"They want us to do what?" I stared at Margaret, coffee mug paused halfway to my lips.
"Couples counseling," Margaret repeated, as if she hadn't just suggested the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard. She leaned back in her chair, completely unbothered, while I struggled to process the absurdity. "It's the perfect way to combat those awful divorce rumors."
I frowned. "Or, and hear me out here, we could just… ignore the rumors."
Margaret gave me the kind of look you give a child who's suggested eating ice cream for breakfast. "Lila, you're smarter than that. Ignoring problems doesn't make them go away. You and Jackson need to look united. What better way than therapy? It shows you're committed."
"Committed to what?" I asked. "A fake marriage?"
"You mean the fake marriage that's keeping our family name intact? Yes, that one," Margaret said sharply.
"I don't need therapy," I grumbled.
At that moment, Jackson strolled into the room, a bagel in one hand and a mischievous glint in his eye. "What's this about therapy? Are we finally admitting I'm the perfect husband and you need help dealing with it?"
Margaret didn't even blink. "Couples counseling. Be there tomorrow at 10 a.m. Non-negotiable."
"You know," Jackson said as we walked to the therapist's office the next day, "I think this is going to be fun."
"Fun?" I stared at him like he'd sprouted a second head.
"Yeah! Therapy's like… a spa day for your brain, right?"
"That's not even remotely accurate."
He waved me off. "Come on, Mrs. Carter. We're gonna walk in there, wow the therapist with our incredible communication skills, and leave with a gold star and maybe a free coffee."
"There are no gold stars in therapy, Jackson," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"Now that's disappointing," he replied, shaking his head. "But don't worry—I've got this. I'll charm the therapist so hard, she'll be writing love songs about us by the end of the session."
I groaned. This was already shaping up to be a disaster.
Dr. Reilly greeted us in her office with a warm, professional smile. She looked calm and competent, the kind of person who probably meditated before breakfast and had never once raised her voice at a malfunctioning printer.
"Welcome," she said, gesturing for us to sit on her plush couch. "I'm Dr. Reilly. Why don't we start by talking about why you're here?"
"PR reasons," I said bluntly.
"Because our love is so overwhelming, it's scaring people," Jackson added with a grin.
Dr. Reilly blinked, her pen hovering over her notepad. "I… see. That's certainly an interesting perspective."
I sighed. This was going to be a long session.
"Let's start with something simple," Dr. Reilly said, smiling. "What's one thing you appreciate about each other?"
I hesitated, scrambling for something to say that didn't sound sarcastic. Jackson, of course, jumped in immediately.
"Her cooking," he said, leaning back like he'd just delivered the most heartfelt compliment in history. "She burns toast in the most artistic way. It's like a Picasso painting on bread."
I glared at him. "Well, I appreciate Jackson's ability to eat literally anything, including my burned toast. It's a rare talent."
Dr. Reilly's pen paused on her notepad. She glanced between us, her smile faltering slightly. "Alright. Let's… move on."
Dr. Reilly leaned forward, clearly trying to salvage the session. "What's one challenge you've faced as a couple?"
Jackson didn't miss a beat. "Her refusal to accept that pineapple belongs on pizza."
I rolled my eyes. "The challenge is that Jackson never takes anything seriously."
"False," Jackson said, raising a hand like he was testifying in court. "I take very seriously my commitment to annoying you at every opportunity."
"Mission accomplished," I muttered.
Dr. Reilly looked at me sympathetically.
"Let's try a trust exercise," Dr. Reilly suggested, pulling out a clipboard. "It's a great way to build emotional and physical trust between partners."
"Trust falls?" Jackson asked, his grin widening. "I love trust falls. I'm basically a trust fall expert."
"Jackson, if you drop me…" I warned, narrowing my eyes.
"Relax, Mrs. Carter," he said, stepping behind me and flexing his arms like a cartoon superhero. "You're in the safest hands in the business."
I didn't trust him for a second.
I stood stiffly in front of Jackson, arms crossed. "You better catch me," I said.
"Of course I will," he said confidently.
I took a deep breath, leaned back… and immediately hit the floor with an unceremonious thud.
Jackson winced. "Oops."
"Oops?" I snapped, glaring up at him.
"Yeah, that's on you, Mrs. Carter," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You didn't trust me enough."
"I didn't trust you?" I repeated, my voice rising.
"Trust is a two-way street, babe."
Dr. Reilly coughed into her hand, clearly trying not to laugh.
