“I guess,” Sophie said—though she was pretty sure it would never be that clear and easy. Especially since Bronte’s “creepy” decision raised a lot of questions about the Black Swan as an organization—questions she’d definitely want answered herself.

And it would surely destroy whatever favor she’d recently gained.

But… if anyone was a pro at being unpopular, it was her.

And she’d still be able to focus on the dwarves and Tam and the Neverseen—even if they stripped away her Regent title. Biana, Dex, Wylie, and Stina could be in charge of anything that needed to be handled more officially, and she’d work with Linh and Marella and Fitz on everything else.

And speaking of Fitz…

She knew it was a gross, selfish thought to have after any of the things they’d been discussing. But…

If Bronte really was her biological father, she actually did have a good reason to expose him.

And if she exposed him, she’d be halfway to the solution to her matchmaking conundrum.

“There’s the hope I’ve been waiting for,” Keefe said, grinning as he fanned the air—though his smile looked… tired. “See? It’s not all doom and gloom.”

“It’s a mess,” Sophie insisted.

“It might be a mess,” he corrected. “Don’t forget fact one and fact two.”

Sophie nodded, not sure if it made her a terrible person to suddenly be hoping that Bronte was her father. Life would be drama and chaos for a while, but… then it would be settled. One hurdle down.

“How soon do you think you can get me in a room with Bronte?” Keefe asked.

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow and see what he says,” she decided. “I’m sure he’ll let me schedule something—it just might be a few days or weeks from now. And I don’t think I’ll be able to push him without it seeming weird.”

“Well… name the date and time, and I’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” Sophie told him, choking up a little.

He shrugged. “Eh, don’t go giving me too much credit, Foster. Thanks to you and Ro—and Bangs Boy—it’s not like I have a very busy or exciting schedule these days. It’s either this, or sit at home while Dad of the Year complains about how I should be studying or honing my empathy instead of drawing—which does at least give me an excuse to doodle some very unflattering cartoons of him and hide them around the Shores of Solace for him to find.”

He flashed a particularly smug smirk, but Sophie could see the sadness behind it.

And it had her pulling him back into a hug.

Keefe had so many huge family problems of his own, and yet here he was, spending all this time helping her deal with hers—after staying up late figuring all of this out.

“Thank you,” she repeated, wishing he didn’t feel so tense in her arms. “I mean it, Keefe. I don’t know if I’d be able to get through this without you.”

“Yes you could,” he argued, finally relaxing as he leaned into the hug to whisper, “You’re Lady Foster. The Dire Wolf of Team Fancypants. And I gotta say, you look awfully cute in a crown.”

Heat burned from the top of her head to the tips of her toes—and even though she knew he was teasing, she was sure her cheeks were blushing.

“And I know I keep saying this,” he added quietly, “but I want to make sure you don’t forget it. No matter what happens with Bronte, or whatever else we learn about your biological parents, or whether you stay unmatchable or not, it’s all going to be okay. I promise.”

And the funny thing was, in that moment, she actually believed him—or she did right up until someone cleared their throat very loudly.

She dropped her arms and scrambled back, bracing for a particularly humiliating conversation with Grady. But all the blood seemed to leave her body when she glanced toward her bedroom door.

Because it wasn’t Grady.

And it wasn’t Sandor or Bo—who she was definitely going to murder later for not warning her that she had another visitor.

And not just any visitor.

Fitz.

Her heart officially shut down on her.

And her brain was still struggling to process how he could look so handsome and so furious when his teal eyes met hers and his lips parted to ask something she couldn’t hear over the roaring in her head.

It took one, two, three breaths before he repeated the question.

“You’re unmatchable?”

TWELVE

HIYA, FITZY,” KEEFE SAID, LOOKING and sounding infinitely calmer than Sophie was feeling as he gave Fitz a quick chin nod and stood up to greet him—though he also shot Ro a look that said, Your punishment for not warning us will be LEGENDARY. “Didn’t know you’d be stopping by.”

Fitz snorted. “Clearly.”

Keefe smirked. “Wow, someone’s grumpy. Did Biana kick your butt in bramble again? He haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaates to lose,” he stage-whispered to Sophie. “But I guess you probably already know that about your boyfriend.”

Sophie had a feeling he’d used the last word intentionally—and she chose to not correct him for the same reason, even though the label felt especially tenuous at the moment.

“Or is it because Biana’s making you call her ‘Lady Biana’ now?” Keefe asked. “Your girlfriend’s totally been doing the same thing, in case you were wondering. Isn’t that right, Lady Fos-Boss?”

Sophie scowled. But she knew what Keefe was doing—both with the girlfriend comment and the nickname. And even though both made her fidgety for completely different reasons, she had to give him credit for how casually he was changing the subject. He’d almost made her believe that nothing had happened.

Then again… nothing had happened.

It wasn’t like she couldn’t be friends with Keefe—or wasn’t allowed to let him help her through a hard time.

She didn’t understand why she felt so… “caught”—until Fitz went back to the question that her overwhelmed brain had managed to bury.

“Seriously, Sophie.” His accent sounded sharper than usual. “What did Keefe mean about you being unmatchable?”

“I…”

She knew she needed to add a lot more words to that sentence. But the only other sounds she seemed to be capable of making were much closer to dying animal noises.

“It’s one of those Things That Only Happen to Foster,” Keefe jumped in as Sophie tried to calculate the odds of successfully flinging a piece of furniture through one of her bedroom windows, levitating to freedom, and teleporting to a new life—maybe with Silveny, Greyfell, and their twin babies in a nice, peaceful meadow somewhere. “You know how it is. She always has to be all mysterious.”

“Actually, I don’t know,” Fitz snapped back. “But apparently you do?”

Keefe sighed, shaking his head a few times before he looked Fitz right in the eyes. “Trust me, dude. You don’t want to do this.”

“Pretty sure I do,” Fitz countered. “If you’re trying to—”

“How about I stop you right there?” Keefe interrupted, holding up his hands. “Because I know you don’t want to turn a situation that’s already been super stressful for someone you care about into something even harder for them. And we both know I’m not talking about me here.”