And sure, I recognize I’m not the easiest sell. I’m not charming and sophisticated like Jules. I’m not adventurous and worldly like our little sister, Kate. I’m free-spirited in my ways and intractable in others. I’m a solitary daydreamer, often lost in my own world. I’m sensitive and easily startled. I have limits and boundaries that a lot of other people don’t.

But I am capable of loving and being loved. I can share passion when the atmosphere is right. It just takes time. And after what happened with Tod, it’s going to take someone special.

I’ll admit that in my worst moments, I’m afraid that special someone isn’t out there, and that looking too hard for them is going to confirm it. So, more often than not, I haven’t looked. I’ve stayed in this holding pattern, tired of having so little but afraid of reaching for more. Which I recognize isn’t particularly healthy.

But this is their solution? The people who supposedly love me best, understand me most, trick me into a date. And with someone who, just last week, reminded all of us how awkward and clumsy and terrible at socializing I can be.

The longer I think about it, the pissier I get.

“I can’t believe they even tried it,” I tell Jamie. “I mean, there are so many holes in this plan.”

“Not if they counted on us being consistent, which . . .” He glances over at me, adjusting his glasses. Crisp paper-white button-up. Midnight-blue sweater. And those damn tortoiseshell frames that bring out the amber in his eyes. He’s annoyingly attractive, and I don’t appreciate having to acknowledge that right now. “I know I’m consistent. And I’d imagine, in your . . . way . . . you are.”

I glare at him. “You have a talent for using very few words and still making them sound very not nice.”

He has the grace to blush. “I only meant that your sister knows you well.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Honestly, Beatrice. Not everything I say to you is meant as an insult. I’m trying to convey that Juliet knew how to angle this so you’d go along. Same way Jean-Claude knew how to angle it for me. He knew I’d follow the rules he’d laid before me.”

I see what he means now, even if I still don’t like it. “Jules knew I’d be a sucker for the anonymity, to protect myself.”

As soon as I say it, I want to yank those words out of the air and shove them back down my throat.

Jamie frowns at me. “Protect yourself from what?”

“Just ignore that.”

“I don’t think I will,” he says. “Tell me.”

We engage in a brief, intense stare-off. Jamie blinks first.

“Point for me!” I crow.

“Says who? No points awarded. I didn’t know we were competing.”