oumar.”

“Enchanté,” Oumar nodded. 

“Mon amour, we’re ready to head home, can you get the truck ready?” asked Moussa.

Oumar unloaded the boards from the bed of their Nissan pickup. Gia climbed into the back with her Hermès weekender. The men tried to talk Gia into sitting in the front, but she declined. The road was bumpy, and she cradled her belly, because it felt like the tiny mermaid growing inside of her was tumbling in the center of a wave. A motorcycle zipped by them on the crowded roadway carrying a trailer full of onions. They drove by a short hill capped with a statue of a couple holding a baby who pointed to the sky.

Moussa slid the back window open and played tour guide. “African Renaissance Monument,” he said, gesturing to the statue.

“It is lovely.”

“We all hate it. Colossal waste of money. Typical government bullshit.”

After twenty minutes, they arrived at a boat slip. They helped Gia into a motorboat and took off into the Atlantic Ocean. Their destination was an offshore wind farm, in the middle of which was a floating concrete pad housing a service station. 

“Chez nous,” Oumar said, steering his boat toward the middle of the platform. The concrete opened and unfolded, revealing a water-powered boat lift. They sailed in and left the boat in its parking spot. After that, the platform closed itself automatically, concealing the boat. Then, Gia and her new friends boarded a glass elevator and were ferried into the deep sea via its electronic water shaft.

On the way down, Moussa turned to Gia, “We are taking you in from the back entrance. The princes from California are in town. We don’t want you running into one another.”

“What are they doing here?” Gia probed, quite irritated that he had not relayed this information already.

“It has nothing to do with you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Moussa chided.

Oumar jumped in, “Moussa and I are part of a task force on oceanic violence, so the princes are here to meet with us about that.”

“Oceanic violence?” Gia repeated.

“The barbaric fishing practices that contribute to the climate crisis,” Moussa explained. “But we know you’re really busy flying around on your jet fixing slot machines and slinging margaritas, so you probably don’t know anything about the steps we’re taking in the Atargatic community to protect the planet.”

“Honestly, Moussa, before a few weeks ago, I had never heard of the Pan-Atargatic Council, so I think your judgment is a bit unfair.”

Once at the seafloor, Gia was able to take in the incredible architecture of the Senegalese colony. Moussa had overseen the renovation of the Coral Tower himself, taking inspiration for the underwater skyscraper from the Burj Al Arab, because he loved the whimsy of a colony of mermaids living in a metaphorical ship’s sail. 

It had taken him thirty years to complete construction, and the result was stunning. 

The building was crafted from old-fashioned steel, but the real magic in the design came from the glowing phytoplankton sculptures that twisted through the beams and held the whole structure together. Its architectural beauty far surpassed anything on land. 

Along the way to the guest suites, Oumar pointed out special projects that he and Moussa were still completing. 

“For Moussa, the work is never done,” he laughed. “He calls it ‘editing.’ I call it what it is… perfectionism.” 

Moussa shot his husband a nasty look. “And who was it that insisted on crushed pearls in the terrazzo, hmmm?”

Everywhere they walked,  Gia was the recipient of stares. 

“I imagine everyone has seen the Mermaid Tape?” she whispered.

Oumar let out a deep chuckle. “Darling, I know the colony in Greece is a little provincial, but here in Senegal we do have television.” 

They rounded the corridor leading tothe royal suites. 

“And here we are,” Moussa led Gia into the finest accommodation in the Tower. 

She gazed out the rounded window of her suite and saw what looked to be a cloud made of tiny rainbows. 

“Those are sea butterflies,” Moussa explained. “It’s their migration season.” 

The tiny creatures’ transparent shells were illuminated from within, and when they fluttered by, the kaleidoscope of butterflies reflected color across the suite.

“Shall I ring for tea?” Oumar asked. 

“I prefer to rest for a while if that is all right. It was a very long journey to get here.”

“Yes, of course,” Moussa agreed. “Just please stay in your room tonight. The Calfornian princes depart in the morning. We certainly would not want you running into each other.”

“Will no one from the colony tell them I am here?”

“Absolutely not. We prize discretion above all else. I have let my people know that I expect not one single word to swim its way to Greece. Or any other place for that matter,” he added. “You know, Gia… if you’ve done anything positive for the world of Mermaid, it’s that you’ve united all the colonies against a common enemy.” 

“I thought Man was the enemy?” Gia snipped. 

“And isn’t your father human?” Moussa replied, wasting no time delivering another jab.

“He died many years ago,” Gia retorted, angling her head as if waiting for another challenge.

“Don’t worry yourself too much about it. Queen Awa always roots for the underdog. You can count on Senegalese support.” 

***