Page 45 of A Match Made in Error

“Seat taken?” I ask, pulling out the stool beside him.

He looks up, awkward posture straightening and brown eyes assessing me. His eyes look over my shoulder, cheeks flushed a deep red, likely because of the three breasts bouncing somewhere behind me.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “Those guys seem to be having…” He thinks about his next word carefully before uttering it. “Fun?”

I snort. “Yeah, I’m sure. Not my type of fun.” Not today, at least. For some reason. I put my hand out for him to shake. “Riven.”

“Noah.” He pumps my hand once before dropping it.

“How long have you been here?” I ask, swirling my drink and watching the ice cube spin round and round.

“However long it takes to drink two of these.” The little umbrella in his drink falls out when he raises his glass. “Though I wish I’d have spent as much time with Aoife as possible before I left.” Aoife, his match, is a light fae. One he is speaking of with adorably earnest awe.

“You two getting on well?” I think I can see all his teeth. That is one wide smile.

“I think she thinks I’m ridiculous.” We both laugh at that. “But I just like to make her laugh.” I can’t help but smile. Fate, I’ve gone soft. But it’s just so…sweet. He actually likes his match, unlike the other animals behind us, who only like certain jiggly parts of their matches. Except the orc. He can join us. I turn around to offer as much, to find him cheek-deep in the nymph’s ass. Okay. Never mind.

I’m not saying they don’t like their matches, but they’ve got a weird way of showing it. I’m not even actually with Poppy, and I’d never embarrass her by fawning over an exotic dancer at a fake bachelor party. Shiny silver rings glint down the nymph’s entire ear, catching in the light as she pulls the halfling male to a supply closet, unbuckling his belt in the process. Maybe his match is into open relationships? Who am I to judge?

“What about your match? Poppy, right?” Noah’s question pulls my mind back to him and his curly hair and wire-framed glasses. I open my mouth to speak, but I actually don’t know what to say. This is new territory. We’ve faked it for a crowd, but I’ve yet to have anyone, even the Moirai, ask me one-on-one about Poppy. In front of an audience, I can ham it up. Handsy and innuendos flying. But I don’t feel the need to put on like that for Noah.

“She’s the best.” Truth. “We’ve been friends for years, and there’s no one who’d make surviving this island more bearable.” Noah laughs, a knowing smile and nod on his face.

“You know, Aoife and I were thinking of getting away from all this tomorrow.” He gestures to the chaos that is flaming tequila shots behind us. “Lunch. Something lowkey and quiet. You and Poppy should join us.”

My immediate instinct is: no. Not because I don’t like Noah, but because the idea of faking it with Poppy in such an intimate setting instead of a grand stage seems somehow harder. But what would it look like if I said no? Plus, it’s not like he’s getting on with any of the other males here.

I exhale slowly, forcing a soft smile. “Yeah. Alright.” If nothing else, it’ll give me something new to complain about. Poppy and I love to beat a dead horse and communicate silently about things we find ridiculous. Perhaps this lunch will provide that.

“Excellent.” He bops his head forcefully and picks up his drink. Condensation flicks out when he clinks it with mine. “It’s a date.” His smile widens, and I kind of feel bad. While Poppy and I have been faking it and lost in our own world, other people are here to make genuine connections. And from the excitement wafting off Noah, it seems like some people are here to make friends almost as much as they are to find love. “This whole process has been absolutely mental. It’ll be nice to get to talk to another man about it. I’m sure Aoife is ready to talk Poppy’s ear off too. She’s not taken a shine to the other women.” The competition would make it hard to do so. Every day, the Moirai are forcing intimacy between the couples, which doesn’t leave much time for making friends.

I look out over the water, tuning out as Noah talks about his current studies in history, something about the migration of sprites from the north to the south two centuries ago and its impact on trade routes. Hells, even if I were fully listening, I wouldn’t be able to form a coherent thought about it.

The flickering bungalow lights in the distance remind me of the night Poppy and I had planned before we were dragged to this ridiculous charade. Separate bubble baths, snacks, and watching my alma mater play rugby on a hologram. Nice and peaceful. I wonder if she’s having fun or is as uninterested as I am. I wonder if the girls have strippers, too? My spine straightens, heat licking up my back as I think about a two-dicked shapeshifter grinding on Poppy. Horrifying. Disgusting. Unacceptable.

I don’t want to be here anymore, drinking cheap drinks and pretending to bond with men I don’t know, most of whom I don’t like. Speaking of, there’s Erik now, hiding his gaze from the dancers and making his way to Noah and me. Fate, get me out of here.

Another drink slides easily down my throat, and then I excuse myself to walk along the water for a while. This will be over soon. Then I can get back to Poppy.

Chapter Seventeen

POPPY

After the week I’ve had, the last thing I want to do is spend the night with a dozen love-obsessed women. I’m overstimulated, uncomfortable, and socially exhausted. And it’s only been a week and a few days. I have nearly three more of these. At least when I’m alone with Riven, we can shirk off the façade of faking it and relax, but with these women and the Moirai nearby spying, no doubt, I’ll have to be doe-eyed and obsessed. Can someone remind me why Rivan and I agreed to this plan? I was emotional and brain-dead because it’s definitely not the smartest way we could have gone about it. But we’re in it now. No going back.

I follow the directions on my agenda to a bamboo building in the middle of the island. The path to the door is washed in white stones and dotted with tropical plants. The palm trees in the courtyard bend with the push of the sea wind and shade my entrance to the wide glass door. From my place outside, I can see within. A lavish lounge space with plush seating, low light, and servers passing out drinks like their lives depend on it. Alcohol is definitely going to make this situation better.

The door opens without me touching it, letting the cacophony of women talking over one another and passive-aggressive compliments hit my ears. Some women, the wiser and kinder ones, cling to the edges of the room nursing their drinks, while others sit in the middle, ordering wait staff around and skewering one another with thinly veiled insults.

“You’re so brave wearing that,” Angora chitters to the nymph beside her, eyeing her dress like it’s made of literal garbage instead of elven-spun silk.

The nymph’s eyes glisten with the beginning of tears.

“Did I hear you say your nose was untouched by magic? Have you considered changing that?” another woman quips back at Angora with a smile as she gestures to her nose.

What a horrifying display. This is not bonding. This is blood sport with better lighting.

A drink appears in my hand, and I take it down in one go. I’ll need it to deal with this lot tonight. Leaf-shaped fans spin above me, cooling the skin of my cheeks and giving reprieve from the heat this island is consumed by.