The Matchmaker Read online

  "Did I do something really stupid?" Brock countered, avoiding what I knew had to be the real question behind Darien's query. Darien had to know about Rhi- the only reason Brock didn't know about me was a specific request that I stay incognito. I did not want to be dragged into the circle of friends that Rhi began to run with.

  "You got totally wasted," Darien informed him, not pressing him about Rhi with surprising compassion. Or perhaps he just didn't want any sort of secret peripherally involving him to be aired where someone could hear it. "But you didn't do anything too humiliating. This time."

  Brock's face fell with mirth so calculated that I knew he hadn't actually forgotten last night, what had happened or why he was so depressed. My fists clenched around the bag. This was my fault- at east in part, I wasn't selfish enough to take all the blame- and I had no way to set it right.

  "Really?" Brock mock moaned, his face looking as lost- puppy doggish as Allan's ever had, "But making you pull me off table is so much fun!" I perked up, scenting a story.

  "Hey," Some of Darien's customary coldness was returning with the assurance of his friend's well being, "That was an experience I never want to repeat. You may not remember it, but I do. Too well. Not take the damned Advil so we can leave!"

  Only then did Brock notice the medicine I had set out for him last night. He did an almost comical double take.

  "Woah!" he exclaimed, amazement saturating his quiet voice, "Where'd that come from?"

  "Emma," Darien replied, "She got it for you." Since when did he call me by my first name? Since when did that make me feel good?

  Brock blinked in confusion. I could see the wheels in his brain turning, albeit slowly.

  "But why is she here anyway?" he asked innocently, voicing the one question- well, one of the questions- I really didn't want to answer. This one, though, I had been expecting since Darien had seen me pacing the sleeping party last night. I really dislike people who aren't so certain of their intelligence that they can see what's right in front of them.

  Darien opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again and turned portentously slowly to face me, eyes glinting coldly in the morning sun streaming in the picture windows.

  "I don't know," he said slowly, dangerously. Oooh, the cold king voice. Terrifying. "why doesn't Emma tell us?"

  I giggled weakly. I had really hoped he wouldn't go about this by a direct confrontation. I was an expert of half-truths and lies mentioned so casually that no one even suspected them, not people staring straight at me with too intelligent eyes and I only had one chance. Not to mention this was morning- and have I mentioned I don't do mornings?

  "Wouldn't you like to know?" I retorted, chastising myself the second after that escaped my mouth. That didn't announce to anyone with half a brain that I was hiding something. And I could see in Darien's face that at this moment, he was using more than half his brain.

  "Yes, I would," he replied in the low, even voice that was even more intimidating than his shouts or growls, "So please, Emma, enlighten us. Why were you here, if not for the party?'

  I bit my lip. I couldn't see any way to dig myself out of this hole. I suppose it was inevitable from the moment that Darien dropped his first note in the Matchmaker's locker that he figure it out Everyone else had me boxed into a set role and were sure there was nothing to be discovered, but Darien and I had been thrown together too much lately for him not to be curious. In fact, I was astonished he hadn't deduced it long before now- not that I hadn't been perfectly content in his ignorance.

  I took a deep breath. If I had to give this one up, I might as well do it straight out. Brock and Darien were still waiting, Brock's face screwed up in confusion and Darien's set in hostile curiosity.

  "I live here," I stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Didn't you know?"

  I grinned cheekily and turned to go wake Allan up. Behind me, I could have sworn I heard Darien's jaw hit the floor

  * * *

  Darien

  * * *

  She lives here?

  I had known that she and Lex seemed to hang out during some evenings, and he knew where she lived, but living in the same house! That was outside of the realms of possibility! The only way it would work, unless she was a maid or something, which couldn't be- she went to an expensive school, and she didn't act like any help I had ever known- was if she was somehow related to Lex. And the only way that would be true was if she was Lex's stepsister…

  My jaw dropped. The minute the thought even occurred to me, it was so damned obvious! The odd connection between them, the way Lex knew things about her no one else did- but not everything, how she managed to go to an expensive private school… How had I not seen it before? How could I have been so stupid?

