Page 107 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

I stare at the screen until the words blur.

Because I miss it, too. I miss dancing.

With my mom. With Connor.

Seems like the only thing I’ve been successfully dancing around lately…is my feelings.

And that’s got to end.

Another crash sounds from inside, followed by Dad's voice: "Don't worry! The protein powder is totally fire resistant!"

“That’s not reassuring! Like, at all!” Lily shrieks.

"Though maybe," Kat adds, "we should call the fire department? Just in case?"

I look at my phone again, at all the messages I've sent that Connor won't read, at all the words I've tried to say that he won't hear.

And suddenly, I know exactly what I have to do.

Even if it means being brave enough to stay.

27

THE BILLIONAIRE'S GUIDE TO SCREWING UP EVERYTHING

CONNOR

The thing about rehearsal dinners is that they're a practice run for perfection. Everyone smiling, toasting, pretending like happiness is something you can rehearse.

Lately, I've been pretending a lot.

The warm glow of La Famiglia's chandeliers reflects off the polished mahogany tables, casting golden light over the crowded dining room. The scent of fresh basil, garlic, and something sweet—probably Nonna Flora's famous cannoli—drifts through the air.

"Christ, mate, you look like someone took a piss in your espresso," Callum mutters, swirling the dark red wine in his glass. "Which, given your taste in overpriced American coffee, might be an improvement."

"Don't you have an oil empire to run? Or a small nation to overthrow?" I counter, adjusting my cuffs for the hundredth time.

"For fook's sake, what kind of Scottish royalty do you think I am, mate?" He smirks. “It is quite entertaining watching youspiral, though, Reeves. Might even be worth postponing my next hostile takeover."

“Spira—I’m not spiraling."

"No? Then perhaps we discuss why you've checked your phone seventeen times in the last hour?"

Before I can fire back, Grayson appears at my shoulder. "Need to borrow him, Cal."

Callum’s lopsided smirk deepens. "By all means. Though perhaps somewhere without security cameras? In case violence becomes necessary."

Grayson leads me away, tension simmering beneath his calm facade. We step into La Famiglia’s private wine cellar, a place I know well from countless business dinners. But tonight, the air feels different—charged, heavy.

"Gray—"

"I’m asking Roz to marry me."

The sentence alone is like a bomb dropping.

"Next week," he continues. "We’re moving in together, and I just… I know it’s right. She’s right. Everything’s right."

A burn settles in my chest, sharp and unrelenting.

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