Page 73 of The Malibu Destiny

I tell Raven everything—how Roman and his father are staking their entire relationship on this eco-resort, how the project is like some fragile, beating heart between them. "If it fails," I say, my voice cracking, "Michael will shatter. He'll crawl back inside a bottle and never come out. And Roman—God, Roman will never forgive himself. Never forgive his father. Never forgive me."

I grip the edge of the table until my knuckles turn white. "And I'm dying inside, Raven. I found him—my actual soulmate—and now I have to walk away. These billionaire investors Roman needs? They'd take one look at me, at my crystals and tarot cards, and they'd laugh him out of the room. If that doesn’t do it, the knowledge of Michael’s alcoholism would. His father's dream would collapse. Their relationship would implode. And it would be my fault—all my fault—because I couldn't stay away from a man I had no business loving in the first place."

Raven exhales, her shoulders dropping. We're both spiritual, just in different ways. I read tarot; she does Reiki and sound healing with crystal bowls. Her clients leave with the same peaceful look mine do. She's booked solid for months. "We should work together," I've suggested more than once. "My readings followed by your healing—it'd be perfect." I'd find what's broken, and she'd fix it.

She cocks her head to one side, her waist-length auburn hair cascading over her shoulder like a waterfall of fire. Those sea-green eyes narrow slightly as they study me. "Well, one thing's for sure," she says, her voice melodic but firm. "Your chakras are completely out of alignment. Your root chakra is practically screaming." She taps a slender finger against her lips, adorned with a simple moonstone ring. "See me tomorrow morning, first thing, and I'll do something about that mess of energy you're carrying around."

I force a smile, my lips stretching like an elastic band about to snap. God, when was the last time I actually meant that smile? Before Sera, definitely. Maybe some stones on my back would help.

I've seen clients emerge from chakra sessions looking reborn—eyes bright, shoulders relaxed, as if someone had finally unscrewed a valve letting all that toxic pressure escape. But who am I kidding? My heart feels like it's wrapped in razor wire. No amount of sandalwood smoke or crystal vibrations will fix what's breaking inside me. I’ve lost him. Period. All my new-age remedies are just expensive Band-Aids on a wound that won't stop bleeding.

Chapter Forty-Three

ROMAN

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My phone screen shows seventeen unanswered texts to Lilith since morning, and every call goes straight to voicemail after the fourth ring. When I cornered Miranda at the front desk about it, her perfectly penciled eyebrows arched high. "I’m sorry, Roman, but Lilith gave notice that she’d be gone at least until the 15th, so she’s not on the schedule right now.”

I know I’ve been out of pocket. Between my usual resort duties, Dad's investor meetings, and poring over his plans until my eyes cross, I've barely had time to breathe. If someone had told me two months ago I'd willingly sacrifice my scarce free hours to help the man who abandoned us launch his own resort, I'd have called them delusional.

Yet here I am, knee-deep in sustainability reports and blueprint revisions, determined to see this through. The strangest part? Somewhere between location scouting and budget meetings, the stranger who shares my DNA has become... Dad again.

My walls came down when I realized something simple but profound: if he ever tried to vanish like before, I wouldn't let him—none of us would. What I thought was anger was really just fear in disguise—terror that letting him back meant risking another abandonment that would break me beyond repair. Now I can breathe easier knowing my brothers and I hold the power. He's not leaving again unless we say so.

Dad and I even surfed last Saturday. Just us—my brothers all magically had other things to do, even Max, who'd normally cut off his right arm before missing Saturday waves. The morning fog had burned off, leaving the water so damn perfect it almost hurt to look at it. Between sets, we just floated there, faces up to the sun, and talked. Actually talked. Twenty-two years of silence, and suddenly I'm telling him everything like some emotional dam broke inside me.

Told him about Lilith's eyes—amber, like whiskey in sunlight—and how the lavender smell of her skin somehow calms the constant chaos in my head. He told me about Patricia's laugh, how it starts small then takes over her whole body, and how she dragged him back to life after Mom.

The old man actually has a sense of humor—cracking jokes about Uncle Thomas's ridiculous three-legged goat and some crazy Vietnam vet who drinks Jack for breakfast at his local dive in that English village where he spent two decades.

Four hours later, arms feeling like jelly and skin burned to hell, we walked up the beach together, laughing like those missing years were nothing but a bad dream.

After surfing, I invited him to The Bone and Brass for dinner—my flagship restaurant where I knew the staff would treat him like royalty. When he walked in, I stepped forward first and wrapped my arms around him.

"The menu's yours," I said, that old feeling washing over me—ten years old again, desperate for his approval. "Chef Marcelo outdoes himself on everything."

He gave me that hesitant smile before ordering oysters to start and the herb-roasted chicken. Nothing flashy, nothing expensive. Classic Dad—frugal to the bone. I'd somehow forgotten that about him.

He sipped his water. "So, Lilith. She okay with all this father-son time?"

"That's what makes her special," I said. "Unlike anyone I've dated before. She's just... genuine. Sees the bigger picture when everyone else gets caught in the details."

His eyes creased at the corners. "And training for this Ironman with Max next fall? When exactly will you sleep?"

"Not starting that until we finalize your resort plans," I said. "We're in the critical phase now—financing, blueprints. Once we break ground, I'll ease back. Won't push myself too hard, like you always warned."

"You remember those conversations." He nodded slowly. "Me worrying your intensity would burn you out someday. Still worries me."

"It's who I am, Dad. Lilith says it's my Aries nature—always charging forward. That won't change. But I promise not to run myself into the ground."

Dad and I talked long into the night, our voices growing hoarse as the soda water in our glasses dwindled - I don’t drink around him, of course. He insists that I can, that he can handle it, but why tempt fate? The restaurant’s balcony overlooks the Pacific with waves crashing against the Palos Verdes cliffs below us.

When his eyelids started drooping, I insisted he take one of our open oceanfront suites—the Malibu, with its king-sized bed and rainfall shower. As I handed him the keycard, our fingers brushed, and I felt something shift between us, like tectonic plates finally settling after decades of tension.

So, yeah, Dad and I are finally becoming something I never dreamed we'd be—friends.

Now, for some odd reason, Lilith isn't answering her phone. Three calls straight to voicemail. So unlike her. I drive my Aston Martin down to Venice Beach and go right to her store. The crystal dreamcatcher that usually catches the last rays of sunlight in the display window hangs motionless in darkness. The CLOSED sign dangles crookedly against the glass door. Of course—it's 8:17 now. She always locks up around 6, right after the beach crowd thins out.

I speed across town to her pale blue townhome and rap my knuckles against the door, my pulse quickening with each second of silence. When Jack finally opens the door, his usual sparkly eye makeup is smudged at the corners. "Roman, hello," he says stiffly, his shoulders squared beneath his silk kimono robe. My stomach drops. Jack isn't winking, isn't calling me "gorgeous," isn't playfully adjusting my collar. Something is definitely wrong.