Page 64 of A Match Made in Error

“You can’t charm your way through everything,” I say it, but even as the words leave my lips, I don’t believe it. I have seen Riven charm himself out of jail, bar fights, and even from a rabid raccoon that snuck into the Foxhole kitchen one night. He probably can charm his way out of anything.

“Incorrect. I charm my way through everything. Even you.”

I scoff and sputter, caught off guard. “You don’t…charm me.” I swallow—hard—and use magic to fan cool air on my suddenly flaming cheeks.

He brings his face close to mine, inspecting my face as if he’s counting each freckle, one at a time. “You blush an awful lot for someone who isn’t charmed.” I open my mouth to rebut him, but it’s suddenly dry as desert sand, and no words come out. “What? Wemic got your tongue?” My eyes flick to the side in search of words, but happen to catch sight of the bombshells the Moirai have dropped into the beach club.

The Maiden claps her hands once, delighted. “And now,” she sings, “we introduce a most…distracting variable.”

The Crone’s smile deepens. “New temptations cross the threshold.” She tilts her head.

“Let us see who burns,” the Maiden cackles.

My fingers go cold.

Not from the wind. Not from trying to think of how to respond to Riven.

From memory.

The Moirai’s words settle like ash in my lungs, and suddenly, the club feels too small. My pulse skitters, uneven, and I hate that I can’t control it. I don’t realize I’m trembling until Riven’s hand shifts against mine. He notices. Of course he does.

His grip tightens—protective. Grounding me in his comforting aura even as my past walks approaches me. Haunting me. Riven’s thumb presses once against my knuckles like a silent question.

You okay?

I don’t answer.

Because across the amphitheater, a figure steps up to me from the shadows.

Tall. Familiar. Sun-browned and restless even in stillness.

My first love.

The boy who taught me how to believe in it.

The one who kissed me like I was the beginning of something.

The one who left to chase the world and never looked back.

The air leaves my lungs in a thin, fragile sound.

“Rodrick,” I breathe, my heart stuttering like it’s forgotten which future it belongs to.

And beside me, Riven goes very, very still. “Blink twice if you want me to rip his stupid sharp jawline from his skull.”

“Oooo,” Angora whistles. “Someone’s jealous.”

“Knock it off, Angora,” Riven snaps.

“Thought you didn’t get jealous?” I whisper, unable to take my eyes from Rodrick.

“Sweetheart,” he laughs mirthlessly. “I’m not jealous. I’m just one second from starting an international incident.” He steps into my field of vision, blocking out the rest of the world. Air returns to my lungs, and I choke it down greedily. “You don’t have to go with him. You can stay with me.” I sigh, biting my lip nervously. Riven knows how much Rodrick broke my heart, but…that was years ago. I can handle a brunch with him. Right?

In the back of my mind, my hopelessly romantic mind, a rogue thought blooms for a second. Maybe this is why I was put into the Festival again. Rodrick always said he’d wait for me. This thought, which a couple of years ago would have sent an army of butterflies to work in my gut, doesn’t stir anything within me now.

But the gentle brush of Riven’s thumb across the skin of my arm does.

“I can handle it.” I swallow once more. “But thanks.”