Ryke has his nice moments. I’ll admit that.

“Daisy,” I say. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah…um.” She swats her hair out of her face. “He’s not really the meet-and-greet kind of boyfriend.”

“So basically you’re just fucking him,” Ryke blurts out.

Oh look, his nice moment just passed.

At least, I can forecast that he won’t make a move on Daisy because of her age. I think he’s more likely to run into traffic than hook up with her.

“Not in front of the cameras,” Connor advises.

Ryke shoots him the middle finger with an added glare.

I can feel Connor’s chest rising in irritation. “I don’t know why I care,” Connor says. “It’s not like anyone will understand you anyway. You curse every other word. They’re going to literally bleep you out of the show.”

“And that’d make you so fucking happy.”

“I’d be happier if I could tie you up to the front porch and leave you there. I’d even be kind enough to toss you a steak bone to gnaw on.”

Lo can’t stop laughing.

Ryke’s eyes darken at his brother. “Where’s the fucking loyalty?”

His laughter dies down and his lips fall. “Did you hear what you said to Daisy? Honestly, how about never bringing up her sex life. And then maybe I’ll consider siding with you.”

 “You guys.” Daisy waves her hand to regain focus. “I’m not screwing my boyfriend. I just don’t want any of you to meet him. He’s kind of dumb.”

Ryke’s jaw hardens. “He’s dumb? Then why the fuck are you with him?”

Daisy shrugs and avoids his dark eyes. “He’s nice.”

Scott suddenly scoots closer to me, his hip pressing against mine. I want to edge towards Connor, but I don’t want to look frightened of Scott. So I stand my ground and feel his warm breath on my ear.

“You should go next. See what your future holds.”

I bristle at the thought of being told something like “someone you love will die soon” or “you’ll marry a stupid man.” Connor may not take stock in psychics, but a part of me will always be a little superstitious.

“Madame,” Scott calls before I can stop him. “Rose would like to go next.”

“And then you?” Connor asks. “We’d all love to know when you’ll die.”

The muscles in Scott’s jaw twitch.

Madame Charmaine sidles over to our couch and kneels in front of me. She snatches my hand and scans the lines on my palm wildly. “Mmm.”

I don’t like mms. They sound like unintelligible baby muttering, which is the equivalent of sticking a sharp needle in my ear.

“I think…that I will have a better reading with cards.” She pulls the shuffled deck from her pocket. “Split this in half. Do not flip them over.”

I do as she says, randomly picking from the pile, purple crescent moons printed on the back of each card.

She returns to her ottoman beside the coffee table and starts flipping the cards right side up. I can’t see any of the designs, but I think I spot a white unicorn on one, which has Connor rolling his eyes.

Even so, he intertwines his fingers in mine and kisses my knuckles, as though I need extra reassurance before she exposes my future.

She overturns the last card. “I see,” she says and nods. “You’re very fertile. I sense two strong male spirits in your life, possibly twin boys in the future.” She has to be joking.

A crying baby—that’s a personal circle of hell for me. When my eldest sister, Poppy, had her child, I didn’t acknowledge my niece until she could form intelligible sentences. I have nothing in common with kids. And no one needs to tell me I would make a horrible mother. I know it’s true. Which is why I plan to never have children.

“Take it back,” I snap.

“I can’t return a reading.”

“It’s not a purse, Rose,” Connor chimes in, his lips rising. “It’s your future.” His amusement is palpable.

I point a finger at him. “Shut. Up.”

Connor grabs my hand and says, “I won’t believe in it if you won’t.”

He doesn’t seem that upset by my declaration (technically I’ve voiced my baby-disdain before so it shouldn’t come as a surprise) but I strangely ache for a true answer. For his honesty. I know he’s not going to share it now, not when the cameras are rolling and with Scott sitting right beside me.

“Deal,” I say.

The psychic clicks her tongue. “I think I’m picking up someone else’s energy. It’s very black, very dark, not good at all.”

“Definitely Connor,” Loren says with a wink.

Connor actually cracks a smile, and as far as I can tell, it’s genuine.

“No,” Madame Charmaine says. “It’s from her.” She stares right at Lily. No, no, no.

“You’re going to be married soon, are you not?”

Lily slides lower on the loveseat, uncomfortable with the attention, especially as Brett and Ben direct both of their lenses at her. “Yes,” she says in a small, feeble voice. Lo sets their paper plates on the coffee table.

“All right,” Connor says, standing and nearing the psychic. “I think that’s enough magic for one night.” He puts a hand on Madame Charmaine’s elbow, and she rises with the pressure. “It was really nice to meet someone who’s dabbled in the dramatic arts, but I think it’s time for you to go.”

Loren mouths, thank you, to Connor, and then he rubs Lily’s back.

But Scott has to ruin it as he stands. “I’m in charge of production, Connor. I say when these events end.” He looks to the clock. “And we have ten more minutes.”

On cue, Madame Charmaine directs her next question to Lily. “This wedding, you don’t want to go through with it, do you?”

“What?” Lily’s eyes grow wide. “No…” She looks to Loren. “I mean, yes. Yes, I do want it. Why wouldn’t I?” She glances at the camera in alarm. “I…I love Lo so much. He’s my best friend…”

“Hey,” Lo says, tugging her to his chest, now settled on his lap. “You don’t have to tell that old hag anything.”

Ryke shakes his head and mutters under his breath, “Did he just fucking call her an old hag?”

“Yep,” Daisy says.

“Fucking fantastic.”

