Page 34 of A Match Made in Error

“Prove it,” I say before thinking, shocking the hells out of me. And him too, if his agape mouth is any indication. “Drop the soldier breathing and let your response be authentic.”

Riven’s shadows tighten under me as his hands weave deeper into my hair. In an act that reeks of unintentional swagger, he tips my head back slightly until I’m staring up into his glittering amber eyes. The crowd fades to a whisper, and I don’t even feel the cool waves crashing against my toes anymore. The world has narrowed to him.

His Adam’s apple bobs, eyes flicking imperceptibly between mine before dipping down to my lips for a brief second. He is hesitating. Maybe because he doesn’t want to meet my challenge, but an errant part of my mind can’t help but wonder if he’s hesitating because he actually does.

I feel the grip of his shadows shift again, pulling me closer. I lift my chin and press just a little more of myself into his hold.

What am I doing?

My logic is long gone, but with the sun-flecks in his eyes blinking out as his carefree jouv de vivre disappears, I can’t be bothered to care.

For the first time all challenge, he stops inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling routinely through his slightly parted full lips. Instead, his breath shudders for a moment, vibrating my chest, and his heart monitor flickers.

A small but undeniable spike sparks on the screen and sends his wristband alight.

I should feel satisfied. I have proven I affect him too.

But for some reason, this shudders me to my core. What could it mean? And why is a small part of me thrilled?

He tilts his head, eyes flicking to mine for another brief second—I can feel the ghost of his breath, warm and salty-sweet, against my mouth.

What is happening?

What is he about to do?

And more dangerously, why do I want to let him do whatever it is?

My mind scrambles for something solid to hold on to. Is this part of the game? Another performance for the crowd? Riven’s usual devil-may-care inability to back down from a challenge?

Or is it…something else entirely?

Something that doesn’t feel rehearsed.

Something that feels like it’s only happening because it’s us.

Before anything can tip over the edge, a siren horn blasts across the water. The sound is sharp and violent, slicing straight through the moment. I blink, air tearing back into my lungs in a gasp, like I’ve been yanked out of a dream I wasn’t ready to wake from.

Another couple has fallen into the water, ending the first phase of the challenge.

Our stump dissolves beneath us, the magic giving way all at once. For half a heartbeat, there’s nothing—no ground, no rules, no gravity—just the cold rush of reality crashing back in.

Riven’s hands replace his shadows instantly. Solid. Real. He drops into the water and lifts me without hesitation, carrying me around his waist through the surf like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He doesn’t look away.

Not even once.

The crowd claps. Someone cheers. The Moirai begin explaining the next round, their voices distant and ceremonial, like they’re speaking through water.

Riven sets me down on the sand, my toes sinking into it like I need the reminder that I’m still in my body. A helper of Fate hands him a towel. He wipes the salt from his face and neck, breathing a little harder than before.

I’m still trying to remember how to breathe at all.

What just happened?

And worse…why does it feel like something just changed, even though nothing technically did?

I place a hand to my chest, massaging the space above my heart. That traitorous organ that I think is determined to wreak havoc once more.