In the time that I’ve been burning a furious hole through his latest story with my eyes, Lucas has added another post to his feed. It’s a picture of him on a stage, baring all of his teeth in a smile, arm wrapped tightly around a pretty dark-haired woman wearing what looks like a tiny ice skater’s costume with more cutouts than Swiss cheese. He’s in a sharp black suit. Tune in tonight 8/7c for the season finale! Jenna and I have an amazing one in store for ya. @dancingabc @DorminatorsOfficialUpdates #DancingWithTheStars #DWTS #Lucas AndJenna #TeamLucas #LucasDormer #DormerFansUnite #DorminationNation #WeLoveLucasDormer #MCM #WCW #YouWannaWatchThis #Hot #Muscles #Singer #Sexy #SoloArtists #BachelorABC #TheNextBachelor #TellABCYouWantLucasDormerToBeTheNextBachelor

She didn’t deserve you, one of the top comments says. I’ve worried the hole in the window screen until it’s big enough for a golf ball to get through.

I think Bettie’s news is a publicity stunt, says another, curiously tagging Callista Orjean in the comment. The name jumps out at me because Callista, a D-list celebrity, is one of Felix’s ex-wives.

“What news?” I mutter.

I don’t have Callista blocked, only muted, as she’s such a wild card that I need to keep contained tabs on her movements. I click over to her profile and frown. No new posts for a week. The last one was a picture of her dog. Then I open her latest stories and almost drop my phone.

It’s a picture of me and Hall from only ten or fifteen minutes ago: covered in bells, sugar cookies everywhere.

Look who’s engaged! she’s typed over it. Congrats, Hal and Betty.

“It’s Hall, and Bettie with an ie, you plastic bag of lake water,” I say to my phone, rapidly playing catch-up in my mind. How in the hell?! I haven’t spoken to Callista in years. Someone here had to have snapped that picture, and then sent it to Callista . . .

The gears grind to a halt.

*

Chapter Eight

MARILOU IS FELIX’S fourth wife, a Filipino competitive surfer and the mother of his youngest, a baby boy named Adrian. She loves the Marvel Cinematic Universe and seahorses, runs three miles along the beach every morning, and can speak three languages—all of which she’s teaching to her stepchildren. I have never heard a single judgmental word fall out of her mouth in relation to Felix’s myriad faults. She is, far and away, the most sensible woman my idiot brother’s ever met in his life, is light-years out of his league, and therefore it comes as no shock that he’s sabotaging their relationship.

I grab an orange from the kitchen fruit bowl and hurl it at him. Felix ducks. “Hey!” he yells, patting the top of his head. That orange never came near his head.

“The fuck are you doing, texting Callista?” I yell back. “You’re a moron.”

Felix colors. “I haven’t been texting Callista!”

“I’ve got proof.”

He beckons, agitated. “Show me.”

“Maybe I’ll just forward it to Marilou.” Right now, Marilou’s visiting her sister in New Hampshire and is going to fly in closer to Christmas to be miserable with the Watson-Hugheses. Hughes’s. Hughes’.