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The Perils of Paulie (A Matchmaker in Wonderland) by Katie MacAlister (3)

Paulina Rostakova’s Adventures

JULY 18

11:32 a.m.

Row 7, Seat B on the plane to New York City (still)

“Would you like to switch seats with me?” The woman in the seat next to me must have heard me swearing under my breath, not to mention periodically rising up to twist around and glare at the seats toward the back of the plane.

“Hmm?” I stopped shaking my phone in an attempt to get my idiotic father to understand that I was an adult and capable of taking care of myself, and looked at the woman. “Oh, sorry. Have I been bothering you? No, this seat is fine. It’s just that I want to throttle my father and can’t because he’s back in California.”

“Ah.” She smiled. “I understand how family can drive you nuts. I was just in Seattle visiting family who I haven’t seen in a long time, and now I know why I moved to the other side of the world. I’m Tessa, by the way.”

“Paulie,” I said, smiling in return. “I so wish I could move away from my family, but my father has issues.”

“Oh, don’t I know it? My stepdaughter is nineteen, but her father still treats her like she’s a child. We have to remind him now and again that she’s an adult.”

“It’s like she’s living my life,” I said with a sigh. “Although I’m a lot older than nineteen. Would you excuse me? I have to go yell at a man.”

She obligingly swung her legs to the side and allowed me to crawl out from my middle seat. Although I could have charged a first-class ticket to New York City, I was trying to make a point by not relying on my father’s money to undertake this adventure. Instead, I accepted the production company’s economy-class ticket, enjoying my father’s sputtered comments about the dangers of mingling with people. I fixed my eyes on a large shape in the very last row and marched down the narrow aisle, dodging and sidestepping people’s arms and legs and two flight attendants before finally stopping next to Boris.

“It’s no good hiding behind a magazine,” I told him, plucking the flight magazine from his fingers. Boris, wearing a pair of sunglasses and a hoodie, glared back at me. “I know that you’re here, and I know what you and Dad are planning. It’s not going to work. You can’t come along with me on the race. I will tell the production people as soon as I get to New York that you are a stalker and need to be kept away at all costs.”

His jaw tightened. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me!” I shoved the magazine back at him. “If I so much as glimpse you hanging around the fringes, I will report you as a dangerous stalker. I’d advise you to take the vacation you’re supposed to be on, and forget about my father’s paranoia.” I smiled tightly. “Have a nice time in New York!”

He swore under his breath when I turned and made my way back to my seat, but we both knew that he was fighting a lost cause.

“Problem?” Tessa asked when I climbed over her legs. “I shouldn’t be so nosy, but if there’s something I can do to help you—”

“It’s just my father’s idea of protection,” I said, waving away the subject. “He doesn’t like me traveling on my own. I, on the other hand, am very excited to be going to New York. I’ve only ever been there with family.”

“It’s not my favorite city, but it does have a lot to do and see. Unfortunately, we won’t have much time to do any sightseeing.”

“We?” I asked, settling in for a pleasant chat. I hadn’t flown much—and never on my own—but I didn’t at all find Tessa the stereotypical unpleasant seatmate. The man sitting on my other side had fallen asleep as soon as the plane took off and showed no signs of waking anytime soon.

“My husband and stepdaughter are meeting me there. We’re going to be part of a special event—a road rally that’s being filmed.”

I gawked at her, an unpleasant look to be sure, but I couldn’t help myself. “You’re . . . you’re in the race, too?”

“Too?” Surprise lit her eyes. “You’re in it?”

“I’m one of the suffragettes,” I said, delighted.

“So is my stepdaughter!” she answered, laughing. “What a small world!”

We compared our stories. “And your stepdaughter’s name is . . . ?”

“Melody. You’ll like her—she’s very smart, and very knowledgeable about the suffragette movement. She’s studying history at college.”

“I’m surprised she’s not part of your team.”

“Oh, Max—my husband—would have loved for her to be on our team, but she wanted desperately to be in the suffragette car. Instead we have a delightful woman who used to be our maid. Well, on the show she was our maid.”

“Show?”

“Max and I met on a reality show filmed by the same production company.”

“Very cool. I think I remember reading something about that.”

Tessa smiled again, and I warmed even more to her. Like me, she had an abundance of curves, but unlike my black-haired bob, she possessed long brown hair, which she wore in an intricate braid. I was envious of that hair. We chatted for the duration of the flight, with her telling me what it was like to be filmed for a month.

“They won’t watch you during intimate times, like bathroom and bedroom events, but everything else is fair game.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to act natural knowing people are filming me.”

“Oh, you forget about it fast enough. Tabby and Sam—the sound-and-camera team—are awesome that way. And they’re really nice. If there’s something super embarrassing, they will conveniently erase that part.”

“I don’t know what could be that embarrassing, so long as they don’t film me in the shower.”

“You have no idea,” she said with a rueful laugh, shaking her head. “With us, it was catching Max and me in compromising positions. It seemed like any time we went in for a lip-lock, or something more physical, the cameras were there. Sam was most obliging, though, and didn’t pass on that footage to Roger, the producer.”

“That won’t be a problem with me,” I reassured her. “I don’t have a romantic partner.”

“But you never know who you might fancy in the race,” she said with a little waggle of her eyebrows. “Have you seen the Italian team? Holy moly, they are straight from the cover of GQ. And there are a couple of gorgeous Brits, and the French team looks pretty nice if you like ’em Gallic.”

I made no comment, instead exclaiming when she pulled a black journal out of her bag to show me a picture of her husband. “Oh, do you write in a journal, too? I just started one.”

“Yup. I’ve done so ever since I was a girl. Max keeps telling me I should publish them, but there’s a lot of intimate stuff in there.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You write about your . . . uh . . .”

“Sure, why not?” She gave a little half shrug. “Sex is just as much a part of life as everything else. Besides, Max likes to reread those sections.”

I was quiet for a bit while she told me about her life in England, the house, her husband, and how she hated wearing a corset even though it did wonders for her figure. I decided that if—and that was a very big if—I had any moments of romance during the next month, I’d document them. I was fairly sure that Nellie Bly would have, although, naturally, she’d have kept that out of any book she published.

“Still,” I said to myself when Tessa was off using the bathroom, “I bet she wrote that stuff down, too. Oh well. It’s not like I’ll have anything to document, sultry Italians and handsome Frenchmen aside.”

From: [email protected]

Subject: FWD: So?

To: Dixon

CC: Rupert

Dixon, would you show this e-mail to your obstinate brother? He refuses to respond, and we’re dying back here to know what’s going on.

ORIGINAL MESSAGE

Rupert! You were supposed to e-mail us as soon as you got to New York City and met the other racers, and it’s been almost four hours. Have you met Mercy’s stepcousin-in-law or whatever relation Paulie is to her? What did you think? Are you not e-mailing because you’re disappointed? Everything that Mercy said her aunt told her about Paulie sounded like she’s wonderful, and you guys share all sorts of interests. You like horses—she works with horses! You like art—Mercy’s aunt says Paulie used to draw. You’re almost the same age, so stop being silent and tell me what you think. You know my matchmaking mojo is on the line here.

Elliott says to tell Dixon that the order for fertilizer came in, but they dumped it on the south lawn, so we’ve closed that off from the tourists, so he said not to worry if there’s a dip in revenues for the month.

E-mail me as soon as you get this. I’m dying to know what your first impression of Paulie is. I think she’s just perfect for you!