by TWCS Authors
The man nodded. “Eve.”
“Hello, Robert. You look well.”
Robert.
Emily’s eyes widened as she recognized him as the same man in the old, faded photograph on her mother’s nightstand.
He extended a hand hesitantly. “Hello, Emily.” His voice was a low, warm rumble that tickled at her memory.
She had a flash of strong arms carrying her down a dark hallway—a thought that startled her so much she reached out before she thought better of it to take his hand.
Before she had a chance to brace herself.
The intensity of the emotion that blasted her buckled her knees and Emily staggered, her fingers tightening reflexively around his as his thoughts and feelings bombarded her senses. She felt it all—love, confusion, apprehension, concern—but sharpest of all, fear.
Emily blinked, looking up at his shocked gaze.
Fear. He feared her.
She pulled back as if burned, fingers flexing as the echoes of his emotions bounced around her mind. Robert glanced at Eve, eyes tightening before dropping to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have come.” With trembling hands, he pulled a small, wrapped box from his pocket and thrust it toward Emily. “Happy birthday. I’m . . . sorry.”
And with that, he was gone.
That night, Emily heard her mother sobbing as she lay in her own bed, staring at the ceiling. She didn’t need to touch her to feel the agony of her loss because in the instant she touched her father’s hand, Emily knew—without a shadow of a doubt—that he was her mother’s soul mate. She felt the all-consuming love they had for each other. The emptiness of being apart.
Yet, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to squelch his overwhelming fear.
When Emily had been born, Eve had told him about all of it, the Valentine gift, their destiny, and he’d listened first with doubt, then shock, then finally, resignation.
He’d demanded a demonstration, of course, and Eve had given it to him. She’d thought it would solve all of their problems, but in the end, it had only made them worse. Because in addition to the ever-present fear, Eve had recognized something in him even more devastating.
Doubt.
He thought she’d manipulated him, somehow used her gifts to trick him into loving her. She’d tried to reassure him that it didn’t work that way and that even if it did, it was something she would never, ever do. But though they both tried to make it through, the fear and doubt lingered, driving an ever-growing wedge between them.
In the end, he left.
Her mother told Emily everything the morning after her eighteenth birthday, and then never spoke of it again. And from that day forward, Emily wore her father’s gift around her neck—a heart-shaped pendant engraved with her initial.
A constant reminder that love was not enough.
After that, Emily turned her back on her gift, refusing to touch anyone at all for a long time. Then, gradually, she learned to block it—shove it into the deepest recesses of her mind until it almost faded away, only rearing up a bit when she was careless and let her guard down. Her mother and grandmother went from protesting her actions, to worrying about them . . . to a kind of resigned acceptance, although their concerned glances did not escape her notice.
Her father died in a car accident when she was nineteen. She didn’t go to the funeral. Her mother did.
Emily went to college, then graduate school, studying human behavior, psychology, statistics—basically anything that helped her understand what it really took to find a successful relationship. She was convinced that a scientific method was the key—algorithms and formulas that could calculate compatibility and spit out one’s perfect life partner based on real things like science and not fantasies like soul mates and true love.
Emily had tried, at first, to integrate her approach into the family business. It had been a notion doomed to failure, however, given her own opinions, and she’d finally struck out on her own, creating Perfect Match, an online dating site that had proven remarkably successful. Within two years, she had expanded into an office overlooking Seattle’s Lake Union, and a year after that opened a satellite branch in San Francisco. While the business was still active online, it had been Emily’s personal touch and ultimate discretion that had pushed it to the next level, especially among the rich and elite.
Of course, with all that time invested in building her business, she really had no time for a personal life of her own. Not that she minded. Emily was convinced there was plenty of time for her to find her compatible match. She had a plan, after all—The Plan—and she was barely thirty years old. She’d start searching for Mr. Right when she turned thirty-three, then marriage at thirty-five, and the first child before she turned forty.
Plenty of time. And she had science on her side.
Yet, despite the fact that she had a successful business, a happy life, and The Plan, her strained relationship with her family niggled at her. She would have been lying to deny it. So, as she stood on her mother’s front porch on Sunday evening, she took a deep, steadying breath before pressing the doorbell. She could see her mother through the glass panel next to the door—as always, a bit like looking in a mirror. The Valentine women shared more than a name. Born with the same strawberry-blond hair and pale aqua-green eyes. Her mother’s was darker, thanks to her hairdresser, but her grandma opted to let nature take its course, her own hair more white than red or blond.
The doorknob rattled, and Emily tensed. There was a time when she would have just walked in. That time, however, had passed. Her mother’s reproachful look when she answered the door told her she missed it as well.
“Hi, honey,” she said as Emily leaned in to kiss her cheek. “It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too, Mom.” Emily shrugged out of her coat, hanging it on an empty hook in the entryway as she inhaled deeply, the rich scent of garlic and simmering wine wrapping around her. “Mmm . . . Chicken Marsala?” Emily’s stomach rumbled in anticipation.
Eve smiled. “Of course, it’s your favorite.”
