Page 90 of Stupid Matchmaking Love

“Okay,” I whimper.

“No, not ‘okay.’ They’re the ones who are too much. They got your medicine for free and they still couldn’t keep you healthy? You’re lucky to have such a great aunt and uncle.”

Rhett’s eyes are filled with tenderness, warmth, and honesty. Just looking at him makes my heart ache.

“You’re something special, you know that? From the first moment I set eyes on you, I knew there was something different about you.”

Oh, wow. This is crushingly hard to swallow.

“Hear this.” He rubs my cheek with his thumb, the heat of his finger tracing a line across my skin. The urge to kiss him again overwhelms me. “Anyone who makes you feel less than is the problem. You don’t owe those people anything, and you shouldn’t . . .”

I nudge him with my elbow. “Shouldn’t what?”

He smiles faintly. “You shouldn’t lose because of them. You should win. We should win and then tell them no, you’re not giving them a dime. Wouldn’t that feel good?”

“I don’t know if I could do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . .”

But no good answer comes to me—nothing that’s real, anyway. Nothing that makes tons of sense. I can’t give them money because they’ll show up at my house? I’ll call the police. Because he’ll text me? I’ll block him again.

Rhett nods. “You deserve to be happy, without this weight around you, and you’re strong, Cristina, to have survived pneumonia so many times. You must know that.”

I slowly nod. “Yeah.”

“So don’t let them win.”

He gives me a small smile, and I find myself smiling back. The tightness in my chest loosens, and his words sink into my bones, strengthening my resolve.

Maybe I do deserve to be happy without my bio-father pestering me, and I want that dream. I want that reality so much. It’s so close I can almost taste it.

And part of me, just for a flicker of a moment, wants Rhett, too, but it seems like a lot to ask for, too much to hope, that a silly quilt can decide my fate—that fate is such a simple thing that it can be molded and shaped, decided by magic.

Or is it that the magic only reflects what already exists?

That my soulmate is sitting right beside me, but I wouldn’t realize it without the nudge of one magical quilt.

Rhett is still staring into my eyes. I’m staring back.

Which is when my brain tells me to ask, my voice barely above a whisper, “What do you think about my plan?”

He smiles and drops his hand.

No!!!!!

Then he sighs and settles back onto the bed, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and tugging me into him.

What is this? This is new touching—yes, he’s wrapped an arm around me before, but not like this. This is private, no-cameras-around touching, and it feels . . . good. I tell my brain to stop analyzing the moment and simply feel.

Flame looks up as if also surprised by this new Rhett-touching—this we’re pals kind of move.

“You’re asking if I want to make love to ruin our chances of winning?”

My stomach clenches when I reply. “Yes.”

Why does my stomach clench like this is the wrong response? It’s not wrong, it’s right. This move makes the most sense.