How I Met Your Brother (Power of the Matchmaker)

by Janette Rallison

  He cocked an eyebrow. “No, but it’s better than the alternative.”

  “Logically, I know that. I just can’t seem to make myself do it.”

  She expected him to laugh. Instead, he considered the problem. “Breathe in and out of the snorkel above the water to get used to how that feels. Then put your face in the water without swimming and just work on breathing.”

  She peered at the water doubtfully.

  “I’ll be right here to make sure you don’t drift off again.”

  She put the snorkel in her mouth and concentrated on each inhale, then lowered her face into the water. At first breathing felt heavy, wrong. She had to force air in and out, and worried she would hyperventilate. But Flynn was beside her, watching. If she stayed where the water was shallow, she’d be all right. She swam in a loose circle around him, practicing. Her fins were finally working, giving her kicks extra push.

  After her second circle, she lifted her head. “I think I’ve got it.”

  “Good.” He sank into the water. “Follow me to the coral. That’s where all the interesting fish are.”

  The two of them swam side by side, gliding through the lulling waves. Before long, they reached a place where coral grew along pitted rocks. The fish swimming there were a bright contrast to the silver fish in the shallows. Lemon yellow tangs, orange-and-white-striped clownfish, and fish she didn’t know the names for. Some were black-and-white-striped; others shimmered turquoise and purple.

  She knew fish like this existed. She’d seen a few of them in aquariums, but the sight still amazed her. They were here, lazily swimming around.

  Every once in a while, Flynn tapped her arm to get her attention. He showed her a tiny sea horse, an eel poking his head warily out of a hole, and a round prickly fish that seemed to waddle as it swam. All of it was amazing. After about an hour of exploring, she spotted a large, green shape not far off—a sea turtle nibbling at a reef.

  She gestured to show Flynn. He nodded, and they both swam that direction, watching the turtle for several minutes before it headed to deeper water beyond the reef.

  Belle and Flynn swam for another half an hour before heading back to shore. By then it was nearly time to go back to the boat, and Belle wanted to dry off for a bit. She was so busy talking to Flynn about the fish, snorkeling, and the possibility of going scuba diving—she wanted to try it while she was here, now that she’d managed to snorkel—that she forgot she disliked him. He was being so nice, she had a hard time remembering that he’d tricked her, was trying to buy her company as a way to control her.

  He kept smiling as she talked, as though he was happy about spending the morning with her.

  They ate lunch on the boat. For the entire ride back to the resort, Flynn was as attentive as if the two of them really were on a date. When they walked into the resort, they were still talking as a real couple might. Belle was looking at Flynn as he described an underwater statue museum off the shore of Cancun, made especially for divers.

  “Flynn!” a woman called.

  Belle’s gaze shot across the lobby. A middle-aged woman walked toward them, flanked by two younger blonde women.

  Flynn’s mother and sisters. They had to be. What was Belle supposed to say to them?

  Chapter 11

  Belle had imagined meeting Marco’s family, but never imagined she’d be with Flynn at the time. Did they know who she was? Had Marco told them that he’d seen Flynn kissing his new girlfriend?

  Mrs. Dawson used a cane, but didn’t look old enough, or ill enough, to need one. Her blonde hair curled around her face, which was nearly free of wrinkles except for some faint crow’s feet at her eyes.

  Flynn’s sisters were tall and attractive, with his blue eyes and the same defined cheekbones. All of their eyes were now staring at her, taking her in.

  Belle suddenly became acutely aware that her hair was a tangled mess from the saltwater, all of her makeup had long-since washed away, and bits of sand still clung to her.

  “There you are,” one of Flynn’s sister’s said in mild reproach. “I was beginning to wonder if we were going to see you at all today.”

  Flynn’s mother smiled at Belle. “And I was beginning to wonder when you planned to introduce us to your girlfriend.” She held out her hand to Belle. “I’m Lynette Dawson.”

  Belle took her hand, feeling awkward. She suddenly didn’t want to tell Mrs. Dawson her last name. What if Flynn’s family recognized it and remembered Belle had skipped out of Marco’s wedding? Flynn, after all, had remembered.