She followed the scent into the kitchen, smiling at the familiar image of her grandmother hovering over the stove.
Ellen looked up as she entered, and welcomed her with a hug and a glass of wine, waving off Em’s offers to help. “Just sit down and relax,” she said, eyeing her granddaughter carefully. “You look tired.”
Emily raised an eyebrow. “Too much gray in my aura?”
“More like the dark circles under your eyes.” She dished up a plate of chicken and added a slice of crusty bread before setting it before Emily. “You work too much. You need to have more fun.”
“I have fun.”
Emily’s mother snorted.
“What?” Emily set down her wine glass, affronted. “I do. I have friends. I do fun . . . things.”
“Like what?” Ellen perched on a stool across the counter with her own plate. “You’re not seeing anyone.”
“You don’t know that.” Emily sliced through her chicken, jutting her chin out stubbornly.
“Well, if you are, he’s nobody special.”
“He’s nobody, period,” Eve added, sitting down next to Ellen.
“There is no he!” Emily set down her knife and poured herself more wine. It looked like she was going to need it.
“Exactly my point,” Eve said. “You need romance.”
“She needs sex,” Ellen muttered.
“Grandma!”
“Don’t ‘Grandma’ me. You know I’m right.”
And so it continued through dinner, and dessert—a tiramisu that was to-die-for and almost made up for the fact Emily had to switch from wine to coffee so she could drive home. Of course, she knew despite their disagreements, that her mother and grandmother loved her deeply, and that they were only worried about her. To them, love was the be-all and end-all, and they simply couldn’t understand why Emily didn’t feel the same way.
When she finall
y left the house later that evening, Eve and Ellen Valentine watched from the front windows until her taillights disappeared around the corner.
“We need to do something,” Eve said quietly.
“Yes. And soon. The girl is fading away before our eyes.”
“That might be a bit melodramatic, but she definitely has a hole in her heart.” Eve let the curtain fall over the window. “The saddest part is she doesn’t even realize it.”
Ellen shook her head as they walked back into the kitchen to finish off the wine. “You see who she needs, then?”
Eve sighed. “I see possibilities. The problem is how to open Emily up to them.”
“There’s only one way, you know.” Ellen set her wine down and went over to the kitchen desk to open her laptop. “We’ll have to be sneaky.”
Eve pulled over a chair to sit down next to her mother as she started up the computer. “She won’t be happy with us for interfering.”
Ellen shrugged. “Maybe not at first. She’ll come around.”
“I hope we’re doing the right thing.”
Ellen looked at her daughter, a soft smile on her face as she touched her cheek. “It’s the only thing.” She turned back to the computer, and the two women got to work.
“Are you sure about this? A cocktail party?” Jessica slipped out of her coat, patting her hair nervously as Emily led her through the hotel lobby to the lounge.
“Just a small one,” she assured her. “I’ve narrowed down the list of potential matches to about a dozen, but it’s important for you to make the final choice.”
“I don’t know,” Jessica hedged, toying with her earring. “I thought that was your job. That’s why I came to you.”
“I know and I won’t leave you stranded.” Emily held the door open, and the two walked through the bar toward a private room in the back. “I will give you my input as to who I see as your best options, but only you can decide if the attraction is there—the chemistry.”
“All right . . . if you’re sure.” Jessica still didn’t sound convinced.
“Trust me.”
They passed through another door into the private room, elegantly decorated with comfortable leather chairs, rich carpeting, and soft lighting from wall sconces and candles on the tables. The men were gathered in front of the gleaming bar, chatting quietly, the clink of ice on glass accenting their low murmurs.
Jessica faltered, and Emily reached for her, careful to place her comforting hand on her sleeve, and not bare skin.
“You’ll be fine,” she whispered before turning to the crowd.
“Good evening, gentlemen. Thank you for coming.” Emily launched into her usual spiel, introducing Jessica and encouraging them to mingle, but to mind their manners and not monopolize her time.
She paced a few steps to the left, then the right, meeting the gaze of each man as she spoke. “It’s imperative that Jessica has time to speak with everyone.”
The crowd parted, and she saw the shape of a man leaning against the far wall. Curious, she craned her neck, but he stood in the shadows and she couldn’t make out his features. She mentally ran through her list of prospective matches, ticking them off as she placed them in the group.
“Emily?”
Jessica’s voice should have drawn her attention, but at that exact moment, the man stepped into the light and everything else faded into darkness. Emily’s gift flared for a brief and powerful moment, and suddenly, like a lock sliding into place, she felt the connection.
With trembling hands, Emily pressed her fingers to her cheeks and closed her eyes, focusing her thoughts and blocking her gift once again. It faded back, angry at being ignored, and she drew a deep breath before opening her eyes to find Jessica watching her, brows creased in worry.
“Are you all right?” she asked in a hushed voice.
Emily nodded curtly, gathering her wits about her enough to force a smile. “Have a wonderful time everyone!” she called out, giving Jessica a gentle nudge toward the men as she withdrew to a dark corner table, grabbing a bottle of water on the way.
