Page 33 of Revenge Brunch and Other Disasters

Linda blinked. “And you said...?”

“I told him I’m with you now. Likewithwith. Seriously with. Long termwith.”

“So you’re saying you need a fake girlfriend for your ex, and still need a beard girlfriend for your family?”

“About that—I’ve uh also told my family that we are serious. My mom was on my case about kids and—”

“I hate you twice as much now.”

Sir Stumps-a-Lot barked once, smug.

Rhys offered her a gummy peach ring from the cupholder stash.

She took it.

And maybe—maybe—she could forgive him.

Chapter Fifteen: Strategic Gay Chaos

Rhys

(A Room of Requirement intervention)

Rhys hadn’t invited his sisters over.

Which meant, of course, that they showed up thirty minutes after sunset, bearing sushi, judgment, and a spreadsheet titled:“How to Keep Linda Without Admitting You're in Love Like a Normal Person.”

Darcy dropped the takeout bag on his kitchen counter with the flair of someone about to conduct an emotional autopsy. Liv followed behind her, already unfurling a tiny laminated vision board like it was a sacred scroll.

“Okay,” Darcy said, removing her sunglasses indoors. “Let’s recap. You fake-dated her so she’d feel safe enough to fall for you. Bold move. You escalated to constant weekend dates,thenmet her parents,thenlied to Mom and Dad that it wasn’t serious yet. And now? You’re panicking like a romantic hamster in a wheel made of denial.”

Rhys leaned on the counter, clutching a mug of tea like it might spiritually save him. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far. She… called herself my beard in front of her parents. What was I supposed to do?”

Liv didn’t even blink. “I don’t know. Maybe kiss her? Tell her she’s your soulmate? Communicate like a human man instead of whatever cardigan-souled disaster you’re currently embodying?”

He groaned.

Darcy slid open the sushi box and began assembling a tray like a general laying out a battlefield. “Rhys. You leaned. Then you leaned harder. And now? Now it’s time tosteamroll.”

He took a cautious sip of tea. “What does steamrolling entail, exactly?”

Liv looked up with terrifying glee and tapped the corner of her laminated sheet. “Simple. Escalate. Escalate again. Jealous ex. Fake engagement. Possibly fake marriage. If necessary.”

He choked on his tea. “You want me towhat?!”

“No one’s proposing today,” Darcy said, but her voice held the tone of someone who wouldn’t be mad about a save-the-date. “But she’s got a point.”

Liv continued, flipping to a second sheet titledNarrative Control: Turning Panic Into Power. “Here’s the thing: she thinks you’re emotionally unavailable, probably gay, maybe imaginary. You’re halfway to being a Taylor Swift track.”

Rhys rubbed at his temples.

“You need a spark,” Liv said. “A plot device. A moment of jealous clarity. A latte with tension.”

Sir Stumps-a-Lot, who had been dozing near the bookshelf, lifted his head and sneezed—once, sharply, like a tiny general approving the mission.

Liv pointed at him. “See? He gets it.”

Rhys looked between the two of them—his sisters and their war map of emotional manipulation. “You people terrify me.”

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