Page 82 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

I muffle a laugh into my borrowed yoga shirt, then freeze as my phone buzzes:

KAT: So

KAT: About that marriage certificate

KAT: The one that's definitely real and legally binding?

KAT: Tick tock, sis

My stomach drops.

Because that's the thing about reality—it always catches up eventually. No matter how many crystals you point at it.

"The tourmaline goes by the window," Connor's mother continues. "For protection against negative energy during the IPO!"

"Mom, the IPO doesn't need crystal protection?—"

"That's exactly what your father said before the yoga instructor incident!"

I sink onto Connor's ridiculously large bed, guilt settling like lead in my chest. Because this man—this impossible, controlled, surprisingly perfect man—deserves better than secrets.

Better than me.

My phone buzzes again:

LILY: Dad's protein powder MLM has a logo

LILY: And a theme song

LILY: He's calling it "Bristol's Bodacious Blend"

I close my eyes briefly, reality crashing back like a tidal wave.

Because this is my life. Handling everyone's chaos. Being the strong one. The responsible one.

The liar.

"The selenite needs to be charged under the full moon," Connor's mother declares. "Preferably while doing sun salutations."

"Mom, it's cloudy. And noon."

"Details, darling! The universe doesn't care about details!"

No, but the SEC probably cares about undisclosed marriages right before an IPO.

I start pacing, Connor's perfectly organized bedroom a stark reminder of everything I'm disrupting. Everything I could ruin.

My phone lights up:

YASMIN: Graceland Chapel called

YASMIN: Again

YASMIN: Something about "exclusive footage" and "viral potential"

God. Do these people never know when to quit?

"The crystals need to be arranged in a sacred geometry pattern," Connor's mother continues. "Preferably while chanting..."

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