  "I am such an idiot!" I exclaimed, hitting my head with my hand. Brock looked on, still lost. That made me feel at least a little bit better. At least someone else hadn't known.

  "You just figured that out?" Emma's mocking voice drifted back down the hall. I hadn't realized I had shouted so loudly- not that I was surprised I had. Damned girl and her secrets.

  "You didn't exactly help!" I yelled back, but she was out of earshot, or at least she didn't reply. That's right, she better run. No one makes Darien McGavern look like a complete idiot and gets away with it.

  Brock was staring at me, totally confused- as per usual. He had missed the point of that exchange completely.

  "Why are you an idiot?" he asked blankly. I rolled my eyes and collapsed onto a couch. I felt like such a moron, it wasn't even funny. This was not good for my self-esteem- not that it needed much help. Damn. Now even my thoughts were sounding like Emma.

  "Emma's Lex's stepsister, the one we've all been wondering about," I muttered between the hands covering my face. Brock's face cleared, then screwed up into bemusement once more as he found the flaw in that logic.

  "But I thought Lex's stepsister was hot," he pointed out. I gaped at him. Was his grasp of logic really this faulty, or was it just the hangover?

  "It's all been hearsay," I moaned, involuntarily replaying all the hints she had dropped, all the ways I should have known, "God, I'm an idiot!"

  "No you aren't," Brock replied absently, taking his medicine with a calmness I couldn't comprehend. The only way I could explain it was his not understanding what she had said. Did he not realize the magnitude of this revelation? The girl I had been mocking- for being poor no less- was anything but a nonentity! She- she actually mattered! For something other than her own merit! The humiliation when that got out- or if she informed my mother, somehow.

  "This changes everything." I groaned. And it did. I could obviously no longer tease her like I had been doing- one of my main sources of ammunition was gone, in the first place, and in the second- well, she obviously had some motivation for keeping this a secret- what was she planning? She was apparently just another one of those girls, only with a bit more sense.

  "No it doesn't." Great, she was back. Emma walked back in with Lex trailing sleepily behind her- a view I took in with one, contemptuous glance before turning back to my silent self-condemnation. She handed him a garbage bag and, with a gentle push, ordered him to go clean up in the other room. That done, she strode over to me, holding the dropped garbage bag and looking inordinately mad that no work had been done in her absence. Like I was capable of doing anything- even if I had been any more inclined to take her orders.

  I didn't look up at her. I couldn't. I didn't know how to think of her. I needed more time to recategorize her to one of the girls I had been so delighted she wasn't.

  "How could I have missed it?" I spat to myself, still stunned by the blatant failure of my skills at perception. She heard the quiet comment, thought, and couldn't help but smile in satisfaction- I could hear it in her voice.

  "Because I wanted you to," she answered matter-of-factly, "If I had wanted people to know, I would have told them. Or, if I wanted to be more subtle, let Allan drive me home."

  "So you
decided to keep it a secret just to humiliate me?" There, I had said it. The real thing that was rankling, beneath the anger of her not telling me. It was a violent blow to my pride, that I hadn't noticed something that should have been so damned obvious.

  "Don't be so narcissistic," she scolded me, rolling her eyes, "I don't care that much about your humiliation."

  I snorted in disbelief. And she was constantly making fun of me for some other reason, of course. That made perfect sense.

  A small grin grew on her face, as if she could read my thoughts.

  "At least not in this case," she amended with a shrug. At least she was being honest. Now. Except for the whole lying to everyone, to me, for the past few years! Besides the impressiveness of that feat, I was certain she had to have had a reason for it.

  "So then what happened?" I inquired with a contemptuous glare, "IT slipped your mind for 2 years? It didn't occur to you to alleviate our curiosity? It didn't-"

  She cut me off before the full force of my icy rant could fall on her. A good idea- for her, at least. A good yell would have made me feel better.

