Page 4 of The Malibu Destiny

Jack leans across the counter. “Forget celebrities. Tell me about those gorgeous men serving drinks poolside.”

Typical Jack—I’m living my dream and he’s thinking about eye candy. “Oh, I’m sure the cabana boys will be just as polished as everything else at that place. It’s where the beautiful people play, after all.”

Speaking of beautiful people...Roman Kensington is walking perfection. The resort is like a living Vogue magazine, but that makes sense when the owner himself belongs on GQ’s cover. He probably has a “gorgeous people only” hiring policy. Shame he seems to despise me...

Jack narrows his eyes at me. “Lil,” he says, catching me mid-daydream. “I know that face. Which ridiculously hot resort person has you all flustered?”

I can’t help but sigh. Roman’s dark waves that he tries—and fails—to tame with expensive product. Those obsidian eyes that see right through you. The way his Tom Ford suit stretches across shoulders that could carry the weight of the world. Beneath that polished - and heartbreakingly beautiful - exterior lurks something untamed. I saw it in his eyes, and the cards confirmed it. Turbulence swirls beneath his surface, and God help me, that only makes him more attractive. I’ve always had this self-destructive thing for complicated men, and Roman is a beautiful, tangled knot of complications.

Not that it matters. He exists in a stratosphere I’ll never reach. I can’t seriously consider him—but that won’t stop me from dreaming. Who could blame me?

“Why do you say that I’m daydreaming?”

“Oh, puleeze,” Jack says, slapping his hand on the counter hard enough to make the crystals jump. “When you said ‘beautiful people,’ your eyes practically rolled back in your head. Now spill it before I die of suspense.”

“It’s nothing,” I say, my cheeks burning as I imagine Roman’s razor-sharp jawline, those piercing dark eyes that could melt steel. God, I’m pathetic—like some teenager fantasizing about a celebrity she’ll never meet. “It’s just⁠—“

“It’s just WHAT?” Jack leans in so close I can smell his cinnamon gum.

I take a deep breath. “Well, the owner of this place, Roman Kensington,” I begin.

“Roman Kensington? The Roman Kensington? Holy mother of—”Jack clutches his chest and collapses against the booth. “That man is walking sex. I literally had to fan myself through that twelve-page Vanity Fair spread where he was wearing that charcoal Armani suit with no tie. Annie Leibovitz should’ve been arrested for what she did with that camera.”

“I forgot about your Vanity Fair obsession,” I mutter, suddenly desperate to see these photos.

“Well, right. He’s been in that magazine twice. Once was a profile of him and his brothers, and once a profile of just him. And oh my God…” He grabs my wrist. “You’re going to be working for an absolute adonis, Lilith. I would kill—KILL—to be in your second-hand Pradas now!”

Oh great - now I’m really intimidated. Vanity Fair. Twice. Once just him—all chiseled jawline and brooding stare, no doubt—and once with the whole Kensington dynasty. I flip through the mental images: Roman in Tom Ford, lounging on some mid-century furniture worth more than my car, while Annie Leibovitz adjusts the lighting. Of course the glossy magazine crowd can’t get enough of guys like him. Rich, gorgeous, powerful—he’s like catnip sprinkled with cocaine for that set. And his brothers...

“Why did Vanity Fair feature his brothers too?”

Jack’s eyes widen as he slams his palm on the counter again. “Are you kidding me right now? You don’t know about the fabulous Kensingtons? Jesus Christ, what planet have you been living on?”

My face burns. “Sorry, I⁠—“

“Listen,” Jack leans in, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. “Roman is just the tip of the iceberg. That family is like some genetic experiment gone perfectly right. Eight brothers—all of them walking gods with bank accounts that could bail out small countries. Connor’s got three Oscars on his mantel and makes grown men weep with his performances. Kalen sells out Madison Square Garden in four minutes flat.”

“Wait. Connor and Kalen Kensington are his brothers?” My stomach drops as the realization hits me like a freight train. “Holy shit.”

“And that’s not all.” Jack’s fingers grip my wrist. “Max runs Kensington Pictures with an iron fist. Ansel dominates the music industry. Silas has half the celebrities in Hollywood dripping in his jewels. Asher throws parties that make the Met Gala look like a backyard barbecue. And then there’s Cameron—“ Jack laughs bitterly, “—poor Cameron only saves lives as an ER doc at Cedars.”

I feel dizzy. But then again, I saw in those tarot cards the truth about Roman and his family. In those cards, I saw the absolute tragedy that befell that family - the alcoholic father who left when they were young, the mother who died when they were even younger. The turbulent relationship Roman has with his brothers. Those beautiful, powerful men were forged in the same hellfire that created Roman—abandoned by their broken father, never really knowing their mother. The glittering Kensington empire was built on a foundation of absolute devastation. Talk about a beautiful house built on a foundation of sand…

I clear my throat, desperate to change the subject. “Well. Looks like I’ll be gone two days a week at Verde. Think you can survive without me?”

Jack’s eyes flash playfully. “Oh, I’ll survive just fine,” he says, voice dropping lower. “Picture it—me trapped here with the unwashed masses pawing through crystals while you’re down there with the gods and goddesses of Verde.” He leans in, close enough I can smell his cologne. “And Roman Kensington, who makes mere mortals weep with his perfection. Maybe light a black candle for me while I’m rotting away in your absence.”

“I’ll do that.”

Then I exhale slowly. This position could be everything I’ve wanted.

If only Roman Kensington didn’t look at me like I was something stuck to the bottom of his Italian leather shoe.

Chapter Three

ROMAN

Over a week later, I slam through the doors of Blackwood Boxing at 5 AM sharp, my knuckles already itching for contact. The downtown gym reeks of sweat, blood, and ambition—a cathedral of pain where Caspian Blackwood and I have shed more than just our family legacies.