Page 42 of A Match Made in Error

Someone whistles. Poppy stiffens

I drop my voice just for her. “Don’t panic. I’m still pretending to know what I’m doing.”

She exhales a shaky laugh.

I lift one hand to her waist, not gripping or claiming, just enough to anchor us together so we look like a pair, not two people playing one.

The fire pops. The wind lifts. Then I dip my forehead briefly to hers before turning us slowly, like we were already dancing.

I pull her in, my lips hovering above hers. Poppy sucks in a sharp breath, and I can smell the vermouth and cherry bitters on her lips.

“We could share secrets. That’s intimate,” she suggests. No. Not good enough.

I tilt my head, studying her like a predator watches prey. “We’ve already kissed once. What’s one more?” I ask, my voice low and private. Only for her.

“It’s unnecessary, Riven. Not everyone is making out right now.”

My grin sharpens. “Now we’re making out? Okay, Poppy, but if you keep this up, you’re going to make me feel cheap.” I relish the pink blush that paints her cheeks and nose bridge. I drop my voice to a raspy whisper. “It’s just a strategy.” I see her lips purse with displeasure and remember her words from yesterday: I’m sick of feeling utterly unappealing to everyone. My next words are softer. “But I’m going to enjoy it.”

My next words are only for her. “Tell me if you don’t want this.” She doesn’t tell me no, but that’s not enough. “Are you sure?”

Her eyes, slightly glassy, pause on my face, taking it all in with a sigh. So strange. “Just kiss me before the tide comes in.”

With a flourish, I pull Poppy in. “This is why I like you. No dramatics.”

Slowly, intentionally, my hands slide up her thighs to her waist. A claiming stance. I feel the burning judgmental eyes of the Moirai on us. Her fingers fist in my shirt, like a lover embracing for impact. She is good. I can see a spark in her eye, the little fire that comes to life behind her hazel orbs when she is enjoying herself. She loves messing with the Moirai as much as I do.

And then she is on the move.

The world drops away as her head tilts and her lips brush mine, blurring out everything else. The fire flares behind us in response to some rogue magic, and for some reason, my shadows dance closer to it.

This kiss is different from yesterday’s. She’s leaning into me more, less hesitant. Practice makes perfect, I guess. And this kiss is near-perfect.

Her mouth is soft, and her lips taste just barely of the Manhattan she’d been nursing when she walked over to me. She isn’t pushing, nor is she timid, but the pressure against my lips is just right. The fabric of my open shirt smooths out, her fingers a ghost of a touch over my bare chest and gold chain, pausing on the intricate family crest charm I never stopped wearing, even when I quit speaking to my parents long ago.

I taste her sigh and melt into her touch, dipping her back, and forget I’m kissing my best friend whom I’m fake dating because we were accidentally matched together. Warmth, from the fire—or from within me, I’m not sure—coats my skin in a hot flush.

Before the kiss ends, I know I need to school my features. Of course I’m having a physical reaction to this kiss—like I told Poppy, I love kissing. But I can’t let her see it. She’s already freaking out enough about the Festival, and my reacting to this kiss will not help.

I pull back just enough to breathe. My eyes blink open slowly, as if I’m just waking up. “Purely practical. Zero feelings or untoward sensations in my nether regions. Not even a little.”

Her brows knit in confusion. “Obviously.” She pulls back but stays in my orbit like a lover would after a killer kiss. “What an odd thing to say. Of course I know you don’t have feelings.”

I overcorrected. I didn’t want her to see me being physically into the kiss, so I said some weird shit instead. Excellent job, Riven. “Good. Because if there were feelings, that kiss would have been…something.”

I turn, finding the eyes of half the contestants and all of the Moirai on us. I flash them a grin. “If you wanted a better show, the Moirai should’ve warned us. We’d have practiced more.” The crowd laughs, and I ease into the shield that public adoration can become. “That would have been no hardship. Right, Pop?”

She doesn’t respond, her eyes a far-off stare settled on something to her left. I track her line of vision, past the roaring fire and over the sand dunes, to the quickly approaching Angora. She is alone for maybe the first time since her matching ceremony. As always, she is a vision, her long hair glinting in the moonlight like that of an ethereal being. She looks pretty in her flowy pants and cropped shirt, like she always does, but again, I feel unaffected by it. It was only a matter of time. No woman has been able to keep my attention for more than a few months. Honestly, I don’t know if it’s in retrospect because of all the trouble it caused, but I can’t for the life of me understand how I let her talk me into the Festival in the first place. Sex couldn’t have been the motivator—even though that’s what I told Poppy—I could have gotten that anywhere if I really wanted to.

I shake my head, physically pushing away the introspection demanding my attention.

Angora has come to a stop in front of Poppy, a knowing look on her face that is nearly causing actual steam to ripple from Poppy’s fuming form. “That was quite the show of affection.”

I watch Poppy bite her lip, like she is physically keeping the words she wants to say trapped in her mouth. I should probably get her to bed before she does something she regrets.

“Goodnight, Angora.” My eyes are off her as I say this, turning to Poppy instead, making sure to grab her hand as I lead her over the unstable terrain to the path that will lead us back to our bungalow.

“I hate her,” Poppy bites out once we’re out of earshot. “That was quite the show of affection,” she mocks. “I should hex her. How do you think she’d feel about waking up as a goat tomorrow?” She pauses before a fallen tree, about to snap to clear it away.