  “I’m Belle,” she said, glad she went by Isabelle in college. “Nice to meet you.”

  Mrs. Dawson kept hold of Belle’s hand, and then, as though it were the most natural thing, pulled her into an embrace. “Life is too short to wait for hugs,” she said. “I’ve decided to take them whenever I can.”

  She smelled of lavender, and her frame was thinner than it looked. Belle gently hugged her back and felt like a fraud.

  After a moment, Mrs. Dawson let her go and looked her over again. “You’ll have to tell us everything about yourself, dear, because Flynn has said absolutely nothing. We didn’t even know he had a girlfriend, let alone that he was bringing you.” She sent her son a look of reproof.

  He shrugged. “I wanted it to be a surprise.” Another shrug. “So…surprise!” His eyes went to Belle’s, and for the first time since they met, he seemed uncomfortable.

  If she hadn’t been so uncomfortable herself, she would have enjoyed the sight.

  Flynn gestured to his closest sister. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore jean shorts and a fitted T-shirt, but still managed to make it all look elegant. “This is Kennedy. She’s the one who has two boys,” he said this as though he’d described her before.

  “Nice to meet you.” Kennedy’s smile was genuine, and the sight of it made Belle feel like a fraud again.

  Flynn indicated his other sister. “This is Paige.” Her hair was darker blonde with pale highlights. It hung loosely around her shoulders, framing a face that had probably never been without makeup. She gave off an air of someone who was always put together. “She has two little girls.”

  “Two darling little girls,” Paige said with mock indignation. “You always forget to add that part.”

  “Two darling little girls,” he amended.

  Mrs. Dawson leaned on her cane. “Where are you from, Belle? And what do you do?”

  “I live in New York. I’m a fashion designer.” Those questions were easy enough to answer, but Belle knew Mrs. Dawson wouldn’t stop there. She’d ask where Belle and Flynn met, how long they’d been dating, and who knew what else. How was Belle going to respond to questions about a non-existent relationship?

  “A fashion designer,” Mrs. Dawson echoed. “Sounds glamorous.”

  “Sometimes it is, but it’s also a lot of work.” She pushed a tangled strand of hair behind her ear. “Designs never seem to work out the way you first sketch them, and then you end up making revisions, cutting off hems, or wrestling with mounds of material at midnight.” She was nervously babbling, probably not making a good impression.

  Mrs. Dawson shifted her cane from one hand to the other, but made no move to continue her journey across the lobby. “So how did you and Flynn meet?”

  And there it was, the first question Belle couldn’t answer. She glanced at Flynn.

  “We met in New York a few months ago,” he said, as casually as if it were the truth. “Bainbridge was exploring the idea of buying a fashion house, and the one where Belle works is for sale. I asked her out to talk business, and, well, let’s just say it was a memorable dinner.”

  Belle felt herself blush. She couldn’t help but think he meant dinner last night, not a pretend one from months ago.

  “A fashion house?” Paige asked, tilting her head in question. “That’s not your usual type of acquisition.”

  A smile brushed across Flynn’s lips. “I told you it was a memorable dinner. I’ve act
ually got an offer in on her company right now.”

  “You’re going to be her boss?” Kennedy’s gaze shifted to Belle. “That will be interesting.”

  Interesting was one way to describe it.

  “The deal probably won’t go through,” Belle said. Her tone might have been too insistent, because Flynn took her hand and held it tightly as though reassuring her.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It won’t change anything between us.”

  No, it wouldn’t, because nothing was between them, unless she counted the unspoken threat of what Flynn might do if she didn’t cooperate. He could still fire her if she didn’t stay away from Marco this week.

  Kennedy gave Belle a knowing look. “If Flynn becomes your boss, at least he’ll always give you time off to spend with your boyfriend.”

  Doubtful. Especially if that boyfriend was Marco.

  Flynn slid his arm around her shoulder. “We’ve got an agreement worked out. Don’t we, hon?”

