Mr. Match: The Boxed Set

by Delancey Stewart

  “And yet, you got me,” Hamish said, grinning.

  “I already knew you were my match. I didn’t need Mr. Match to tell me that.” I leaned my head against Hamish’s strong shoulder.

  “We’ve already done those,” Dane said, sounding impatient now. “When do we get our match?”

  I shrugged. “Anna still hasn’t had one and she signed up years ago now.”

  James and Dane exchanged a look. “That won’t do,” James said.

  “It won’t,” Dane agreed.

  “You know the woman who runs it, right?” Dane asked. Since Tallulah had become the public face of Mr. Match, the whole world connected the site to soccer, which was great for the Oceanside Stars publicity.

  “I know her a bit,” Hamish said.

  “Good. Talk to her. See if we can jump the queue,” Dane said, winking.

  Hamish sighed. “Lads, it doesn’t work like that. It’s math. It’s not about waiting your turn.” He glanced between them. “And just because one of you gets matched doesn’t mean the other will.”

  The twins didn’t look particularly worried about that truth. “We’re moving to San Diego,” Dane said, leaning in as if he was confessing a secret. “I’ve already got a job.”

  Dane was a video game programmer, and James was a graphic designer. “I’m sure there’s a lot more work in the states on games,” I said, the idea making sense to me.

  James held a finger up. “Don’t tell Mam. She’ll cry and I can’t stand that.”

  “What’s the plan then, just wait until you’re leaving for the airport to break it?” Hamish said.

  “We were going to tell her, but then Uncle Vlad …” James dropped his gaze, and a wave of sadness went through us all.

  Hamish put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I understand.” He sighed. “It’ll be good to have you close. But you’ve got to let Mam know soon. And don’t move just because you think Mr. Match will find you a girl like Sophie. There’s only the one.”

  Vlad chose that moment to screech, reminding me he hadn’t been fed since we’d first left the airport. And we all needed a good night’s sleep. “Good night boys,” I said, leaving Hamish with his family as I took Vlad to the back of the house. We had the funeral the next day.

  Chapter 161

  Fetch the Sheep

  Hamish

  The funeral was a sad affair, but it was touching to see half the country (small though it might be) come out to honor their fallen King.

  The Durns had long since stopped sacrificing sheep to be buried with their leaders, so there was significantly less bloodshed at this funeral than at the traditional Durnish royal funerals of yore. Instead of the sacrifice, we had a feast, and the new king was crowned at its conclusion.

  Gavin was a strong man, and he would make a good leader. Even keeled and intelligent, he accepted the crown with tears in his eyes and his wife and sons at his side.

  And though the coronation feast was formal and serious, it was still a Durnish celebration. There was plenty of ale, at least three people tripped over something during the dancing and fell down in spectacular fashion, and by the end—somewhere just after five in the morning—people were sprawled around the feast hall, snoring in their seats or talking in quiet voices with dazed faces.

  Sophie and little Vlad had headed to the hotel in time to get Vlad to bed, but I’d stayed on, spending precious time with my family while I could.

  As we sat at a big round table toward the end of the party, the music having quieted some as folks staggered toward home, James and Dane exchanged a look and then Dane said, “Mam, Da. We need to tell you something.”

  I glanced at Da, worried any news right now, at the tail end of burying his brother, might not be well received, but he looked calm and stoic, as Da always had. “What’s this, boys?”

  “You’re going to marry one another, aren’t ya?” Marigold asked, laughing at her own joke. “No one else will make either of you happy!” She slapped the table and guffawed, and Mam pushed a cup of coffee her way, shaking her head.

  Marigold and excessive ale didn’t mix well.

  “Not exactly, but you’re not that far off.” James looked around the table.

  Mam’s face took on a concerned expression, her eyebrows drawing together.

  “We have tickets on Hamish’s flight back to the States. We’re immigrating,” Dane said, his voice going soft on this last part.