Heather burst through the door, curls wild around her face as she scanned the room. She crossed to Emily, skirting the circle of men surrounding Jessica.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, sliding into the booth. “My car wouldn’t start.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Emily noticed the man hovering around the edge of the circle, sipping his drink and observing the goings-on with an amused smile on his face. Now that she could see him clearly, she recognized him from his file.
Sam Cavanaugh.
Age: 32.
Professional cake designer who likes reading, camping, and rock climbing.
He’d been the last addition to the list of potential mates and seemed an odd match for Jessica on paper, but the algorithm had pegged him as high on the compatibility scale. Emily had run him through the system three times, and he kept making the cut, so in the end she’d had Heather invite him to the mixer.
“Seems to be going well,” Heather said, as Jessica’s laugh tinkled through the room. “Looks like everyone’s having a good time.”
“Mmhm.” Emily watched Cavanaugh carefully, observing him to see why he had pegged her match-o-meter like that. It was obvious he was Jessica’s ideal match, as far as her gift was concerned, but she didn’t like the fact that it had spurted out of her control like that. She’d thought she had a better handle on it. Perhaps she’d just been distracted, not as focused as she usually—
“Em? Are you even listening to me?” Heather waved a hand in front of her face. “What are you looking at?” She followed Emily’s gaze before she could tear it away from Sam Cavanaugh and eyed her curiously.
“Nice specimen.”
Emily blinked, taking a sudden interest in her water. “I’m sorry?”
“Sam Cavanaugh, isn’t it?” she asked, fighting a smile. “He’s an . . . attractive man.”
Emily shrugged. “I suppose. I was just wondering why he scored so high on the compatibility scale, actually. Looking through his file, it really doesn’t seem they have much in common.”
“Who cares?” Heather murmured, propping her chin on her fist. “Sometimes tall, dark, and hunky outweighs compatibility.”
Emily snorted. “Not in our line of work.”
She couldn’t help glancing at Cavanaugh again, though. Heather was right, she had to admit. Tall, with wavy black hair and broad shoulders, Cavanaugh exuded an air of confidence that was undeniably attractive. Instead of a suit, he wore a simple dark button-down shirt and black jeans. She noticed the beginnings of a tattoo on his left arm, just peeking out beneath his rolled-up sleeve. She knew from his file that he had blue eyes, but in the dim light of the room, they appeared dark, intent . . .
And focused on her.
Emily gasped and jumped to her feet. She couldn’t believe she’d been caught ogling one of her clients.
“Em?” Heather looked up at her with wide eyes.
“I’ve got to run to the ladies’ room,” she muttered. “Keep an eye on things and I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Are you okay?”
But Emily was out the door before the words were out of Heather’s mouth.
Six deep breaths, some distracted muttering, and a splash of cold water later, Emily regained some semblance of control. She flashed an irritated look in the mirror, tucked her hair behind her ears and turned to head back to the mixer, a friendly smile firmly in place.
Nodding at Jessica, she slipped into the group to pull her aside. “Have you met everyone?” she asked.
Jessica blinked, flushing a bit. “I’m not sure. I’ve been talking to a lot of people.”
“How about Sam?”
“Sam?” Jessica looked around blankly.
Emily pushed down a surge of irritation.
If she was to do her job right, she needed to make sure Jessica did her part. Any attraction—if that was what it was, and she wasn’t admitting that it was, becaus
e she was a professional, for God’s sake, and didn’t give in to such silly ideas. After all, attraction, lust . . . they were all just chemical reactions resulting from years of evolution and we’d really moved beyond that, and an intelligent person didn’t take those things into account when choosing a mate anymore, not if they wanted the relationship to last longer than—
Anyway.
Any attraction she may or may not feel for one of her clients was irrelevant and needed to be put aside for the greater good—in other words, finding the proper mate for Jessica.
“Sam Cavanaugh,” she said, trying not to grit her teeth as she led Jessica over to where he stood.
“Sam, I don’t believe we’ve met.” She turned her attention to the man, covering her nerves with a businesslike mask. “I’m Emily Valentine and this, as you probably know, is Jessica Samuels.”
His full lips curved in a smile as he extended his hand, not to Jessica, but to her.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, voice warm and smooth like old whiskey, but without the bite.
Emily faltered for only a moment before stepping back, all but shoving Jessica toward him. “You two should chat,” she said, pretending not to notice Sam politely ignoring her snub and turning to Jessica with a slight tilt of his head. Emily escaped to her table, sliding in beside Heather, who was flipping through Jessica’s file and making notes on each profile.
“I need a drink,” Emily muttered, taking a sip from her water as she reached for the file, fumbling a little with the pages.
“Rough night?” Heather asked, producing Sam’s profile and handing it to Emily with a smirk.
Emily glared in response, but took the sheets of paper and laid them on the table for closer examination. “I just don’t get it,” she said, running her finger over the spreadsheet columns. “They don’t seem to have anything in common, but the computer says he’s a perfect match.” She tapped the bottom of the page. “This is weird. There’s no analyst noted on this file.”
