Page 104 of Failure to Match

“What? Why?” I thought the whole point of the meeting was to provide her with honest and unfiltered progression updates. How was I supposed to do that if Jackson was there, supervising the whole thing?

“I’ve stopped trying to make sense of Minerva’s whims,” he said. “But if you wanted my best guess, I’d say her decision was prompted by Imogen, seeing as how she called me right after her bi-weekly reading.”

I frowned up at him.

“Imogen is her tarot reader,” Jackson supplied.

“No, I know who she is.” That wasn’t why I was confused, but we didn’t have time to talk about why I was confused. “Fine, yes, let’s just go together. But we can’t be late, so I’ll see you downstairs in…”

“Eight minutes?”

“Eight minutes.”

I went straight for the door, threw it open, and yelped as my spine folded in half, my hand shooting out to prevent the incoming crash.

“Oh!”

The black ornate trolley rattled with the shock of my weight, and my face halted less than an inch from the steaming pot of coffee, but I managed to steady myself just in time.

“Are you all right, dear?” Molly—or maybe it was Mabel—placed a gentle hand on my shoulder while her sister helped me straighten.

“Yes, sorry.” I blinked down at the trolley I’d almost knocked over. Two cups, two sets of cutlery, two silver lids covering two breakfast plates…

Ah, crap.

My hands moved to my skirt, subtly checking to make sure it was on straight—something I should have done before opening the door.

“Good morning, Molly, Mabel.” I kept my voice as collected as I could, considering the circumstances. If I acted like I hadn’t been caught engaging in highly inappropriate and unprofessional behavior, maybe they’d believe it.

Thenhehappened. Jackson appeared behind me, choosing to stand close enough for his chest to brush my back. I saw it happen in real time—the pure, unfiltered glee that flashed across the twins’ faces.

“What’s all this?” Jackson asked, head bending over my shoulder to look. He was pressed right up to me now.

I didn’t know if he noticed how glassy and soft Molly’s eyes were getting as she watched us, but I sure did. The guilt was going to eat me alive when it sunk in.

Mabel was the one to respond. She seemed to be holding it together more effectively than her sister. “Just a bit of breakfast. Back in you go. We didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She used the trolley to herd us back into the bedroom, talking over my every attempt at getting out a protest.

“We were going to just leave it outside, but this is much better. We wouldn’t want the food to get cold now, would we? Sit, sit. Molly and I will be out of your hair in a moment.”

The distance between me and the door grew with every backward step I was forced to take. As much as I appreciated the gesture, I really, really didn’t have time for it. “Mabel, I’m so sorry, but I have to?—”

“Sit.”

I was not given a choice in the matter. She simply gripped my shoulder and pushed me onto the couch I’d been backed into.

“Mabel, we’ve got to get going,” Jackson tried. Unlike me, he was still standing. She couldn’t reach his shoulder without a step stool.

“Nonsense. It’s a Saturday, is it not?” She propped her fists against her plump hips and frowned up at him like a chiding mother. “Whatever you’ve got going can certainly wait until after you eat. Nowsit.” She snapped her fingers.

He sat.

“Good.” After a firm nod of approval, she turned and marched away, grabbing a starry-eyed Molly on her way out.

I stared blankly at the closed door, guilt and anxiety clawing at my chest. This was my fault. I’d created this mess.

“Hey.”

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