I keep telling myself things could be worse.
Okay, so my mom’s been harboring some hefty family secrets. Big deal.
And, yeah, maybe there are still two or three teensy details about Zayn that I don’t know; his backstory, his private life, or his real name, for starters.
Oh, and let’s not forget that there’s a bloodthirsty, power-hungry, magical mob boss who’s due to appear at any moment.
So long as there are no more family bombshells, incubus-related heartbreaks, or unexpected, terrifying journeys into the Fae Realm, I’ll be completely fine. Because, as I’ve already reminded myself at least twelve times since breakfast, there’s no way things could possibly get worse.