He studies me with that cautious half-smile he gets when he’s trying not to offend. “You look hot, actually. Like some wanton gypsy girl.”
I shift my weight and shuffle the cards. My fingers remember the rhythm even though it’s been years. I gather the deck, flicking it once with my pinky—Mabel’s rule.
“So…” he nods at the cards, “what do they say about me?”
“You have to touch the deck first,” I tell him. “Just for a second.”
He hesitates, then presses his fingertips to the top card.
“Now, think about your question,” I instruct. “Don’t say it out loud.”
His nose wrinkles. “I don’t have a question.”
“Then the cards will pick one for you.” My thumb slides along the edges, loosening the cards into a smooth fan. “You don’t pick the cards. They pick you. You stop when you feel a spark or a change in temperature. That’s how you know you should slide a card out of the deck.”
He cups my face and steals a kiss. “You’re cute when you’re excited about something.”
My eyes dart to the cards expectantly.
“Beautiful, I can’t hear any cards calling me.” He purses his lips and slides three cards out of the stack anyway. “Here. To make you smile.”
“Past, present, future,” I tell him, spinning them around and laying them down one by one.
The first card unveiled is the Lovers, reversed.
My voice trembles as I try to sound cheerful. “This one is the Lovers.”
Upside down, it signals disharmony. Choices made in bad faith.
“Aren’t you a little minx, drawing naked people?”
He doesn’t notice the way my fingers shake, and I turn over the second card. Lightning splits stone. A tower coming apart at its seams.
“This one’s about sudden change. Collapse before renewal,” I say quickly.
Lachlan exhales through his nose and rubs his face, already retreating. He sinks into the mattress, his gaze skimming past the spread.
“These things weird me out,” he mutters. “Can we just watch a movie on my phone?”
My shoulders sag. “Yes. Of course.”
I peek at the last card before discarding the deck.
The Eight of Cups.
Leaving. Walking away from something that no longer fulfills you.
I slide the cards back into their box and set it aside, my heart in my throat. Then I curl up beside my mortal fiancé, fitting myself against him, and wonder if Mabel is laughing somewhere at my expense. Because I think she might have been right all along, and I was too stubborn—or too deep under the spell of a love arrow—to see it.
Chapter 10
Cousins
MAX
The ballroom stretches wider than it should, its proportions wrong in the way dreams always are. At its center lies a bed, stripped of everything but two pieces of white linen. Hanging tarps of liquid silk separate me from it, but they don’t hide anything—not really. They only soften the view, turning flesh and motion into suggestion. A private ritual is made public here because of old, damaging traditions.
Nothing is concealed. Everything is watched.
