Page 110 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

Like the man who was too afraid to fight for what he wanted.

But not anymore.

"Sir?" Christoph appears with the car. "Where to?"

I look at my phone, at the wedding invitation in my pocket, at all the carefully constructed walls I've built that never stood a chance against Ariana Bristol.

"Take me to her."

28

SOS: SEND MORE SEQUINS

ARIANA

The thing about apologies is that they’re a lot harder to pull off in real life than they are in your mind.

In my mind, I had convinced myself that walking away was the right thing. That leaving Connor was protecting him, sparing him from the chaos that seemed to follow me. I told myself I was being responsible, rational. I’d spent my entire life managing crises—putting out fires before they started, making sure the people I cared about never had to feel a moment of uncertainty.

But in trying to control everything, I had destroyed the one thing that mattered most.

Him. Us.

It’s taken days for the full weight of it to settle in my bones. The silence in my apartment was the first thing that hit me. It wasn’t just the lack of Connor’s voice, his grumbled commentary about my coffee choices, or the warmth of his presence. It was the emptiness of it all—the realization that I had built my life around making sure everyone else was okay, but now, for the first time, I wasn’t okay.

I’ve spent years holding everything together.

Fixing. Managing. Controlling.

Afraid that if I ever let go, everything around me would shatter. But what I never realized until now was that in trying to protect myself, I was the one doing the breaking.

I broke us.

And I would rather throw myself into the unknown than live with the regret of not trying.

And that’s where reinforcements come in.

My sister Lily had been the first person I told about my one-stop apology tour.

She had listened, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, before finally sighing and declaring, "Well, it’s about time. But if you’re doing this, you’re doing it right. And sequins. Lots of sequins."

Which is how I ended up here.

Fighting with a mechanical Elvis that won't stop playing "Suspicious Minds" at the worst possible moments.

"Come on," I mutter, wrestling with the singing photo frame that's supposed to be the centerpiece of Connor's transformed penthouse. "Work with me here."

"Having trouble?" Lily asks from where she's arranging what appears to be every sequined item the chapel ever sent us. "Because I have to say, watching you fight with Elvis is way better than watching you mope."

"I'm not moping." I finally silence the frame. "I'm strategizing."

“AKA breaking and entering.”

"It's not breaking and entering if you have a key."

"A key you got from his assistant?"

"Yasmin's very supportive."

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