Page 33 of The Malibu Destiny

Southern California storms are deceptive that way—they quiet down, making you think they're over, then surge back. Wind finds the gaps in the building, whistling through palm trees. Another flash, another boom. My mother taught me how to count seconds between lightning and thunder to know how far away a storm was. I've forgotten the formula now, like I've forgotten so much about her.

Five minutes later, a sharp rap at the door cuts through our conversation. "Who could that be?" I ask as Roman unfolds his six-foot-four frame from the plush sectional, his bare feet padding across the Italian marble.

A familiar voice—high-pitched and dripping with affected charm—trills through the penthouse suite, and I groan, sinking deeper into the cushions. Serafina.

"What are you doing here?" Roman demands. The transformation is jarring—his voice hardens from the warm honey baritone that had just been whispering stories about his first surfboard into something cold and metallic. His jaw clenches as he stands in the doorway, blocking my view of the blonde goddess with her perfect manicure and designer everything.

Her stilettos click across the marble floor as she approaches. "I heard you were here." She tosses her rain-dampened hair over one shoulder. "I asked at the front desk." Her voice drops to a honeyed whisper. "And I have an emergency at my father's headquarters in Palo Alto. My plane is grounded in this weather, but I know that you have your pilot's license and you're not afraid of taking off in bad weather, so…"

"Sorry," Roman's voice cuts through the air like a blade. His jaw tightens, eyes cold as the storm outside. "Even I'm not fool enough to take off in this weather. You'll have to find someone with a death wish." He turns away, adding over his shoulder, "And that's no longer me."

Sera leans forward, her manicured fingers tapping the edge of the mahogany table. "Oh, come on," she says, her voice silky with persuasion. "You're the best pilot I know in bad weather. It's because you're remarkably void of fear. If anything, things that scare other people only make you sharper. Every other pilot would be so terrified of flying in this weather that they'll make a mistake and crash the plane. And I have to get to Palo Alto today."

"It's a six-hour drive," Roman says, his jaw tightening as he glances out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the charcoal clouds gathering on the horizon. Lightning flickers in the distance, illuminating his sharp profile for a split second.

Still, I wonder if he'll fly her to her father's office. Roman's the type who'd pilot through a storm just to prove a point. I've seen that look in his eyes before—right before he does something reckless that makes my pulse jump. And I can't help it—picturing his hands on the controls of that private jet makes me shiver in a way that has nothing to do with the weather.

Is there nothing this man can't do? He can apparently navigate a Gulfstream through stormy skies with the casual confidence of someone parallel parking. Yesterday, I watched him hoist my oak bookshelf—the one that took three delivery men to bring inside—with nothing but his own strength, veins mapping his forearms like rivers. And when he kissed me, those same powerful hands cupped my face with such tenderness that my toes curled against the hardwood, my body arching toward his like a flower seeking sunlight.

Roman's jaw tightens as he leans forward. "What's your father's emergency?" he asks, voice low and controlled.

"The storm's hammering Palo Alto right now. His tech headquarters lost power when lightning struck their backup generator. The server farm is overheating, and they've got millions in crypto assets that could vanish if the cooling systems stay offline much longer. His entire security team is trapped in the building because the electronic locks failed in lockdown mode, and now there's three feet of water in the parking garage."

Roman folds his arms across his chest. "And your presence is necessary because...?"

“I’m the only one who understands the proprietary storm-monitoring system my father installed last year - the one currently predicting catastrophic power failures within the hour. And it takes both of us to get it back online because of the way my father designed it.” She shakes her head. “Daddy didn’t have time to train somebody up there and I guess he didn’t imagine that a storm would hit of this magnitude so soon. Best laid plans…”

Roman's jaw tightens as he shakes his head. "I'll do this for Caspian and your father, not you. Got that?" He points at her, eyes narrowed, then looks up at the gray clouds. "Goddamn it, I don't know if I can get clearance to take off in this weather. Might have to override protocol." When he turns to me, his voice changes. "Lilith, I wish you could come with us, but I won't risk your safety like this."

“Oh, Roman, thank you so much!!!!” Sera is jumping up and down, but she takes a moment to give me a look of triumph.

“But Sera, I’m not stupid. I’m calling your father to make sure that the emergency is as you say it is.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“Your goddamn right I don’t trust you. So, I’m calling him right now.”

Roman takes his phone into the other room and five minutes later, he comes back out and looks at Serafina. “Let’s go. Not a moment to waste, it sounds like.”

He's risking his own life flying through this tempest for other people—including this woman with honey blonde hair cascading down her back, pouty crimson lips, and a designer outfit that probably costs more than my monthly store rent. A woman he obviously doesn't care about anymore. But he does apparently care for her father and this Caspian person, whoever that is.

My fingers instinctively touch the rose quartz pendant at my throat as I watch him. The crystal warms beneath my fingertips, and I know as sure as I'm sitting here that he'll successfully navigate through this weather, his capable hands steady on the controls. I have complete faith in this. And I also have complete faith in something else—that I can trust him.

Yes, Sera might look like a Barbie Doll come to life with her perfect figure and flawless complexion, and her father is apparently a tech billionaire who no-doubt has a mansion overlooking the Pacific, and she's an heiress and probably brilliant if her father relies on her like this, but no matter.

Roman is meant for me. The universe has aligned our paths for a reason. Of that I'm sure.

Time to listen to my gut for once, to trust the intuition that's been humming through my veins since the moment our eyes first met.

Chapter Nineteen

ROMAN

Home at last. The flight to Palo Alto with Serafina was worth it, even if her father's headquarters was a complete disaster zone when we arrived. I didn't do it for her—I did it for her and Caspian's old man.

When my father vanished, Fritz Blackwood stepped in. Not in the day-to-day way, buried as he was in building his tech security empire, but in the ways that mattered. He'd call from Lake Como: "Roman, get your ass on a plane." Next thing I knew, I'd be carving through waves behind their boat. Christmas in Crete. Spring break on Swiss slopes. Hell, he even showed up to watch me play hockey sometimes.

For him, I’d walk through hell. For Sera, I wouldn’t fucking get out of bed if she called me from a burning building.