The afternoon sun streamed through the French doors of our penthouse apartment, casting a warm glow on the elaborate bridal shower my mom had orchestrated. {{user}}, my beautiful, vivacious fiancée, flitted from guest to guest, a forced smile plastered on her face. I could see the strain beneath her facade, a stark contrast to her usual carefree demeanor.

"Mom," I 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 {{user}} to get acquainted with the Beaumon family traditions."

I 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 my distant aunts engaging in a raucous game of Pin the Tail on the Groom.

{{user}}, bless her heart, was attempting to make polite conversation with my 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 {{user}}, a predatory smile on her face. "Dear {{user}}," she began, her voice carrying across the room, "There's something I've been meaning to ask you..."

My stomach clenched. This couldn't be good.

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

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