  Charlie shook his head, exchanging a look with Penny. “But why?”

  James sighed and looked down at his hands on the tabletop. “Truth is, Durnland’s just not big enough for us. We want to work for a dynamic game company, and there’s a place in Oceanside with jobs for us both.”

  Dane nodded, looking a little bit sad. “And maybe while we’re there, we might be able to meet a girl.”

  “Two girls,” James corrected, giving his twin a comical wide-eyed look.

  “Right. Not just one,” Dane said, flushing red. “I meant each of us maybe could meet one. Girl.”

  “I think we got that part,” I told him.

  Mam’s eyes found mine and the sadness I saw there broke my heart a little. But her words surprised me. “As much as I want all my children here, making grand babies for me to spoil rotten, I know the opportunities here are small. And we raised you all to have big dreams.” She nodded her head in tiny little motions, as if this all made perfect sense.

  “We’ll be sad to see you go,” Da said, his voice weary. “Things are certainly going to be changed here at home.” He glanced to where his brother Gavin now sat, the Durnish crown atop his head. Prince Collin was still up, but Prince Brayden was asleep, his face pressed into the tabletop and his little body slumped forward in his chair.

  “It makes sense,” Penny said. “We still have a couple days to talk though, right? Before you go?”

  Dane’s eyebrows crept up. “Of course, yeah.”

  “Good. I’m exhausted. I’m going to go join the boys.” Penny rose and kissed Charlie’s cheek. Their children had left after dinner with my cousin Maisie, who was charged with watching them and getting them to bed at a decent hour. “I’ll see you all at breakfast.”

  The coronation might not have ended until after five A.M., but we were all expected to be at the first royal brunch, back here at ten. In fact, the servers were cleaning around the lingering partygoers, prepping the celebration hall for the next event already. The Durnish castle wasn’t big enough to have multiple feasting rooms. Just this one. And really, the original castle had been destroyed in the Icelandic turf wars back in the fifteen hundreds. It had been rebuilt a few times, but the Icelanders kept finding new ways to destroy it. It had become something of a joke, even when the days of pillaging and marauding had come to an end—once the Icelanders had managed to fill the entire throne room with crickets. The castle still chirped sometimes. And before that, the Durns had gotten their licks in too, once turning the entire Blue Lagoon a nasty shade of yellow by dumping in excessive amounts of Durnish urine, which they’d saved for months for that purpose. No Durn in his right mind will set foot in the lagoon to this day.

  The castle where we now sat was still impressive, but it was built to withstand Icelandic pranking, and had a more modern feel than many European stone fortresses.

  “We should all be headed to bed,” Mam said, standing. “We can talk more after brunch. Boys,” she said, looking at Dane and James as she had since they were children, expecting them to rise and do as she said. Maybe that was a little part of why they needed to leave. They’d always be the naughty little boys here. In America, they would just be two more men in kilts with funny accents and a penchant for sheep rolling. Maybe it was the right move.

  Chapter 162

  Durnish Invasion

  Sophie

  It was hard leaving home this time, and I boarded the plane with conflicting emotions. The country seemed stable—King Gavin would do a smash-up job, and I wasn’t worried about that. Though my heart was heav
y at the loss of King Vlad. Hamish’s father had worn a haunted look all weekend, and I couldn’t blame him. Vlad was his brother, his king. That had to be a hard dual loss for him to swallow.

  But it was also hard to leave because Mam had stood at the airport, nearly speechless, watching three of her sons and her grandson all preparing to fly six thousand miles from her. I could nearly see her heart breaking, and when she gripped my arm with the strength of a thousand Durnish shepherds and turned me to face her, my own heart broke a little too.

  “Take care of me boys, Sophie,” she’d said, tears brimming in her light eyes, threatening to spill. “And of yourself.”

  She’d rubbed a finger over Vlad’s pudgy cheek then, and kissed his head and my cheek before turning and going back to the car without an answer.