  "Nope," she replied coolly, obviously not totally comprehending her danger. I was not known for restraint when my temper broke its bounds- I tried to avoid physical violence, especially towards girls, but she was pushing me perilously close to the edge. Except a hard glint in her eyes told me she did know exactly what she was doing. Stupid girl. She continued, regardless, "I kept it from you quite on purpose."

  "May I inquire as to why you perceived the need to shroud your life in shadows?" I drawled with false civility. My face didn't shift from its uncaring smirk even when Emma gave me an odd look askance.

  "Has anyone ever told you," she asked in a complete non sequitur- trying to distract me, no doubt, "That you get rather poetic when you get mad?"

  I scowled at her. I knew of that tendency of mine- it came from learning that one of the few times my parents paid attention to me was when I used flowery language- but I did not appreciate her bringing it up.

  "Yes, actually they have," I retorted, "So why were you keeping your illusion?"

  We had lost Brock somewhere in the polysyllabic words. HE still didn't get why I was making such a deal, more the fool him. He was, as usual, looking between me and Emma in utter confusion. Emma glanced at him, than at Lex, than back at me, biting her lip. It was almost as if she was inspecting me for something. Finally, she nodded, making up her mind. Good for her. Like I care what she says.

  "Because I didn't want this to happen," she announced in a very nice non-answer.

  "What's 'this'?" I demanded curtly. I was not in the mood for the diplomacy conversations with Emma usually required.

  "You're thinking about me differently," she informed me as I spluttered in incoherent denial, the eyes fixed on me oddly regretful, "You think I'm like one of your groupies who has to want something from you or has less brain than a doorknob. I'm neither- I could never be either. I didn't want to be forced to live in a place with those people, so I didn't tell."

  "No I'm not-" my instinctive protest was cut off when I began to actually think about her argument (one of my greatest curses). She was, loathe as I was to admit it, correct- if you used her brand of logic. Before I knew this secret, my first reaction to Emma had been to beat her, or a reluctant appreciation of her intellect; when I learned it, I immediately assumed it was some sort of plot against me. But that wasn't Emma. I could tell that even with my brief knowledge of her. If she had wanted to bring me down- and I didn't think she would bother- I wouldn't know about it.

  "Okay, fine." I took a deep breath as my anger ebbed in the face of her hard logic. "But didn't-don't- you want the perks it can bring? The popularity?"

  She shuddered theatrically, much to my confusion and Brock's delight.

  "Not at all," she averred, emphasizing the point with a cut of her hand against the air, "I would hate to be constantly in the public eye like you are. I wasn't raised to this- I'm a lower class girl at heart, Darien. I don't need to be any more. I couldn't function in your world of money and power. I prefer to sit in the shadows and watch."

  I gaped at her. How could she so easily marginalize something so important I couldn't fathom. I could comprehend not wanting to be the center of attention- could empathize with it even, but she sounded as if she would give up all the money and the power that came with it in an instant.

  "And you do know," she continued in a conversational voice that, combined with the malevolent look in her eye, sounded as dangerous as anything I had ever heard, "That if either of you tell anyone, and I mean anyone, or write it down, or display it in any way, I will hunt you down and kill you. Slowly and painfully."

  Brock actually shrunk away from her. I couldn't blame him. When she was mad, she was scary, all 5 bristling feet of her. The cold dignity was even more intimidating- I didn't doubt she would do as she said.

  "So," I said into the silence the followed her proclamation, "Me and Brock-" I caught Emma's eye "Brock and I should be leaving now."

  As I reached the door, towing Brock behind me – I needed time to absorb all this information- Emma appeared in front of it with an evil grin.

  "Oh no," she told us, hands planted firmly on her hips, "You didn't leave when I agve you the chance. You doomed yourself. I'm putting you two to work."

  As she shoved the garbage bag into my hand and dragged me to what was apparently my territory, not even I dared to disagree.