"Alright, your turn," I said, brushing myself off and glaring at him.
Jackson grinned, standing tall and spreading his arms wide. "Bring it on, Mrs. Carter."
He leaned back, and at the last second, I stepped aside, letting him crash into a pile of decorative throw pillows.
"Hey!" he protested, sitting up and looking genuinely offended.
"Trust is a two-way street, babe," I said sweetly.
Dr. Reilly snorted. "Well, you're certainly… spirited."
Dr. Reilly decided to try a different approach. "Let's do a Rorschach test," she said, holding up an inkblot card. "Tell me the first thing you see."
"Clouds," I said.
"Two flamingos doing yoga," Jackson said.
Dr. Reilly raised an eyebrow but moved to the next card.
"Tree branches," I said.
"An alien holding a taco," Jackson said confidently.
I buried my face in my hands. "I can't take you anywhere."
Dr. Reilly scribbled something on her notepad before asking, "What's something you genuinely admire about Lila?"
Jackson's smirk faded, and for once, he looked serious. "She's tough. Like, tougher than anyone I've ever met. And she's got this weird ability to put up with me, which is basically a superpower."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Jackson—"
"And she makes great coffee," he added, ruining the moment.
Dr. Reilly handed us foam bats for a "communication exercise." We were supposed to gently tap each other while expressing our feelings.
I tapped him on the arm. "You drive me insane."
Jackson tapped me back. "You secretly like it."
I hit him harder. "You never take anything seriously."
He hit me harder. "And you take everything too seriously."
Dr. Reilly sighed. "At least you're… communicating."
By the end of the session, Dr. Reilly looked more exhausted than we were.
"I have to say," she began, choosing her words carefully, "you two are… unique. Most couples come to therapy to solve problems. But you seem to thrive on chaos."
"Chaos is our love language," Jackson said, winking at me.
I rolled my eyes. "No, Jackson. Chaos is your fault."
When we left the office, I checked my phone and immediately saw a notification. Someone—likely Margaret—had leaked our therapy session to the tabloids.
"Power Couple Jackson and Lila: Rekindling Romance Through Therapy!"
"Great," I muttered. "Now we're reality TV stars."
"Hey, at least they called us a power couple," Jackson said, grinning. "That's a win!"
Later that evening, Jackson found me on the couch, still fuming over the day's events. He flopped down beside me, his usual carefree grin softening into something more sincere.
"You okay, Mrs. Carter?" he asked, nudging my knee with his.
I sighed, tossing my phone onto the coffee table. "I'm fine. Just tired of all the drama. Therapy wasn't supposed to be a PR stunt. And now the entire world knows about it."
Jackson stretched out, propping his feet on the coffee table like he owned the place. "For what it's worth, I don't think Dr. Reilly will recover anytime soon."
I gave him a half-hearted glare, but his teasing was enough to chip away at my frustration.
"You know," he continued, his tone softer now, "I get it. All this family and PR stuff—it's a lot. But you handled it like a champ."
I looked at him, surprised by the unexpected compliment. "You mean I survived without murdering you?"
"That too," he said with a grin. "But seriously, you did good, Lila."
For a moment, the teasing was gone, and he looked at me with something I couldn't quite name. Warmth, maybe? Whatever it was, it made my stomach flip in the most inconvenient way.
Just as I was starting to relax, my phone buzzed again. I groaned, knowing instinctively that it was Margaret.
Sure enough, her message popped up on the screen: "Great work at counseling today! Next step: family brunch with the investors. Be ready at 10 a.m. sharp."
I stared at the message, feeling a new wave of dread wash over me. "Your mother-in-law strikes again," I muttered, tossing the phone back onto the table.
Jackson raised an eyebrow, leaning over to glance at the screen. "Brunch with the investors? Sounds fancy."
"It's not fancy. It's torture," I said.
"Well, at least there's food," Jackson said, standing up and stretching. "Should I wear a tie, or are we keeping it casual?"
I glared at him. "You're not helping."
"Hey, look on the bright side, Mrs. Carter," he said with a wink. "If the investors are as chaotic as therapy, I'll bring the foam bats. Can't go wrong with those."
Despite myself, I laughed, shaking my head at him. "You're impossible."
"And you love it," he said, disappearing into the kitchen.
As much as I wanted to deny it, he wasn't entirely wrong.
---
"Couples counseling had been chaotic enough. But brunch with Margaret and the investors? That was going to take chaos to a whole new level."