Page 18 of The Malibu Destiny

I run my finger along the edge of my favorite deck—deep blue with silver stars that catch the light. "I'm not psychic," I tell him. "I can't see the future or read your past. These cards are just how the Universe communicates. They help me understand what's happening with the person sitting across from me." I pause, noticing his jaw soften. "But I can sense whether someone's good or carrying old wounds." Something about him feels genuine. Whoever Celeste is, she's lucky.

"And the crystals?" He gestures toward the velvet-lined display case, his calloused fingertips hovering over the rainbow of stones. "How do they work?"

"Well, they're blessed. At least, the crystals I buy are blessed by shamans in a ceremony with sage and moonlight." I smile, breathing in the familiar scent of sandalwood incense that permeates my shop. "So, they have healing and protective properties. You want to buy a crystal for Celeste, then?"

His stern expression softens. "We just welcomed our first baby. Got anything special for little Violet?"

I float toward my crystal collection, the hem of my skirt dancing around my ankles, and lift a milky white stone that catches the light. "Selenite—purifies a baby's space, surrounds her with calm energy." I place it in his palm, then add a sleek black stone flecked with emerald. "Black tourmaline. Nature's shield against negativity."

He reaches for his wallet, sliding out a Black Mastercard that gleams like onyx.

"Please, they're gifts," I insist, pushing his hand away gently.

"Absolutely not." His tone brooks no argument. I surrender, processing his payment before wrapping the stones in tissue paper.

As I hand him the small package, he lingers. "About my brother, Roman..." He pauses. "He'd have my head if he knew I stopped by."

My curiosity sparks. I wait, eyes locked on his.

"Roman's...complex. Old wounds run deep in our family." He shifts his weight. "But something tells me you might reach him in ways others can't. He needs that—needs..." He trails off, then straightens. "Don't let his rough edges chase you away, okay?"

I blink and smile. This is a strange conversation, considering Roman’s showed no romantic interest in me. But perhaps Max sensed something the other day when he came to my tent looking for his father and Roman? “I don’t understand?”

He sighs. “Just don’t let him chase you away, that’s all.” Then he lifts the crystals up and smiles. “Celeste will love these. Violet will too, one day. Right now, she’s just a tiny baby who won’t appreciate these crystals.”

Later on, just as I'm gathering my things to dash to Fabric Planet before closing—I've been dreaming of that emerald silk for my gala dress—the bell above the shop door chimes. A courier in pressed gray slacks hands me a black velvet box tied with a single crimson ribbon.

Inside, nestled against black satin, lies a Painite pendant: deep red with dark flecks catching the light. It hangs from a delicate platinum chain. My fingers tremble as I touch it—most jewelers will never see one in their lifetime. A crystal this perfect is worth a quarter million.

A cream-colored card rests beneath it, the handwriting bold and slashing: "This crystal is said to align all seven chakras simultaneously. Thought that might appeal to your mystical side. Hope to see it gracing your neck at the gala. Roman."

I blink. First Max comes by with his cryptic words and now this…

Is it possible for a beautiful and stormy billionaire to actually be interested in little ol’ me?

I suddenly can’t wait for the gala!

Chapter Twelve

ROMAN

Damn. That woman fucking unravels me. I had to grip the doorframe when I overheard her in her cabana—laughing, actually laughing—while making a date with Blake Walsh. WALSH. The same degenerate I dragged out by his designer collar last night, threatening to have him arrested. The same entitled prick who thought my hundred-year-old koi pond was his personal urinal. And she's batting those lashes at him?

My jaw clenches so hard I taste metal. I need Caspian's face to pound into a punching mitt right now, but he's up in San Francisco babysitting some gym opening. Goddammit. My blood is scorching through my veins like jet fuel. First my father showing his face, then Max showing up, and now Lilith—LILITH—giggling with Walsh? The drywall won't survive the night. My fist is already twitching for it.

I get to the resort and find…Serafina. Sera fucking fina. She's in the lobby, leaning against the front desk, one manicured finger tapping impatiently on the polished marble. Her white Valentino sundress hugs curves that belong on a yacht in Monaco, not my lobby at 2 PM on a Tuesday. Blonde hair cascades down her back like liquid gold, catching the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Six feet tall with a gorgeous natural rack, legs for fucking days and a face that would make Margot Robbie jealous. Every man in the vicinity keeps stealing glances while pretending not to. She's definitely an Amazon goddess come to life, complete with that ice-queen expression that says she knows exactly what she's worth. And I have zero fucking interest in her. Sorry Caspian. Know she's your sister but no.

And why is she here? She owns a string of hotels herself—glass towers in financial districts with marble lobbies, where the rooms are $1,000 and up. They don't compete with mine, though they're all five-stars. Her hotels cater to businessmen who need a desk and Wi-Fi, while my oceanfront resorts welcome those same men when they're ready for flip-flops and family time. Shouldn't she be somewhere else right now, in the middle of the fucking day?

"What are you doing here?" I ask her, my voice echoing slightly in the vaulted ceiling.

She shrugs, the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist catching the light. "I have a reading with Lilith Sydney today. Heard she's the best around. Want to check it out for myself. Caspian told me about her.” Then she turns back to Noah, my front desk concierge, whose eyes are popping out of his skull. “Talk to you later, Noah,” she purrs. Then she looks at me. “And you too, Rome. We should catch up.” And then she leaves, every man’s head turning as she glides out the door towards Lilith’s cabana.

Goddammit. If Sera starts any drama, I won't hesitate to have security escort her out. Let her cry to her 50 million Instagram followers—I couldn't care less. My jaw clenches as I remember our disaster of a relationship.

But something's off. I don't trust her sudden appearance.

I head down to the beachfront cabana where Lilith conducts readings when the weather permits. As I approach, Sera's voice drifts through the open windows.