Page 80 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

Because the last time I was real—really myself, really vulnerable—my mother left. The love of my teenaged life married my best friend. My brother died. And my entire world fell apart.

So I built a new one. One I could barricade myself inside.

But now...

Now there's a woman who makes me want to tear it all down.

A woman who runs from her own vulnerability while somehow making me embrace mine. Who handles everyone's chaos while drowning in her own.

And I let her walk away.

My phone buzzes again:

ALEX: So

ALEX: About that wedding video

ALEX: The one where you sing about PR crisis management being the new way to say I love you?

ALEX: How’s about including a rendition at the bachelor party?

ALEX: Hypothetically speaking

For fuck’s sake…

Because that's exactly what I need right now. More confusion. More unexpected. More…

My security panel beeps.

I turn to find Ariana standing in my doorway, still in borrowed yoga clothes and an oversized blazer, looking like everything I've ever wanted and everything I'm terrified to lose.

“So, your father," she says carefully, "is kind of an ass."

A laugh escapes before I can stop it. "What gave it away?"

"So... James," she says carefully.

I go still.

"I heard you and your father talking about him," she continues. "Not just now. At the gala, too. You never mention him. And I don’t—" She exhales sharply. "I don’t know who he is."

For a second, I think about deflecting. About making a joke or changing the subject. But she’s looking at me with those steady, warm brown eyes, and suddenly, the words are there, waiting to spill over.

My throat goes dry the way it always does when it comes to him. I clear my throat, suddenly needing a sip of water. Or whiskey.

"James was my brother.” My voice is a rasp that barely leaves my mouth. "The perfect son. The golden boy. He was supposed to do everything—run the company, make our father proud. And he did. Until the night he didn’t."

Ariana doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Just listens.

"His girlfriend broke up with him. He went out drinking. Wrapped his car around a tree." I force a breath. "And just like that, he was gone."

The room feels heavier, like gravity has doubled.

"I was in college," I go on. "And suddenly, I wasn’t just the second son anymore. I was the only one. And my father made sure I never forgot it. That’s why he—" I stop myself. Shaking my head. "It doesn’t matter."

"It does." Her voice is soft. "It matters."

I look at her then, really look at her, and there’s something in her eyes—something tight and raw and aching. Something I recognize.

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