After the text confirmation from Crystal, Cupid and I head back inside – the air feeling heavier than before.

Tomorrow we meet with the Fates...

When we get to his bedroom door we stop. Cupid lingers in the doorway. Crystal's text has shifted something between us – placed a barrier between our bodies, our minds, our souls. Though we're stood in close proximity the distance between us feels vast, cavernous.

Because they want to talk to us about the match...

What if me and Cupid were never meant to...?

I don't allow myself to finish that sentence. I swallow hard, looking up at Cupid.

"Are you worried about meeting Morta again tomorrow?" I ask.

Something – that looks very much like worry – flickers across his face. But he grins and waves a hand in dismissal.

"Nah. The Parcae are hella scary, and they don't usually get involved in our fights. But at least, for now, they seem to be on our side. Morta won't be happy that Valentine has found a way to bring back the dead. It'll be fine."

"But she said something about..."

"It'll be fine, lovebug. Don't worry," he interjects – stopping me from talking about what's really bothering me.

He's still smiling but it doesn't reach his eyes. It darkens my mood, pressing a heaviness against my chest. He's pretending it's all fine, but he's worried - I can tell. 

There's a heavy pause between us.

Cupid looks through his open doorway at his four-poster bed across the room. The mood between us suddenly feels a little awkward, and it's not just about the Fates.

How is this going to go down? Are we sharing a bed?

Cupid looks down at me – the bright landing light highlighting the bronze in his hair. He takes a deep breath, then grabs the corners of the red blanket that still hangs over my shoulders. He pulls me a little closer to him, then brushes an errant strand of my dark hair out of my face.

"Lovebug..." he says - his voice sounding a little choked.

He gives me a sheepish smile – and I see the barriers slide down over his ocean eyes, the barriers that had come up briefly earlier when he told me he didn't want to lose me. The barriers I hadn't seen when we were talking over dinner.

I feel a sadness swell inside.

He takes a hesitant breath. Hesitance looks odd on Cupid. He usually seems so sure of himself.

"As much as I'd love to come in there with you, I want to keep a lookout in case Valentine or any of his friends stop by..." he says.

There's something in his tone that makes me think that's not the whole truth. His words from earlier ring in my ears.

You know, I've always guarded my heart.

I know why he might want to guard his heart from me right now, because I feel the same. After a dream of a night, Crystal's text has brought us hurtling back into the nightmare of reality.

The Fates want to talk to us about the match.

What if I'm not....?

I cut my thoughts off again, bringing my focus back to Cupid.

"I know Crystal says Valentine won't try anything – but she doesn't know my brother like I do..." he adds, tailing off.

It sounds like an excuse. We both know it. But as he says it I release the breath I'd not been aware I was holding. Because I actually want to be alone right now. I need to think. I need to process everything that's happening.

What if Cupid isn't my...?

Stop it, Lila.

I give him a small nod.

Cupid puts his finger under my chin and raises my face up to his.

His ocean eyes bare into me with such ferocity that it makes me breathe in sharply. His face is uncharacteristically serious, sad even. He looks like he's memorizing the features of my face, and I find myself doing it to him too; my eyes tracing over his hard jawline, the slight dimple in his chin, the bruise on his lightly tanned cheek, the passionate storm contained within his irises.

What if Cupid is not my...?

Stop it, Lila.

My breathing feels heavy, and I notice his is too.

"Despite everything that's happened today – I've had a nice evening. Thank you, Lila," he says.

It sounds too formal, too forced.

I want everything to be how it was before. But something has changed. We both know it.

Because, in the morning, the Fates are going to tell us something about the match.

He looks at me deeply. Pauses. Appears to contemplate something.

He pulls me closer still.

Then, very slowly, he leans forward.

My pulse quickens as his heat envelopes me.

He brushes his lips against mine – lightly at first, but then parting my mouth with his tongue. My heart races. Electricity courses through my veins as he sucks my bottom lip, and I move my mouth against his. I feel like my whole body is melting at his touch. I push my body closer to him and I hear him moan quietly against my mouth.

His arms wrap possessively around my body, holding me tighter, as though he's afraid I'm going to fall away.

I don't want to lose you, Lila, his words come back to me.

And he kisses me harder still. And I kiss him too, my tongue moving against his, exploring his hot mouth. We kiss like we will never kiss again.

And it is delicious. And it is torture.

Because what if Cupid and me should never have...?

I stop the thought, instead, focusing on the way his body feels against mine, the way it feels when he nibbles my bottom lip. 

Suddenly he groans. He moves my body, pushes me against the wall. A moan escapes my lips as he lightly plants kisses down my neck. Then he brings his mouth back to mine again, claiming it. His kiss intensifies. And I am lost in it, lost in him.

And then – with reluctance – he pulls away.

Both of us are breathing fast.

We hold each other's gaze.

Then he gives me a sad smile.

"Night, lovebug."

He takes a step back – taking away the heat of his body - and his smile falters.

"I hope... I hope all this doesn't change... tomorrow."

I open my mouth to speak, my heart thudding hard against my chest.

He shakes his head to stop me.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," he says.

Slowly he turns and heads back down the corridor.

I watch him, my legs feeling shaky beneath me.

Then I sigh heavily. I turn into his bedroom. I shut the door quietly then go and sit down on his bed. His scent floods my nose as I touch the silky red sheets – summer, soap, and masculinity. But it does not warm me the way it usually does.

I feel cold.

And I'm left alone with the thought that crept into my mind when Valentine told me he found me in the Matchmaking Service system. The thought that grew stronger when Morta told us she had to talk to us about the match. The thought that plagued me since Crystal's text. The thought I've been trying so hard to push away.

And the thought that I could see, clear as the stars, in Cupid's eyes when he pulled away from me. The thought I could feel as his mouth moved urgently, desperately, against mine.

What if this isn't real?

What if I'm not Cupid's Match?