  “Aw, Mam,” Hamish had whispered under his breath. We’d nearly missed our plane because he’d insisted on chasing her down and giving her a proper goodbye, but I could see that his own heart was lighter as we settled into our seats.

  I leaned forward, glancing across the aisle and behind us to where James and Dane sat, each of them glowing with expectant smiles and wearing matching noise-cancelling headphones.

  Vlad, for his part, didn’t seem to mind another long flight. It certainly didn’t inhibit his bowel movements, and I found myself up and down at least five times, struggling to find space to change his diaper in the tiny airplane bathroom. The last time I did it, cursing nearly the entire time, it occurred to me that Hamish might have failed at the task so spectacularly the first time just to make sure he wouldn’t have to do it again. I washed my hands, balancing the baby between my stomach and the counter, and then used a wet paper towel to clean his legs. We really needed to look into a different diaper brand, or maybe I needed to make a change in my diet. I didn’t think I’d survive another blowout.

  Vlad grinned up at me through his gums and said, “Ah, laaa, ma.”

  “Did you just say ma, you wee little prince?” I couldn’t help it. I knew he hadn’t said any such thing, but I was so eager to hear it I nearly forgave him the latest craptastrophe I’d just spent twenty minutes cleaning up. “Did you?”

  I bounced him back down the aisle and handed him to Hamish. “He just said my name.”

  Hamish watched me buckle my seatbelt, his brows knitting together. “Would have thought ‘Sophie’ was somewhat beyond the six-month vocabulary.”

  “He called me ma.”

  Hamish opened his mouth to point out that Vlad most likely was just making noises, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear it.

  “Did you do it on purpose?” I asked him.

  He frowned deeper. “What now?”

  “That first diaper change. Did you make that big mess so you wouldn’t have to do it again?”

  One side of his mouth pulled up, but when he saw the anger sizzling in my expression, it dropped. “Of course not. I wouldn’t sacrifice myself on purpose.”

  “Hmph.”

  We didn’t speak for a while, Vlad resting against Hamish’s shoulder, where he finally fell asleep, his pudgy fist pressed up to his sweet little cheek.

  “Are you all right, lass?” Hamish whispered, leaning into my ear.

  I sighed and looked up at him. He was right to ask. I didn’t normally find myself angry so easily, but it felt like my emotions were boiling right near the surface since we’d left Durnland. “I’m all right.” I thought of Mam’s sad face. “I guess I’m just realizing how hard this is. Being a mother.” I thought about Hamish’s father, his haunted eyes at the funeral. “Being a wife … having family.”

  “You missing your dad?” Hamish asked, missing my point. Dad had been at the funeral, but we were slowly building a new kind of relationship, one that hadn’t gelled just yet. I was much closer with Hamish’s family.

  “Nah,” I told him, looking up to meet his soulful eyes. “It’s you guys. You and little Vlad.”

  “We’re right here beside you.”

  “For now.”

  Hamish frowned, glanced at Vlad, sound asleep on his shoulder. “We’re not going anywhere. You’d have a tough time getting rid of us now.”

  I felt my heart lighten slightly. “I know. I’m glad. It’s just …” how did I explain that being a wife and a mother had added a layer of sensitivity to my life I hadn’t know was possible? That the deep love I felt carried a mirrored potential for pain? “Sometimes I’m just scared. You and I aren’t young anymore, and one day Vlad will grow up and leave us …”

  “Lass,” Hamish’s deep voice was steady and reassuring. “We’re not going anywhere. I can’t tell you what will happen tomorrow. And life is funny sometimes, and sad. That’s why it’s our job to love each other fiercely every minute we can, and why we need to find ways to laugh. Even when things are sad.”

  Just as he spoke this, a loud hoot came from where James and Dane sat together, watching something on a laptop. It was as if they were making his point.

  I knew he was right. But loving meant opening yourself up to loss, and that was scary. “I know.”

