20. Running in Heels （And Other Bad Decisions）
20
RUNNING IN HEELS (AND OTHER BAD DECISIONS)
ARIANA
Hiding in Connor Reeves' bedroom while his mother attempts to cleanse his chakras with rose quartz wasn't exactly how I planned to spend my Thursday afternoon. Then again, nothing about the last twenty-four hours has gone according to plan.
"The amethyst needs to face north-northwest," Connor's mother insists from the other room. "Otherwise, the energy flow will disrupt your abundance mindset!"
"Mom," Connor's voice carries that special strain of someone being crystal-therapied against their will, "I really need to get back to work..."
"Work can wait! Your spiritual alignment cannot!"
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: Agai n
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..."
"Mom, I swear to god?—"
"Language! You'll disturb the crystal grid!"
I should leave. Should find a way to sneak out before this gets even more complicated. Before I destroy everything Connor's built with my lies and my chaos and my complete inability to maintain professional distance.
But then:
"Fine," Connor sighs. "One sacred geometry pattern. But then I need to work. And maybe check on something in my bedroom..."
"The bedroom!" His mother gasps. "Of course! We need to cleanse your sleep space! All that stagnant energy..."
"No!" Connor's voice rises slightly. "I mean... the bedroom is already... very cleansed. Very... energetically aligned."
"Nonsense! Your father said you've been distracted lately. Clearly your sleep sanctuary needs rebalancing..."
I look around frantically for an escape route. The windows are forty stories up, so that's out. The closet's too obvious. The bathroom's too small. Which leaves...
"Mom, wait?—"
The door opens just as I dive under the bed.
Because apparently, this is my life now. Hiding under furniture like a teenager while my secret husband's mother attempts to cleanse his chakras.
"The energy in here is interesting," his mother muses. "Very... passionate."
"Mom! "
"What? I'm just saying, there's definitely been some... activity in here recently."
I bite my lip to keep from laughing, even as guilt twists in my chest. Because I shouldn't find this funny. Shouldn't be here at all.
Shouldn't be falling for someone I'm lying to.
"Now," his mother continues, "where did I put that sage bundle?"
"No burning things!" Connor sounds slightly panicked. "The smoke detectors are very sensitive..."
"Pish posh! A little sage never hurt anyone!"
"Tell that to the fire department. Last time."
Something clatters to the floor, rolling under the bed. I hold my breath as perfectly manicured fingers reach for what appears to be a very expensive crystal.
"Oh!" His mother's hand freezes. "What's this?"
Please don't be my phone. Please don't be my phone. Please...
"Is that... a poker chip?"
Oh god.
"It's nothing." Connor's voice turns carefully neutral. "Just a... souvenir."
"From Vegas?" His mother retrieves the chip—my makeshift wedding ring, which must have fallen out of my borrowed clothes. “Ryland Connor Reeves, is there something you need to tell me?"
"Mom..."
"Because your father mentioned something about you being distracted…”
"Can we not do this right now?"
"And some lovely PR executive..."
"Mother."
"I'm just saying, I heard she has excellent energy! Much better than that bobble-headed Amanda girl from high school. ”
"Please stop."
"Though if you are seeing someone, we should really do a joint chakra cleansing..."
I muffle another laugh, but it comes out slightly hysterical. Because this is insane. All of it.
The crystals. The secrets. The fact that I'm literally hiding under a billionaire's bed while his mother waves sage around and talks about chakras.
My phone buzzes against my hip:
DAD: Good news!
DAD: The kidney support group loves the protein powder idea!
DAD: We're thinking of branching into essential oils...
This is not my life.
Except it is.
And sooner or later, everything's going to crash down around me.
"The energy's definitely shifting," Connor's mother declares. "Though we should probably smoke cleanse under the bed..."
"No!” I’m assuming the sound I hear is Connor blocking her. "I mean... that's not... the bed is fine."
"But the negative energy..."
"Is probably just dust," he says firmly. "Now, about those IPO crystals..."
"Oh yes! I have the perfect prosperity grid planned..."
Their voices fade as Connor finally manages to herd his mother out, leaving me alone with my thoughts and what appears to be a very expensive crystal collection under his bed.
I wait until I hear the elevator ding, then crawl out, guilt and amusement warring in my chest.
"Coast is clear,” Connor calls, and I emerge to find him slumped against the wall, looking adorably disheveled. “Fuck, I…I actually have no words for that. ”
"Are you kidding? That was amazing." I straighten my clothes. “Your mom's crystal game is impressive."
"Don't encourage her." He runs a hand through his hair. "She's already trying to install a meditation fountain in the lobby."
"Better than my dad's protein powder empire."
"About that…” He steps closer. "I know some people who could handle the legal side, make sure he doesn't accidentally commit fraud. Come to think of it, I’d seen something that Will posted once. It looked like…I don’t know…”
My chest tightens. Because this—his kindness, his understanding, the way he wants to fix everything—it just makes the guilt worse.
“You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll handled my dad. And I should go." I grab my phone. "Lots of fires to put out. Literally. Because if Dad tries to blend essential oils again, I swear?—“
"Ariana."
“What?”
He catches my hand. "Stay. I mean it. Stay here. We’ll figure the rest of our shit out later.”
For a moment, I let myself imagine it. Staying. Being honest. Building something real.
Then my phone buzzes again:
KAT: The marriage certificate expires in ten days
KAT: After that, no more easy annulment
KAT: Tick tock
"I can't." I step back. "I'm sorry, I just... I can't."
Understanding flickers in his eyes, followed by something that looks too much like resignation.
“I get it.” He straightens, CEO mask sliding into place. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”
“It’s not because I don’t want to?— “
"It's fine." But it's not. Nothing about this is fine. "I'll have Christoph bring the car around."
I want to explain. Want to tell him everything. Want to be brave enough to risk losing him by being honest.
Instead, I leave him standing in his crystal-cleansed bedroom, the weight of secrets threatening to drown me.
My phone buzzes one final time:
YASMIN: The chapel sent another package
YASMIN: This one's ticking
YASMIN: Should I call the bomb squad?
YASMIN: Update: Never mind, it's just another musical photo frame
YASMIN: Though the Elvis impersonator is asking about reality show rights again...
I close my eyes, letting Seattle's spring rain wash over me as I exit the building.
Ten days. Ten days to fix this mess before it becomes permanent.
Ten days to save Connor's IPO from my lies.
I can do this.
I have to do this.