Page 72 of The Malibu Destiny

Jack's perfectly groomed eyebrows shoot toward his hairline as he tosses his head back dramatically. "Honey, what are you even talking about?" He waves his hand dismissively. "Roman's resort is here. What am I missing? Unless—" he leans forward, voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, "—he's opening up a branch up there that he'll be running? In which case, spill the tea immediately."

I sigh and tell him about Sera's ultimatum, watching his expression darken with each word. Jack listens, drumming his manicured fingers against the counter, and shakes his head. "Sweetie, I'm gagged—positively gagged—that you're letting Miss Thing with her off-the-rack personality and that smile that cost more than my rent boss you around. These trust fund princesses with their Louboutins and their 'Daddy's special girl' black Amex? They're used to people rolling over faster than I do at Tinder notifications." He leans in, eyes sparkling. "But honey, you? No ma'am. I'd tell her to sashay away so fast her hair extensions would need therapy. And I'd do it," he snapped twice, "fabulously."

"Not that simple," I say, running my fingers over the worn tarot cards I've been using all morning. "Roman's trying to start a new eco-resort hotel chain for his father. It's a delicate time for him right now, and a whiff of scandal might do him in like a house of cards. And dating me, the quirky tarot reader with crystals in her bra, just might qualify as a scandal, don't you see? Everybody will assume I’m a witch, and the word witch is still a dirty word with those conservative money men. And if my being a so-called witch doesn’t do Michael’s resort in, the stories of his alcoholism will. So, I have to bow out of his life. For his sake.”

"So what are you going to do, then? Just move up there without telling him?" Jack's perfectly groomed eyebrow arches as he leans forward on my shop’s velvet couch.

I nod, twisting my crystal pendant between my fingers. "Yes. I can't face him. I wouldn't be able to do what's right, which is to break up with him. It'll be easier if I just move up there without the big scene between us." I sigh.

I thrust a small canvas tote bag of cat toys into Jack’s hands. "So you'll watch Gracie while I'm gone? I leave tomorrow, and I'll be there about a week—just long enough to feel if the energy's right for me. If the universe wants me in Carmel, I'll know." I twirl a strand of hair around my finger. "Gracie would hate the drive. You've seen how she gets in the carrier—all claws and drama."

“You’re leaving him without a word. Scandalous," Jack says, shaking his head of glossy chestnut hair. "And what about the townhouse? What about me?" His voice cracks slightly on the last word.

"Oh, Jack," I say, and hug him, the tears streaming hot and salty down my flushed cheeks. His familiar scent of sandalwood cologne envelops me. "You're really my soul mate, do you know that? You wouldn't want to come up there with me, would you? I mean, there won't be any AF models up there for you and it's a small town so there might not be much action for you at all, but it's a beautiful, peaceful place with misty mornings and you might like it."

Jack laughs, his azure eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, honey, I thought you'd never ask! I need you like Linus Van Pelt needs his security blanket. That's pathetic, isn't it?" He adjusts the silk scarf around his neck.

"Okay, then, it's set!" I'm suddenly much happier, a warm glow spreading through my chest. I can't have Roman, which is an absolute tragedy, but if Jack's with me, that'll give me some degree of comfort. "I'll go up there and stay a week and get a feel for the place before I sign any lease. I need to feel the place is right, feel it in my bones, see if it calls to my soul. And if it does, I'll sign a lease and we can move up there together!"

Jack shakes his head, his lips pursed. "And when Roman god comes to the store looking for you, all broody six-foot-something of him?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." I whisper, staring out at the Venice Beach sunset painting the sky in shades of amber and rose.

Chapter Forty-Two

LILITH

I leave for Carmel the day after Sera's unwelcome visit, tearfully bidding both Jack and Gracie a bittersweet goodbye. But perfect timing, really. Roman's calendar has been packed lately—juggling resort operations, investor meetings, and those long sessions with his father about the eco-resort chain.

