24. MJ
MJ
I t’s been five days.
Five days of Carter Leone flooding my phone with messages.
Five days of bouquets showing up at Pizza Girls— daisies, roses, one truly awkward basket of sunflowers with a card that read For my Sunshine.
And five nights of me lying awake, phone clutched to my chest, trying not to hit call back just to hear his voice.
God, I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.
Part of me just wants to storm over to Lion Limousines & Livery to demand some answers.
The other part of me is terrified I won’t like what I hear .
“Look, I know it’s hard, MJ,” Dina says, tossing back a handful of popcorn like we’re not in the middle of a crisis. “But stay strong. Uncle Uzzi has a plan, and I think you should trust him.”
“Trust him?” I huff, flopping against the couch cushions. “You mean the same meddling Witch who invented the app that matched me with Mr. Tall, Golden, and Bad-for-My-Blood-Pressure? That plan?”
Carina waddles in from the kitchen, balancing a plate of cookies on her belly like it’s a built-in tray.
“Don’t sass the Witch. He’s smarter than all of us put together.”
“Please,” I mutter, burying my face in a throw pillow. “I don’t need another scheme. What I need is answers. From him. Not some magical field trip to God-knows-where with Uzzi’s sparkly business cards leading the way.”
Dina smirks, clearly enjoying herself way too much. “Then you’re in luck, baby sister. Because Uzzi’s plan? It’s all about getting you those answers. Face to face. And soon.”
“Soon?” My stomach twists. “Define soon.”
Dina just grins wider, a little too wolfishly for comfort.
“Soon, MJ. Like get-your-pretty-dress-ready soon.”
Well, if there’s one thing my sisters are good at, it’s distraction.
Case in point: today.
“You cannot sulk in flour-stained jeans for the rest of your life, MJ,” Carina scolds, tapping her nails against the salon chair as the stylist whips out a blow dryer.
“You’re gorgeous. And tonight, you’re going to remember it.”
“Tonight?” I echo, panic fluttering in my stomach. “What’s tonight?”
“Girls’ night,” Dina says smoothly from the next chair over, smirking into the mirror as a colorist rinses her hair. “No worries. Just us. Well, us and our mates. And you.”
“Uh huh,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes. “Translation: this is a setup.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Carina sing-songs, though her grin totally gives her away. “Now hold still. Your curls are getting the royal treatment.”
The stylist runs a comb through my hair, and I want to sink into the floor. I am not used to this kind of pampering. My life is pizza ovens and marinara stains, not scalp massages and fancy hair masks that smell like hibiscus and champagne.
Still, I have to admit—it feels good.
Too good.
Like maybe my sisters have a plan and they might actually know what they’re doing.
“See?” Dina says, winking at me. “When you look good, you feel good. And when you feel good, you make better choices. Like, say, not letting some golden-eyed Lion wreck you twice in one lifetime.”
“Ugh, Dina, seriously?” I groan, tugging the cape tighter around me.
“Can we not talk about him while I’m getting my ends trimmed?”
Carina pats my hand, her eyes all soft and maternal.
“Sweetheart, we have to talk about him. Because whether you like it or not, he’s in your orbit now. You just have to decide if you’re going to keep dodging or if you’re going to face him.”
I stare at my reflection. My curls gleam. My cheeks are pink.
And maybe, just maybe, I see a version of myself who could face him— without crumbling into tears or launching a pizza at his head.
“Fine,” I say, glaring at both of them. “But if this ends with me humiliating myself in front of Carter Leone again, I’m haunting you both forever.”
Dina snorts. “Please. I already have a Wolf haunting me every time I step out of the shower. You’ll have to take a number.”
Carina giggles so hard she nearly tips out of her chair, and for the first time in days, I actually laugh with them.