A tiny, tiny part of her was.

But the larger part—the part that always had to be annoyingly practical—knew this was a way better solution than any promise she might force Keefe into making after who knew how many more hours of arguing.

And… it wasn’t like her secret would stay hidden forever.

“Do we have a deal?” Ro asked.

“You swear you’ll keep him away from the Neverseen?” Sophie clarified. “Like, you realize how impossible that’s going to be?”

“Yes, I’m familiar with your boy’s stubbornness—and his tendency to think he’s outsmarting everybody. But he’ll behave. Because he knows the consequences for breaking a bet—and I can always put him on a leash if I have to. I have the perfect harness. It chafes in some particularly unpleasant places. So what do you say?” She patted the chaise again.

Sophie closed her eyes, needing a few more seconds to remind herself that this was the best way to keep Keefe safe. Then slowly, painfully, she made her way over and sank onto the cushion. “I don’t know why you care so much about this.”

“I’m not totally sure either,” Ro admitted. “But a deal’s a deal, so spill it, girlie, and let’s hope it’s something juicy.”

“Hang on,” Keefe said, grabbing the chair from his desk and dragging it over. He plopped down right in front of Sophie, resting his elbows on his knees and propping his chin on his palms in the ultimate I’m listening pose. “Okay, let’s solve one of the Foster Mysteries.”

Sophie shot him a look that hopefully said I hate you so much right now. And she really hoped he was picking up on all of her vomit-churning as she closed her eyes and took a long breath.

“Anytime now,” Ro prompted.

Sophie’s hands balled into fists. “Fine. A little more than a week ago, I… went to see the matchmakers. And I tried to pick up my match packet. But… they wouldn’t let me. Apparently, I’m”—she needed another breath—“I’m… unmatchable.”

She squeezed her eyes tighter to make sure she wouldn’t have to see the looks on their faces.

“Hmm,” Ro said after several agonizing seconds. “That’s not what I was expecting. But it should still do the trick.”

“What trick?” Sophie asked, wishing Keefe would say something. His silence was seriously killing her.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Ro told her. “And you’re being awfully quiet over there, Hunkyhair. Nothing you want to say?”

Breathing became impossible.

It felt like three entire lifetimes passed before Keefe cleared his throat and asked, “So… you decided to register?”

“Really?” Ro demanded. “That’s what you’re going with? Of all the wasted opportunities!”

“What?” Keefe snapped back. “I just thought she still had mixed feelings about it!”

“I did,” Sophie agreed. “But…”

“Yeah…,” Keefe mumbled.

Neither of them bothered to say that she’d done it for Fitz.

Because it didn’t matter anymore.

“Whoa.” The strain in Keefe’s voice made Sophie finally open her eyes—and she found him clutching his chest, face twisted with pain. “Um, what’s with all the heartache, Foster?”

Sophie crossed her arms, wishing she could physically hold back her stupid, too-strong emotions. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it feels like you think…” His eyebrows crushed together as he tilted his head to study her. “You think Fitz is going to care about this?”

“Of course he’s going to care! I’m unmatchable!” Saying it again definitely did not make it easier.

“Yeah, but… only for right now,” Keefe told her. “Once you know who your biological parents are, you’ll be fine.”

The sentence had to tumble around her brain a few times before she could figure out why it felt weird.

She hadn’t told him why she was unmatchable. Just that she was.

“You knew?” she whispered.

He stared at his foot as he kicked at the floor. “Well… I saw your Inception Certificate. And matchmaking’s all about genetics, so… I sorta assumed. And I’m sure Fitz did too.”

Sophie blew out a breath.

Was she seriously the only one who’d been too clueless to realize what that had meant?

No.

She couldn’t be.

Because Fitz had said…

“He doesn’t know,” she assured Keefe, crossing her arms tighter. “Fitz gave me this big speech about how there’s no way he and I wouldn’t be on each other’s lists.”

Ro snorted. “Wow. Is that what you elves call romance? ‘Don’t worry, my love, a bunch of snooty intellectuals are totally going to put your name on a piece of paper and give us permission to date each other’? Ugh, no wonder you haven’t felt ready for any smooching.”

Sophie’s cheeks went nuclear again. But when Ro put it that way, it did sound pretty awful—though that was also a strange observation coming from someone stuck in an arranged marriage.

And she really didn’t know what to do with the whole “my love” thing.

Keefe, meanwhile, was kicking the floor with enough gusto that Sophie wondered if he was trying to tunnel his way out of there.

“I’m sure Fitz was just assuming you’d wait to register until after the Black Swan gave you that information,” he mumbled. “I mean, it’s not like they’re never going to tell you who your biological parents are.”

Sophie barked a laugh. “Wanna bet? That’s why I met with Forkle today—I was trying to get him to tell me. And do you know what he said? ‘Perhaps in a few hundred years.’ ”

Ro whistled. “Harsh.”

Sophie nodded. “I even told him what happened at the matchmakers’, to make sure he knew the stakes—but of course he did. And then he launched into a speech about how I should be focusing on protecting the dwarves and saving Tam instead of dating. He didn’t care that…”

Nope.

She was not going to cry in front of Keefe.

Especially not about Fitz.

Keefe let out a sigh that sounded like a balloon deflating and leaned closer. “This isn’t going to change anything.”

She looked away, blinking hard and choking down the giant knot of nerves trying to close off her throat. “Right. Because being a bad match is no big deal around here—and I’m not even that. I’m unmatchable! How much you wanna bet I’m the first person that’s ever happened to?”

“You do seem to be a trendsetter,” he admitted. “But, um… you realize there are more ways to find out who your biological parents are than just asking Forkle, right? I mean, you’re Sophie Freaking Foster. Where’s that stubborn streak we all know and fear a little? You’ve told the Councillors where they could shove their rules how many times? And don’t even get me started on all the almost dying. Are you seriously telling me it hasn’t occurred to you that you can solve this on your own?”

“It has,” Sophie admitted. “I just… don’t know where to start. Mr. Forkle hasn’t exactly given me much to go on.”