Kissing Cupid - Julia Mills Page 0,1

the lovely ladies who’ve fawned over them, asked for their autographs because they thought they were movie stars, or have in any way tried to get their attention.

I'm also sorry to say that Cupid is one of the worst, especially this time of year. I mean, sure, he’s the most handsome man in the world, the God of Love and dreamy to a fault. (His mother and Zeus built him that way.) But even I, the woman so deeply in love with him that my heart skips a beat every time he even utters my name, must admit - the man has an ego that just will not quit.

I could already hear the laughs and taunts, their manly sneers repeating each and every humiliating word of my text message over and over. The constant loop of misery played in my head as I sunk deeper and deeper into despair.

Cupid's low, sensual baritone echoed in an exaggerated imitation of my already too-high Fairy voice, "I think you hung the moon and stars, Cupie." (Yeah, I have a cutesy nickname for him. Don't judge.) "You make me believe in love." Those words alone were the bright, multi-colored sprinkles on my already decadently-mortifying humiliation sundae.

Then Ares would chime in, his deep, booming voice repeating, "I dream of spending my life by your side, having your children, building a happy little home together." Talk about a sad- panda cupcake on the side. My life was ruined.

Yes, I hang my head in shame as I admit to you lovely ones that I typed those very words and sent them, plus a load of others that I am still too embarrassed and too hungover to repeat.

Chloe’s to blame. It’s all her fault. My older, more beautiful, dingbat of a sister, who’s getting married the day after Valentine's Day, is culpable for every single letter I typed.

It's not enough that I’m the Fairy Extraordinaire in charge of all things Valentine's Day. Or, that I've been single for most of my adult life - which in Fairy terms is Centuries, or that I’m in love with the very icon who signifies LOVE in all its magnificent splendor. I could’ve handled all that.

What tops it all off is that my bitch of a sister had to plan her wedding to Thomas, the most-boring Field Fairy in the Universe, for February fifteenth. The. Day. After. The Busiest. Day. Of. My. Life. I know it was just to spite me. Seriously, I know it was. It's the way Chloe operates. Sibling rivalry ain’t got nuthin’ on her.

The clanging of the tiny red bells being brutalized by the unstoppable vibrations of my bloody phone thankfully, albeit mercilessly, yanked me from my thoughts. Slowly getting to my feet, (think two-thousand-year-old Fairy Granny reaching for her walker.) I grabbed the bedpost while the room spun like the Tilt-A-Whirl at the Samhain Carnival, Inching across my pink shag carpet, every thread jabbing the soles of my feet like itsy-bitsy daggers, I knelt down, snatching said demonic device from the floor.

Sliding my finger across the screen my heart literally stopped beating as all the air was sucked from the room. Falling to my knees I read the words aloud. "WE HAVE CUPID. RETURN THE GOLD AND THE CHERUB KEEPS HIS WINGS. 5PM THE RAINBOW FOREST. COME ALONE. NO WAND. JUST YOU. SIGNED, THE LEPRECHAUNS."

(Yes, I know typing in all caps means they're yelling at me. It's not surprising. I think that's the only tone Leprechauns know.)

Not sure if I should throw up, call Albert, my assistant, or rip off my own wings and call it a day, I sat in stunned silence until yet more vibrating of the Satan-kissed phone snapped me out of my stupor. Hitting the speaker button, I mumbled, "Krissy, here."

The words were no sooner out of my mouth than Albert, my flamboyant, outrageous, pink and purple-haired, always dressed in pastel leather, assistant wailed, "The Cherubs all have mono, and the doctor says they have to stay in bed for a week. Valentine's Day is less than forty-eight hours away, Krissy. FORTY-EIGHT HOURS! What are we gonna do? What are we gonna do? Oh, my great Goddess, WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?"

Slamming my hand on the screeching device, all I could do was close my eyes and take a deep breath. (I had, after all, been holding my breath since Albert started shrieking. Passing out would not have been a good look and would’ve in no way helped with the crisis at