  Yeah, they did. On Saturday, he’d tell Marco the truth, which meant that Flynn shouldn’t be putting his arm around her now. He was just amusing himself at her expense, which—she suddenly realized—was what he’d been doing all afternoon. Him and his beguiling smile and his seductive lotion massage. He probably thought it was funny to turn women into smoldering piles of hormones.

  “I’m glad you came to Cancun,” Mrs. Dawson said cheerfully. “Flynn has never brought anyone on a family vacation before.”

  Belle turned to him as though surprised by the news. “You haven’t? But then I guess some of them . . . like that one . . .” She lowered her voice to a confidential murmur. “You said she didn’t go to prison though, right?” Belle turned back to Mrs. Dawson before Flynn could glare at her. “Fortunately, his taste in women has improved lately.”

  Flynn ran his hand along her back in what was supposed to look like an affectionate gesture. It felt stiff. “Unfortunately, I don’t own Belle’s company quite yet, and her boss only agreed to let her come if she finished some projects this week, so we won’t see a lot of her.”

  Flynn’s hand stopped on her shoulder. “We came back now so she could hole up in her room and work for a while.”

  Mrs. Dawson made a disapproving tsk. “That’s horrible. I can see why Flynn wants to buy your company. He’ll do away with such nonsense.”

  Belle didn’t want to hole up in her room, but she didn’t want to stay here and chat with Flynn’s family about their supposed relationship, either.

  “Deadlines,” she said. “What can I do?”

  “Well,” Mrs. Dawson said, “at least we’ll see you at mealtimes. Even people with deadlines have to eat. We’ll be out at the grill at six tonight—you know, the one by the big pool. We’re going casual tonight because it’s been a beach day. Tomorrow morning we’re meeting at eight at Marco’s suite for breakfast. He’s making pancakes.”

  “I love pancakes,” Belle said. She tried not to sound too eager. “What’s his room number?”

  “Seven something,” Mrs. Dawson mumbled. “Flynn knows it. They switched rooms.”

  Which would explain how Flynn had managed to answer her call to Marco. So underhanded.

  Flynn rubbed Belle’s shoulder to get her attention. “Shoot. You have that conference call at eight tomorrow. Don’t worry, though. I’ll bring some pancakes to you.”

  Belle wouldn’t be deterred that easily. “Actually, the call is at seven. I’ll be done by eight.”

  Flynn shook his head. “You’re forgetting the time zone change. It’s eight.”

  “Lunch tomorrow is on your own,” Mrs. Dawson went on, “and then we’ll be going to Tia Papita’s for dinner at six. It’s dressy casual.”

  Flynn still had his hand draped around her shoulder. “Restaurants take so much time. I’m not sure Belle will be able to make it.” He was determined not to let her even see Marco, let alone talk with him. She couldn’t help but resent it.

  “I’m sure by dinner, I’ll need a break.”

  “We’ll play it by ear,” Flynn said, and then before his mother could reveal any more of the reunion schedule, asked, “So Mom, where are you all headed off to now?”

  “We’re touring a silver factory in town,” she said. “According to the concierge, you can see the artisans in action.”

  Flynn nodded. “In other words, you’re going jewelry shopping.”

  Paige grinned. “We might find something we like. It’s a possibility.”

  “You should come with us.” Mrs. Dawson held out a hand to her son. “That way you won’t be tempted to bother Belle.”

  “Yes, Flynn, go,” Belle said. “I’ve got work to do before tomorrow’s call.” Like wander around the resort and look for Marco, which she could do if Flynn left with his mother and sisters.

  Flynn hesitated. Maybe he read her intentions in her expression.

  Mrs. Dawson hooked her arm firmly around his. “I haven’t gotten to spend any time with you yet.”

  “We’ll let you drive,” Paige added. “You actually know how to read the street signs.” The three women moved toward the door, towing Flynn with them.

  He looked at Belle over his shoulder. “I’ll bring you something for dinner. I know you don’t have time to hang out with us by the pool.”

  She’d already agreed to Flynn’s terms—and they didn’t include not seeing Marco at all.

