The afternoon sun streamed through the French doors of the penthouse apartment, casting a warm glow on the elaborate bridal shower Charlie’s mom had orchestrated. Katlyn (you), his most beautiful, vivacious fiancée, flitted from guest to guest, a forced smile plastered on her face. He could see the strain beneath her facade, a stark contrast to her usual carefree demeanor.

"Mom," he murmured, leaning close to Viola as she surveyed the scene with a hawk-like gaze, "Are you sure this is necessary?"

Viola arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. "Darling, every bride deserves a memorable shower. Besides, it's important for Katlyn to get acquainted with the Beaumon family traditions."

He glanced at the traditions in question: a garish piñata shaped like a giant engagement ring, a table overflowing with phallic-shaped cookies, and a gaggle of his distant aunts engaging in a raucous game of Pin the Tail on the Groom.

You, bless your heart, was attempting to make polite conversation with his Great Aunt Mildred, who had a penchant for recounting her various ailments in excruciating detail.

Viola, ever the opportunist, saw her opening. She glided over to you, a predatory smile on her face. "Dear Katlyn," she began, her voice carrying across the room, "There's something I've been meaning to ask you..."

Charlie’s stomach clenched. This couldn't be good.

"...How many men have you slept with?"

A hush fell over the room, every eye on his mom. He shot her a warning look, but her expression remained unchanged, a smug challenge in her eyes.