Page 30 of A Match Made in Error

I physically shake the thought of us out of my head and put all my energy into following Riven off the bridge and down a glowing path through the forest until we're on a beach on the opposite side of the island from our bungalows.

The other magically matched pairs mill around, some clinging to one another like newlyweds and others like repelling magnets beside the shoreline. Trouble in paradise, perhaps? About time.

The rising sun is painting the water gold, and I focus on that instead of how awkward I feel. I flick my eyes to the unreadable Riven, who was able to hop out of bed without a care this morning, as if our handlers hadn’t found us with our legs interwoven and my head on his furnace of a chest.

My heart, my hopeless romantic heart, is beginning to read everything as a sign from Fate. Fate, whom I said I no longer believed could help me, and yet, when Riven danced and kept his eyes on me yesterday, I couldn’t deny the pull there.

Nor can I deny the reality that in no world would he ever pick me. Not in that way.

I focus my attention on the sound of the ocean licking at the rocks on the shore, not my best friend or the array of intertwined couples around us. Including his ex, whom he is not-so-subtly watching from the corner of his eye. I snort. Yes, I need to remember that this is why I can’t let the horny romantic within me get any funny ideas. I’m here because Fate screwed me over, and Riven is here to piss off his ex and remind the ladies of Fate’s Fortune that he isn’t an unbeddable dud.

The eldest Moirai lifts her staff, and even the tide stills like it’s holding its breath. “Today’s trial is called the Steady Heart Bond,” she intones, voice carrying over the water, over the murmurs, over my pulse. “A test of trust and balance, conducted in the sea that long ago mastered both.” Around us, the ocean glows faintly, stone stumps rising from the surf like waiting pedestals. “Each pair will choose a pose and maintain it for as long as possible, with only two feet on the platform. Whose feet they are, we don’t care. When only two couples remain, the trial will reset for round two.”

My stomach drops. Trust. Balance. Two things I have never once managed to achieve at the same time—especially not with Riven standing beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him through the salty air.

“Make your way to a stump and find balance. You will have five minutes to do so.” The Mother’s voice is punctuated by the arrival of the floating score-crystals over her head and the ticking down of a five-minute timer above it.

Riven pulls his shirt off with only one hand, confident and unashamed, and then holds his hand out for me. “Ready, Pop?” The ocean laps at my feet, gentle and calm compared to my thumping heart. Carefully, I untie the bow holding the wrap dress over my swimsuit and let it fall to the ground in an unceremonious pile. The scraps of fabric covering me leave little to the imagination, but with my curves, a one-piece would maybe be worse. This is not the ideal outfit to be body-to-body with someone you can’t be intimate with. Nor are his short, tight swim shorts.

“Yeah,” I sigh, slapping my hand into his. “Let’s get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit,” Riven chuckles and drags me into the lapping surf.

Glistening water, warmed under the island sun, washes up around my waist by the time we get to the stump that looks only big enough for one of us to firmly put both feet down on.

“Up you go, love.” Strong hands pinch in the flesh above my hips and lift until I’m dangling out of the water. I place my feet on the stone, wiggling around to test its sturdiness. Small, but solid. Not giving an inch as if it’s attached to the Earth’s crust. “My turn.” He places his palms by my heels and pulls his body from the water, the veins in his arms straining. In a feat of shocking flexibility, he places one foot on the platform and launches up.

Headbutting me in the ass and sending me careening headfirst back into the water.

I scream for a second before going under, sucking water into my mouth. My feet find purchase on the sand and seaweed quickly, and I come up sputtering out salt water to find a well-poised Riven sitting on the stump, pinching his lips together to keep from laughing.

“Maybe I should have gone first.” He stands up on the stump and then squats down, hoisting me up out of the water by my armpits until he’s fully standing and dangling me in front of him. He holds me close, our dripping, bare chests touching. “See, wasn’t that easier?” I swallow. Yeah. Easy.

“We can’t have all our feet down. We need to find a new pose.” Beside us, a guy yelps when he falls in and sends a splash high above our heads. A water elemental, no doubt.

“What if I hold you like a baby?” Riven thinks aloud.

“A baby?” Most adults would call it a bridal hold, but I’m sure I am much more like a baby in his mind than a bride. Awesome. He scoops me up without another word, but we quickly teeter to the side my head is on and fall victim to the rolling tide once more.

“Okay, let’s try that again.” Riven gets us back on the platform and continues pose after pose.

We experiment with a backpack hold, which proves to be too back-heavy, and even me on his shoulders, but the wind catches us and sends me falling from nearly ten feet into the water. Everything we try fails.

When we climb back onto the stump once more, the timer is ticking away, and we don’t even try another pose when my lack of balance sends me tipping to the side. He catches me reflexively, not making a show of it. Another couple fails spectacularly beside us with screams and splashes, and Riven just continues to handle me and hold me aloft while he thinks of another pose to try.

“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling like my lack of athletic ability is definitely to blame here. I know how competitive Riven is.

“For what?” His face quirks with confusion.

“Falling so much. You keep having to hold and catch me. I’m sure you’re getting tired.”

He snorts. “You insult my strength. You’re so light I’m concerned you’re not eating enough.” My face flushes. If he thinks that of me, what did he think of his wispy, thin ex? I’m pretty sure a stiff wind could take Angora away with it. “Matter of fact, you’re being too gentle, too. Hold onto me. Tight. You can’t break me.”

“Okay.” My words are quiet, watching him as the wheels in his head turn, trying to figure this out.

Riven is slick with seawater, sunlight catching in the droplets that cling to his collarbones and trace the lines of his arms. His hair is darker like this, curling at the ends, lashes wet and unfairly long as he squints against the glare. He looks…unreal. Like something conjured for attention. And the worst part is, I’ve seen him like this a hundred times—laughing, flirting, dripping after some ill-advised swim or bar fight, complete with slinging drinks—but standing like this, balanced on the same narrow stump, his body warm and solid against mine, something in me shifts.

A quiet, terrifying realization settles in my chest: I’m looking at him differently. Not like my best friend. Not like the idiot who picks terrible women. Like a man I might…want.