  Instead of arguing with him, she called, “While you’re at the jewelry store, have your sisters help you pick out something for me. Remember, you said you’d get me something nice for our anniversary.”

  He sent her an incredulous look. Served him right. “I’m a fan of topaz,” she added. “Although you can never go wrong with diamonds.”

  “Your anniversary?” Paige chimed. “How long have you two been dating?”

  Belle was about to say three months when Flynn said, “Six months.” And then the group was out the door.

  Six months. Good thinking on his part. That did sound like more of a milestone. And one Flynn probably hadn’t reached too many times. Few women would put up with him for that long.

  Chapter 12

  As soon as Flynn cleared the resort’s front door, he was peppered with comments and questions about Belle.

  “She’s pretty,” Paige said.

  Gorgeous, actually. And she resembled a mermaid when swimming, her blonde hair haloing around her.

  “She seems nice,” his mother said.

  Belle was nice. And smart and funny, and unfortunately carrying a torch for his brother.

  “How serious are the two of you?” Kennedy asked, walking on his other side.

  “Not that serious,” Flynn said. He didn’t want them feeling sorry for him when the “relationship” ended on Saturday.

  “You must be a little serious,” Paige said. She’d taken a place next to Kennedy, and the group was strolling across the parking lot like a small Rockettes line. “You wouldn’t have brought her to meet your family otherwise.”

  His mother patted his arm. “I’m sure she’s a lovely girl. We’re not trying to pressure you. A person needs to take time choosing a spouse.” She kept patting. “Of course, a person also needs to make up their mind and eventually commit to a relationship.”

  “Mom…” he said.

  “No pressure,” she emphasized. “I’m not the type of mother who pressures her children.”

  “Mmm hmm,” he said.

  Another pat. “Sometimes I just worry that you’ll work away your entire life, and only realize when it’s too late that you have nothing but money.”

  They reached Flynn’s rental car. He opened the passenger door for her. “You don’t have to worry.”

  “Of course not.” She maneuvered into the seat, her movements jerky, betraying her chronic pain. Once her cane was settled beside her, she added, “You’ve found a nice girl, and you brought her to meet your family. I couldn’t be happier.”

  She did look happy, which made a jab of guilt go through F
lynn. She was going to be disappointed when Belle didn’t transform into his fiancée later. He walked around the front of the car and got in the driver’s seat, hoping the subject was over.

  It wasn’t. During the drive, his mother and sisters continued their questions. Good thing he’d learned so much about Belle last night. He was able to answer without inventing much. She enjoyed museums, history, and traveling. She loved decorating her apartment and was constantly repainting it, throwing up new curtains, and making throw pillows. In fact, she kept threatening to redecorate his place as well.

  His answers about her family were vaguer. Or maybe only seemed that way to him because he purposely left out so much. He could tell from the things she’d said that she worried about her brother. She also hesitated when talking about her mother—as though she didn’t want to speak ill of her and had to rearrange her words in order not to. He admired that about her, now that he thought of it. Belle wasn’t the sort who made excuses for herself because of her background. She set goals and went after them.

  When they got to the jewelry store—calling it a factory was a bit of stretch, unless a couple of workers sizing rings behind a window constituted a factory—his sisters were eager to help him pick out a gift.

  “Are we looking for a ring?” Paige asked eagerly. “A diamond, perhaps?”

  “Belle and I aren’t that serious,” he reminded her.

  She rolled her eyes. “I saw the way you looked at her. You’re positively smitten.”

  “I…” He stopped himself before arguing the statement. They’d think it odd for him to disagree even though he hadn’t looked smitten. He was sure of that. Attentive, yes. Interested, perhaps. Attracted, definitely. Not smitten. That word implied a lot—like an inability to stop thinking about her. And okay, maybe he’d thought about her nonstop since the moment they met. But that was because he was watching out for Marco, not because he was smitten.

  Kennedy looped her arm through his as they looked at the cases. “It wouldn’t kill you to look at the engagement rings. Remember, your new goal is to not die alone with your piles of money.”