Bianca, the Barkeep
BIANCA. Age: a woman’s secret. Profession: proprietor of a small watering hole. Please remove my tattoo.
Ding, ding, ding.
The soft chime rang out, delicate and clean as glass.
In stepped a woman who seemed to shimmer against the doorway. She was beautiful—undeniably so. Her long black hair fell in plush, curling waves, and her pale, luminous skin was done up just right: polished but not overworked.
“I’m Bianca. A pleasure,” she said, voice smooth as velvet.
“Sophie Olzon,” Sophie replied. “Ms. Bianca…you’re gorgeous.”
She slipped into a practiced smile at the compliment. “Why, thank you,” she said, letting out a soft, throaty giggle.
Women like her didn’t brush off compliments. They’d learned it was better just to take them with a smile—and maybe a little laugh for effect.
Even that giggle, low and rich for a woman, was wrapped in something sultry. And when her red lips pulled into a smile, it was almost hypnotic.
She looked thirty, maybe a touch younger—if you didn’t know what to look for. But Sophie’s mom senses tingled. Bianca was probably mid to late forties. Still, she wore time like silk. She had the kind of beauty that didn’t fade, just ripened. Sophie had no doubt she’d left a trail of dazed, lovesick men behind her.
If Sophie’s mother, Sherlotte, were a rose, then this woman was a lily. Impossibly lush, irresistibly fragrant, and utterly magnetic.
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing just the edge of an earlobe. Even that—just the simple motion, the way her fingers moved—was enough to enrapture.
“I run a little watering hole. Just me behind the bar,” she said. “Apologies for booking so late. Mornings and I have never been on speaking terms.”
“Not at all,” Sophie replied. “You’ve come at just the right time—for a little afternoon tea.”
The spread before them included a strong black tea, sweet pastries garnished with fruits and flowers, and, most notably, a platter of thin crackers dressed in savory layers—cheese, ham, and a sprinkle of nuts. They were all salty, satisfying little bites. As Raymond had said, “Salty foods are a drinker’s best friend.”
Bianca plucked a ham-topped cracker and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes went wide, and she lifted a hand to her cheek. “This is delicious!”
“I’m glad it suits your taste.” Sophie smiled, glowing a little. In her mind, she thanked Raymond.
“The cracker, the topping, the saltiness—it’s just perfect. Honestly, I might have to beg for the recipe.”
“I’ll pass the compliment along to our chef,” Sophie said, amused. “See if he’s feeling generous.”
She’d definitely have to be the go-between. If Raymond tried explaining it to Bianca, he’d be smitten before the second sentence. There’d be blushing. Stammering. Possibly fainting.
“Now, the reason I’m here…”
“Yes, Ms. Bianca?”
She slipped the shoulder of her dress down.
Gulp.
A peek of soft, pale, snackable skin slipped into view.
It was enough to turn Sophie into a dirty old man.
“…is this.”
Bianca turned her back, lowering the fabric to reveal a tattoo of a skeleton sprawling across her upper shoulders and spine. Sophie’s breath caught.
“How magnificent!” she gasped.
It was just as impressive as the one Silver had—both in size and color.
“You see,” Bianca said softly, touching a finger to her cheek, “I used to be a pirate.”
There was something almost bashful in how she said it, but it clashed beautifully with the glint in her eye.
She began her story.
Bianca was born on a tropical island, far removed from the mainland.
Picture beaches of pure white sand flecked with bits of coral and seashells in every color. Waves crashing against jagged coves, the water sparkling like gemstones under the bright sun.
It was on this little slice of paradise—forgotten by time and the world itself—that Bianca first understood something true about herself:
She was beautiful.
There was never a moment she wasn’t reminded of it. No matter where she went, no matter who she was with, the gazes of boys and men followed her every step.
She never liked the attention. Those stares felt more like they came from dogs than men. And worse still was how her father handled them.
“Cover up those legs. Tie up your hair tighter!” he’d scold.
It felt unfair. She worked the ocean like everyone else. Everyone had their legs out. Everyone’s hair came undone in the wind and salt. So why was she the only one singled out?
“I can barely imagine being so beautiful…” Sophie whispered.
“Nor could I. There wasn’t a single proper mirror on that rock,” Bianca replied with a dry smile.
But she could tell in other ways. The way men obeyed her without needing to be asked twice. The way women looked at her with disdain, then sidled up anyway, as if they had no other choice.
Boring, she often thought, watching the sky catch fire with the setting sun as it melted into the sea. She daydreamed, staring at that distant, untouchable horizon, that someone might appear from it and whisk her away to something more.
“When I was sixteen, it was decided I’d marry the son of the island elder.”
If the phrase “by the book” ever took human form, it would’ve been him. Stiff. Predictable. And he looked at Bianca with the same piercing, leering gaze as the rest.
“Boring, I thought.”
What kind of life was that to look forward to? Marry this man. Have a few children. Become a mother, then a grandmother. Get buried in the same little graveyard as everyone else who’d lived and died on that godforsaken rock.
She was beautiful. Special. Why should her life be just like every other woman’s?
A cove was on the eastern side of the island, where natural hot springs met the sea. That was her sanctuary. She often bathed there, naked, letting the water and the view wash over her.
It was on a day like any other, during one of these quiet, stolen moments, that it happened.
From the rising steam of the spring, a silhouette appeared—tall, broad-shouldered.
Men were strictly forbidden from entering this place.
Narrowing her eyes, Bianca peered through the haze, trying to make out which foolish local boy had broken one of their edicts…but the face that emerged was unfamiliar.
It was handsome. Virile.
His hair burned the same reddish-orange as the sky. His eyes, sharp and roguish, carried that same fire. Scars crossed his face, but beneath them, he looked younger than those marks suggested.
They stared at each other in silence, the setting sun casting molten light over their bodies. Then:
“I had no idea,” the man said, “that this island was home to beautiful mermaids.”
“It was love at first sight,” Bianca said, her voice slipping into a wistful, sing-song lilt. Her lips curved, and her eyes glazed over with the kind of smile that only memory could summon. “He was burned into me. My eyes, my thoughts, my heart. I went blind to everything else. It was like as long as I could have him, nothing else mattered.”
Love, lust—something huge and impossible to ignore—had come for young Bianca that day.
“He told me his name was William. Captain of a small pirate crew. They’d stopped for fresh water, nothing more. But I clung to him, begged him to take me with him. Off this rock, anywhere.”
“I don’t steal women,” William said.
“That’s a lie. You’ve already stolen my heart.”
“You’re a bold one.”
“Not until I met you.”
Then she stole a kiss—quick and sure. When she pulled back, her eyes locked with his.
The second kiss came slower, deeper. This one lingered. Tongue and breath and fire.
They stayed that way, tangled in fading light, their figures melting together beneath the glow of the dying sun.
“Eek!”
Sophie’s cheeks flushed red as heat rushed through her. She squirmed in her seat.
How sweet…
How hot…
How—stimulating!
She barely restrained herself to that one meek squeak, trying her best to steady her breath. Bianca watched her with open amusement, a playful glint in her eye and a giggle curling from her lips.
“After that,” she said, almost proudly, “I forced myself on William—became his woman.”
Sophie made another soft noise, but Bianca continued, undeterred.
“I boarded his ship, and as we set sail, I watched the island I called home grow smaller and smaller behind us. Until it was nothing but a speck, then nothing at all. I was ecstatic. I wanted to rub it in their faces. I knew I wasn’t going to die in that little graveyard like everyone else. I knew I was meant for something more.”
At the time, William’s crew barely numbered ten. And with Bianca as the only woman aboard, she quickly became something like a mother to the lot of them.