Lily doesn’t look well. Her shoulders curve forward like she’s a shivering puppy caught in the rain. I stand next to Connor. “Okay, Madame…” I can’t even say her name without rolling my eyes too. “…either you leave early…” I give Scott a glower before he can refute. “Or stop badgering my sister.”

But her lips fly open again. “Why would you get married if you’re full of apprehension?” she asks Lily.

I am going to kill Scott! If he planted these questions at all…I actually let out a little growl, and Connor puts a hand on my shoulder. I want to pluck out Scott’s eyeballs with my nails. And then stomp on them with the sharp point of my heel.

I spin towards him, my eyes growing hot. “Did you tell her to ask these questions?”

Scott feigns confusion. “Now why would I do that?”

Lily stammers. “I-I’m not apprehensive.” But she is.

After her sex addiction became public, Fizzle’s publicists suggested the best options for damage control. At the top of the list—a marriage. It would show that Lily’s in a committed relationship. That she’s not as deviant as the world believes.

So our mother and father have cut Lily off financially until she legally marries Loren. And our parents wanted them to wait a full year, so it wouldn’t seem like a shotgun wedding. Not very many people know that this is a scheme. But even so, the marriage will be real. In six more months, she’ll no longer be a Calloway.

This is not a wedding out of love (even though they’d most likely marry in five, six years regardless). Our parents decided this for them, and so the wedding is just one based on money and appearance. Nothing more.

Lily and Loren both have reservations and doubts. I’ve talked to Lily about it, and she’s told me point-blank that she hates the idea of looking back at her wedding pictures and just seeing something fake and cold. I want their marriage to start out on good terms too, but I can’t see a way out of this.

And I do agree with my mother on some level. I do think this will help Fizzle because it will repair Lily’s image in the media. Do I believe it’s worth it? That’s only Lily’s call. I know she’s complying with the wedding more out of guilt for hurting Fizzle, our father’s company, than regaining her inheritance.

Madame Charmaine holds up her hands. “There are so many emotions.” She presses her fingers to her forehead.

Connor’s composed, unreadable face is slowly breaking in annoyance.

“It’s not me!” Lily shouts all of a sudden. She springs from the couch. “I love Loren. Look.” She kisses Lo on the cheek and then the lips.

He recoils, the exact wrong thing to do to her right now. But he’s trying to understand her mental state, which is gradually going sideways. My sister is like a ball of twine that can unravel slowly or quickly, depending on the person tugging at the other end.

Lily flinches back, not expecting Lo to stop kissing her. She bumps into the table and knocks over a lit candle. Oh my God.

“Oh, I didn’t mean…” Tears flood her eyes, thinking she’s ruined everything. She tries to lift the candle back up, but Loren catches her around the waist, pulling her to his chest before she burns herself.

The flame ignites a paper napkin and a paper plate. Daisy picks up the napkin like it’s a dirty diaper, not a ball of fire. “Whoa, guys, this is pretty warm.”

“Really?” Ryke says, grabbing her wrist and trying to relinquish the burning napkin from her.

“Yeah, really, really. Want to feel?” She smiles playfully, waving the thing towards him. He doesn’t even jerk back.

“You’re hilarious.”

“I thought I was just smoking hot.”

I’d like to say that I am the normal one out of my sisters, but I am frantically trying to grab the pitcher of water that sits on the edge of the coffee table. So much so, that I knock over another candle.

Just lovely.

The cameras are swinging behind us, as wild as the flames.

Daisy has to toss the napkin back down on the table before it burns her hand. And the psychic yells something about her cards, gathering them in a messy stack.

And then a pair of hands peels me away from the growing flames that has eaten our napkins and started for the purple tablecloth. “The water,” I start, but Connor places me by the wall and then brings out a fire extinguisher.

In seconds, my boyfriend has snuffed out the fire. And the psychic has bolted from my house with her purple bag in tow.

The quiet lingers, and all we hear is muffled, “ImsorryImsorryImsorry.”

My heart constricts, and I find Lily mumbling the string of apologies into Loren’s shirt. He has his hand on the back of her head, his features sharpened. When he looks up at me, he says, “Thank God for Connor, right?” He tries to play off the pain that contorts his face.

“God always has a way of stealing my credit,” Connor says.

Loren’s lips curve in a small smile.

I think, in this moment, I love Connor more for lightening the mood than for saving my cedar coffee table. But I am glad this table isn’t burned.

It’s an antique.

Loren lifts Lily in a front piggy-back so she doesn’t have to meet the camera’s concentrated gaze.

Scott turns to me. “Looks like we’ll be seeing that lap dance after all.”

“Excuse me?” I sneer.

The room blankets in tense silence. Scott grins. “You made a bet a few days ago. I saw the footage. If someone cried during the psychic segment, you’d have to give your boyfriend a lap dance.”

Shit. Fuck. Shit…

“Lily didn’t really cry,” I say instantly.

Loren shifts her a little, and I see his T-shirt, wet with her tears. She wipes her cheeks quickly, trying to hide her sadness, but it’s there. I forget that Loren’s not on my side for the bet. Hell, he’s the one who proposed the wager.

I snap at Lo, “You should feel awful for profiting off of her emotions.”

“She was there when you made the bet,” he reminds me. “Lap dance rain check? Lily and I want a front row seat.”

Lily mutters something that sounds like only if she wants to.

“Fine,” I say as Connor’s hand skims my waist. I step out of his touch, anxiety heating my neck more than the small fire ever did. I am going to have to gyrate on him. In public. With millions of people watching later on television. Oh. Shit…

The only upside: the first episode is airing in February, a month from now. So I have some time before people witness my inability to grind.