  “If you want to make sure you’ve got family around you all the time,” Hamish said, his voice low and suggestive. “Maybe it’s time we start working on a little brother or sister for Vlad here.”

  I felt my eyebrows hit my hairline. “Vlad is only six months old!”

  “Perfect time to start again,” Hamish said, winking at me.

  And though it was sooner than I’d imagined we might try again, my heart jumped at the idea. “All right,” I whispered. “We’ll start when we get home.” I imagined a house filled with babies, with love, with laughter. And yes, sometimes, with pain …

  And there was nothing I wanted more in the world.

  SCORING WITH THE BOSS

  BONUS EPILOGUE

  Chapter 163

  Christening the Couch

  Max

  Tate and I agreed about almost everything, which made living together easy. What we didn’t agree about were usually unimportant thing like furniture or what to eat for lunch, and those types of disagreements were easily solved with sex. All in all, I was enjoying partnership.

  But when Hamish and Sophie arrived home from Durnland with two new Durnish princes in tow, telling me James and Dane had come to the states so Mr. Match could more effectively match them up, Tate and I had a real fight. Maybe our first.

  “I already explained why not,” I said for the third time, sinking into the grey leather couch she’d replaced my black one with after a non-argument last month. I rubbed a hand through my hair. “Mr. Match doesn’t make promises. He doesn’t do special deals. He definitely doesn’t go into the database and wrangle around for the right match for one of his buddies.”

  Tate was standing in front of me with her arms crossed, never a good sign. She raised an eyebrow. “I could just call Tallulah.”

  If Tate and I usually agreed on things, Tallulah and I were the opposite. I already felt like Mr. Match was largely out of my control at this point—the woman was all over town talking about a softer, gentler Mr. Match, and she’d been quoted as saying she thought she might change the site name to “Ms. Match” now that the truth was out.

  The truth.

  My ass.

  I forced a deep breath in and out. This had been my choice. And I had given Tallulah the freedom to take the brand in a new direction. “Just because they’re friends—”

  “We could at least go in and see if there are any close matches, right?” Tate suggested.

  “You know better than anyone—”

  “That love isn’t always algorithmic.”

  I hated it when she cut me off. And I hated it more when she reminded me that for all the years I’d spent proving that love was essentially an equation, my own love didn’t bear out the hypothesis.

  Tate dropped onto the couch next to me and slid an arm around my back, leaning her head onto my shoulder. “Call Tallulah.”

  “It’s not right. This isn’t how Mr. Match wo
rks.”

  Tate turned her head, let her hot breath dance along the skin just below my ear. “So stubborn.” She slid closer and then turned, throwing a leg across my lap and sliding to face me, forcing me to lean back into the leather as she put her hands on the couch behind me and leaned in. My hands naturally fell to her hips, and the heat of her center against me was distracting. I was about to lose this argument.

  “No,” I managed, just as she began grinding into me, her teeth finding my earlobe and tugging gently. I was going to stand firm. At least certain parts of me were. “You can’t change my mind with sex.”

  “Really?” She purred, one of her hands sinking into my hair and her mouth moving along my jawline until she found my mouth. “I think I can.” She kissed me then, low and deep and long, and I found that maybe I didn’t care as much as I thought I did.

  Tate pulled back to look at me, and then dropped her hands to my waist, her fingers making quick work of my jeans. She stepped back and slid off her pants, and then took up her position in my lap again. “Have we already christened this couch?” she asked.

  “Three or four times,” I said. “But we better do it once more for good measure.”

  “Good plan,” she said. “Once more for the Durns.”

  She sank onto me, and as her heat and flesh surrounded me, my mind stopped its churn, it’s fight. “To Durnland,” I whispered, caring only about the hot tight pleasure I was feeling, the love I felt for the woman in my arms.

  Once Tate had her way with me, she handed me the phone. “Let’s call Tallulah.”

  “You’re ruining my afterglow.”