  Chapter 16

  * * *

  Emma

  * * *

  For once in my life, I really wanted vacation to be over.

  It wasn't that I disliked Thanksgiving, in the normal way of things. I've never been one to give up free food, especially good free food. It's just that the normal way of things was not what we were celebrating, not now that Thanksgiving was with the Lexingtons.

  But now all the Lexingtons, from their 90 odd year old matriarch to the littlest of babies that littered the floor (my step-cousins' kids), inhabited the house. To a girl whose Thanksgivings before this had always consisted of me, my mom, my grandmother, and a single uncle and cousin, it was all a bit overwhelming. The sheer amount of humanity- I do not like crowds. And their obvious disapproval of Mom did not help.

  They tried; I will give them that. All of them were making an effort to get to know Mom and me better. But neither mom nor I appeared to our best advantage in this formally informal family setting, with its own inside jokes and traditions. I was my normal quiet and vaguely cold self, and Mom was acting more and more feather-brained as she got more and more nervous. Add to that a dozen people talking at once, a grandmother's cutting remarks at our expense, and 2 lost men trying to side with everyone at once, and dinner was… tense, to say the least.

  "Gather up everyone!" Jack boomed heartily, standing at the head of the table with Allan at his left hand. They looked uncannily alike: big and brown and jovial, "It's time for toasts!"

  The conversations ceased immediately, and everyone turned in their chairs to face him. Confused, I glanced at the cousin next to me- a girl about my own age who had been chattering at me for most of dinner- and finally began to pay attention to her.

  "What's happening?" I muttered as genially as I could as everyone refilled their wine glasses- excepting the infants, of course, who had already been put to bed. She turned to me, chocolate eyes shimmering with excitement.

  "Oh, right, you wouldn't know!" she chirped in reply, keeping her voice low. She was one of the nicer ones- instead of making a joke out of my ignorance, she hid it. "It's like, the ultimate tradition. We go around the table and drink to what we're thankful for." She might have gone on, but Jack stood at that moment. "Ooh, look! They're starting!"

  Luckily for me, I was seated a good ways away from Jack. I needed time to think. Not that I had to come up with something to say- BSing had always been one of my strongest skills- but I noticed that after their toast, the person took a significant gulp of their drink. And I woul
dn't do that.

  They had poured me wine as a matter of course- I suppose I should have been flattered- even though I would have preferred something else. I didn't think anyone had noticed I hadn't drunk anything- or at least, no one had thought it worth commenting on. But it would be obvious if I refused to drink to my toast- obvious and insulting to this hidebound family. But it didn't seem worth breaking 2 years of abstinence, either.

  "I'm thankful," the girl next to me announced with the ingenuous smile that ran in the Lexington family, "that we're all here again, this year with even more really cool faces that I hope are here to stay!!"

  She took a long swallow amidst broad smiles and sat down. My turn. Joy. Taking a deep breath- as my coach always told me, it calms the nerves- I stood, holding my still full glass lightly in one hand, trying not to appear nervous.

  "I'm thankful," I began with the customary start, looking out at the sea- or at least it might as well have been a sea, there were so many people- of politely interested faces. I gulped (public speaking is not my forte) and continued, "I'm thankful for the new family I've acquired and the old that's been there through everything." I raised my glass to my mom, "Here's to you, Mom."

  Mom beamed brighter than any of the candles in the chandelier as the coos rang through the room. I took a miniscule sip of the wine and sat down. No one said anything. I deflated in relief and success.

  "Well, drink to it!" Mrs. Lexington (Grandmother, as she insisted I call her) demanded authoritatively. All eyes turned to her, than continued on to me.

  "Grandma, she did," Allan muttered, trying to placate her. She would have none of it. Her strong features- the same ones as in her son and grandson- were set.

  "Not properly, she didn't," she contradicted, almost to regal to be querulous. But only almost. "She ought to do things right if she wants to be a part of this family."