Tiffany assesses whether Sarah is worthy of her attention—then decides an ally is always useful. “And I adore your shoes. Finally someone with taste in here. Have you seen that florist’s boots? They look like they came straight out of a barn.”
They giggle together, throwing venomous glances at our table. Sarah strikes a pose, making sure the light hits her cleavage just right, and starts speaking loudly—clearly for us to hear.
“You know, Tiff, some people really should learn when it’s time to bow out. Not everyone has the… stage presence for reality TV. Some people just look so… desperate.”
“I agree,” Tiffany says, sipping sparkling water like it’s champagne. “It’s sad, really.”
I snort a laugh against Cohen’s neck. “Of course they found each other.”
He chuckles softly, kissing the top of my head. “I was wondering how long it’d take.”
I’m about to take another sip of my corrupted hot chocolate when the door to the kiosk flies open with theatrical force.
Aunt Tina stands in the doorway.
She’s wearing a tight pink latex jumpsuit (yes—pink latex) and a pair of plush handcuffs hanging from her belt like a bargain-bin action-movie cop.
Behind her, two assistants drag in a crate full of metal objects.
“SUGAR BREAK INTERRUPTED!” Tina yells.
“Oh no,” Silas groans, covering his eyes. “This can’t be good.”
“This looks amazing!” Daisy shouts.
Tina marches to the center of the room, snapping the handcuffs.
“I hope you enjoyed your freedom, my darlings! Because from this moment on… your independence is officially suspended!”
She pulls a pair of cuffs from the crate. They’re cotton-candy pink, wrapped in faux fur—but the metal chain looks very real.
And very short.
“Welcome to theUnbreakable Bondschallenge!” she announces with a devilish grin.
“The concept is simple: for the next twenty-four hours, you will be handcuffed to your partner. Wrist to wrist.”
A chorus of protests erupts.
Sarah jumps to her feet. “What?! I have to shower! I have to do my makeup! I can’t have him in my way!” She points at Joe in disgust.
“You’ll figure it out!” Tina replies cheerfully.
“And… bathroom breaks?” Daisy asks, with disarming practicality.
Tina spreads her arms. “Love is sharing, sweetheart! One goes in, the other waits outside with their arm through the door. Or you go together. Your choice!”
I look at Cohen.
My alcohol-fogged brain takes a second to process.
Handcuffed.
To him.
For twenty-four hours.
In bed. In the bathroom. In the shower.