One night at the resort, when I got off work there, I found him in his office, blueprints spread everywhere, his father leaning over his shoulder pointing at something while Roman nodded and smiled. Twenty-two years of absence, and now they speak a shared language of sustainable materials and energy-efficient designs. When Roman texted me at midnight—"Still working with Dad. Miss you."—I hugged my phone to my chest. For a man who once swore he'd never forgive Michael Kensington, those late nights planning together say everything words cannot.

I get to Carmel-by-the-Sea about six hours after I left LA. My car's engine quiets as I slow to the town's mandated 25 mph. The village looks like something from another century—cottages without street numbers, shingled roofs at odd angles, streets with names instead of numbers. Cypress trees twist overhead, and salt air mixes with wood smoke from stone fireplaces. Ocean Avenue slopes toward the white-sand beach and the Pacific.

The new shop space sits in one of those storybook cottages Carmel is known for. It has a steep roof of cedar shingles weathered to silver, leaded glass windows that catch the morning light, and curved eaves. Stone chimneys rise from either end, and a rounded wooden door sits beneath an oak archway. Cypress trees surround the property, filtering sunlight onto a path lined with lavender and roses.

I can’t help but look around at this new space and think that it’s absolutely perfect for my new shop. After all, I’ll be opening a New Age shop, a place where you could find everything from spell books to tarot cards to crystals to books about subjects such as chakras, reiki healing, to astrology to channeling spirits. There’s something about all those subjects that remind me of fairy tales, so how perfect is it to have a shop in a fairy tale house?

I texted Raven on the way up, telling her that I’m anxious to check out the space, and she shows up while I’m admiring the architecture of the special space. “Lilith,” she says. “When I got your text, I was so surprised. When I last talked to you, I was sure that you would want to stay in Los Angeles. I thought there was a special person down there for you.”

"There is," I say. "But I think my time in his life has run its course." I sigh.

I met Roman when he needed someone to guide him back to his father, to help mend that broken bridge. Has he completely healed from those old wounds? No. Some scars might always remain. But his father stands beside him now, and with each passing day, their relationship strengthens. This resort they're building together—I see it as more than steel and glass. It's a monument to their reconciliation, even if the final healing takes years.

Roman is becoming someone new before my eyes. Someone steadier, more at peace. And I know that perhaps it was my entire purpose in meeting him - so that I could help them bridge their divide. I'd like to think that my midnight prayers to Brigid, the rose quartz I slipped into his pocket, the hours spent cross-legged on my meditation cushion visualizing father and son embracing—that somehow, in some small way, it all helped push them toward each other.

My mind insists I was just the catalyst for this transformation, nothing more. My heart argues differently—whispering that he's the one person I've been searching for my entire life, my other half. The kind of connection I never truly believed existed.

But I need to silence these feelings. His investors would balk at him dating someone like me with my crystals and tarot cards. They'd question his judgment, his stability. And Serafina would ensure every tabloid splashed our relationship across their pages, humiliating him completely.

Worse, Serafina could whisper the magic words "recovering alcoholic" into the right ears. As a respected hotelier with connections throughout the industry, she wielded enough influence to ensure Michael's resort project would be strangled in its cradle before the first investor's check cleared.

Raven sinks onto a jewel-toned floor pillow, patting the one beside her. I hesitate before joining her, my legs folding reluctantly beneath me.

"Your aura," she whispers, her eyes widening. "It's jet black, Lilith. Not your usual pink or green. Something's torn you apart."

My throat tightens. Roman's face blazes through my mind like a lightning strike—that smile that cracks open his granite facade, revealing the raw, beating heart beneath. When we're together, my entire body hums with recognition, every cell screaming that I've found the other half of my fractured soul, the missing piece I've been searching for across lifetimes.

God, I want him. Need him. But then I see the Bloomberg headlines: "Kensington Hotels Plummet as CEO Dates Self-Proclaimed Witch." I imagine his brothers' disappointment, his father's concern. Maybe I'm being paranoid. Maybe investors wouldn't care. Maybe I'm just scared of how desperately I love him, how completely he could destroy me. But what if I'm right?