“Gem…” she murmurs, shaking her head. “I—I’ve never seen this before.”
Ice slides down my spine.
“What do you mean?”
She frowns and throws up her hands.
“All the charms…” She gestures vaguely toward the others. “We got them from Pandora. They don’t sell cards. Well, gift cards…”
I stare down at the card, my pulse hammering.
Mackenzie sticks her finger in the frosting on my boobs and puts it in her mouth. “Is this vanilla?”
She’s saying something about cake tasting and the bakery screwing up, but I don’t hear her anymore.
Over her shoulder, past the glittering centerpieces and flickering lanterns, Alder cuts through the crowd, moving toward me like a shark.
I clutch the paper tighter, my fingers smearing buttercream across the edges.
I need to get out of here before he reaches me.
I snag a flute of champagne from a server as I slip away, weaving between the tables and guests without so much as a backward glance. The tent flaps rustle as I push my way outside and rush to the clubhouse where I duck into the bathroom.
It’s blessedly cool as the door closes behind me, and the noise of the reception is long gone, leaving me alone with the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the soft whisper of my ballet flats against the polished marble floor. I take a sip of champagne and set the card on theedge of the sink before glancing at my reflection.
The frosting smear across my chest is more noticeable in this harsh lighting, a pale blue stain streaked with white buttercream that sticks to the satin like some kind of bridal scarlet letter. I press my fingers against the fabric, wiping at it uselessly before tearing a handful of paper towels from the dispenser. But it’s not the wreckage on my dress that I’m drawn to cleaning up.
It’s the card.
I brush away the frosting with the ball of wadded up paper towels. The air around me grows thick and humid, and a tingle washes down my back, electricity pulsing just beneath my skin. The world around me seems to slow, the edges of my vision growing hazy. My breathing stills as the last bits of frosting melt away under my touch and reveal the card’s shimmering surface.
It looks like a tarot card.
No…itisa tarot card.
I swallow and peer closer. I can’t explain the dread pooling in my stomach as I trace the shimmering figures on the surface. The card seems to vibrate, hum with an energy that pours lava hot through my veins.
Two figures are locked in a tender embrace, bodies pressed together like two halves of the same whole beneath towering, golden-leafed trees. A twisting green serpent curls up one of the tree trunks—temptation lurking in the shadows. The man and woman at the center look familiar. Too familiar to ignore, even as my mind insists it’s impossible.
I touch my hair as I stare down at hers. Even with the singed ends I had to cut off in my hotel room with sewing scissors, my blond waves still drape across myshoulders and down my back—just like hers. She wears a deep blue gown, and a satin mask obscures her eyes, but I know that round chin, those cheekbones, that smile.
And him. I’d recognize him anywhere.
“Alder.”
His golden hair, his chiseled features, those piercing blue eyes… They’re locked on the version of me printed on the card while his hand cradles her neck. I can almost feel those hands, the way his fingers used to trace my skin with equal parts possession and command, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to protect me or mark me as his.
I clench my jaw, forcing away the memory, but the figures are unmistakable.
She looks like me. He looks like Alder. They look like us.
I grip the card tighter, trying to convince myself it’s just a trick of my mind, just another silly wedding game.
A flicker of movement catches my eye, and my pulse quickens. The serpent, coiled around the base of the tree shimmers for a moment, its green scales catching the light like it’s alive.
“You are on your way to being drunk, Gemma. Get your shit together.” I shake my head. “And don’t do this to yourself. Don’t perform these mental gymnastics. Not over Alder. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
I reach for more paper towels from the dispenser to clean up my dress, but it’s empty. Of course it is. Leaving the champagne flute on the counter, I grab the tarot card and make a beeline for the nearest stall. I’ll finish cleaning up with toilet paper.
