Page 12 of It Must Be Fate

“I love you.”

The smug expression that stretches across his face shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “Good.”

“Do you know what today is?” I ask him.

“No, w— what is it, Phoenix?” he cuts off, speaking to the man in question just off camera. “How should I know if it’s possible for horses to be traumatized? I’ve never even ridden one before. Ask Rhys.”

Six’s head whips in my direction. She crawls over to sit next to me. “I heard you ask Tristan, Nix,” she accuses. “So youdothink it’s possible we traumatized him?”

Phoenix pops up on screen, much to Tristan’s annoyance.

“No. I don’t want you to worry about it, wild girl.”

“Oh, god. What have I done?” she laments.

“Look what I found,” he answers, pointing his phone at the camera to show her. “It’s a luxury spa retreat for horses. I’m booking him in for a week. A little trauma isn’t anything a daily eucalyptus and lavender salt bath won’t fix.”

“I’m a terrible person,” she continues.

“Two weeks. I’ll throw in the massage therapy add-on too.”

“I–”

“Fuck it,a month.”

“Will you two get back on your own FaceTime?” Tristan grumbles, shoving Phoenix out of the frame. “I’m trying to talk to my fiancée here.”

Phoenix appears once more, dark eyes flashing on Tristan.

“Not a problem. Mywifeand I will continue this conversation elsewhere.”

“Don’t get competitive with me,” Tristan answers, jaw flexing in bad temper.

“Silver!” Rhys bellows, appearing behind the couch Tristan and Phoenix are sitting on.

Thayer comes to sit on my other side and I watch her face pop up on camera next to mine.

“Yes?”

“Hegets to call Sixtine his wife,” he says, pointing first at Phoenix and then at Tristan. “Andhegets to call Nera his fiancée. Meanwhile, I can only call you my girlfriend. Don’t you think that’s fucked up?”

“Extremely fucked up,” she acquiesces.

“Then let me do something about it.”

“Not just yet,” she answers, shaking her head. “I need to see if fame is going to change you first.”

Rhys looks affronted. “Excuse me?”

“What if once you’re a soccer star you get a really douchey haircut? Or start unironically wearing atrocious Louis Vuitton man purses? Either one of those might be a deal breaker, you know, and that’s before I throw in the hordes of adoring groupies I’m going to have to fight through in order to get your attention.”

Rhys looks down at Phoenix. “Is it me or does she seem more worried about the man purse than she does the groupies?”

“That’s because I know I don’t actually have to worry about the groupies. But the man purse?” she shudders. “That’s a real lady boner killer.”

“Fine, if I agree to no man purses, can I marry you already?”

“It’s a good start to the negotiations. Check back in a few years.”

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