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“You called him heartthrob, and he called you bonbon. You’ve already got pet names for each other,” Raz supplied.
Well, shit.
It meant nothing. They were under duress.
“It was a slip of the tongue,” she announced, her pitch climbing.
“And she’s doing the opera voice,” Penny whispered to Charlotte.
“I don’t do an opera voice,” she shrieked—in maybe, possibly, the worst impression of an opera voice ever attempted.
Landon took a step toward her. “Before you got here, the group asked Madelyn about my nanny match situation.”
Double shit.
“And?” she eked out.
“And,” Madelyn interjected as she flipped her signature scarlet scarf over her shoulder like a Greek heiress, “the situation has changed,” she purred in that rich Eastern European accent.
Here it comes.
“How so?” she asked, three octaves higher than normal speech. At this point, she was also communicating with dogs and possibly extra-terrestrial beings.
“I work exclusively withsinglemale caregivers. It’s my niche,” the woman explained with a sly twist to her lips.
She looked from Madelyn to Landon.
Her pop star set the empty bottle of beer on the table. “I’m not single anymore.”
No shit, Sherlock. She knew that much.
What she didn’t know was if everyone knew she was the gal who’d taken him off the market.
A spell of silence swallowed the room.
Just wait it out.
Say nothing.
Do not give yourself away.
A knot formed in her belly, and she shifted her stance.
Did they know? Did they not know?
The jarring anticipation had her on the cusp of going mad.
The pressure was too much.
She marched across the deck and set the half-dead housewarming gift on the patio table. “It’s me,” she announced. “I married Landon, and I hope you like the plant. Happy housewarming.”
Dammit, so much for waiting it out and keeping her cool.
“Yes, of course, it’s you, Harper,” Madelyn answered smoothly. The matchmaker removed her cell phone from her bag and tapped the screen.
“What are you looking at, Madelyn? Are you checking the weather?” she asked, still channeling an opera singer.
Madelyn held out her phone. “Not the weather, dear, a wedding. Your wedding. I’ve got photos from the Presley-Paige wedding, to be exact.”
