Chapter 3
November
Five Months Until The Wedding
“You’re getting slower.” I put my hands on my hips and suck in air.
Carter rounds the final turn toward our designated tree, where I wait for him. He bends over and rests his hands on his knees, looking up at me through lowered brows. “Yeah, well, it’s been a while.”
I shake a branch of the tree and the snow dusts his hair. “Serves you right for canceling so many of our runs these past couple months.”
Our hangouts have been few and far between since he got back to New York in September.
While he was once a staple of my social life—the center of my social life, really—lately I’ve been either begging Zuri to spare time for me amid her active dating life or spending weekends home alone.
I’m already terrified of what this means for when Carter moves to London.
It’s also why I haven’t broached the topic of meeting Trip that night in his mom’s library…
yet. With our time reduced to an hour here, thirty minutes there, it’s hardly the kind of topic I want to jump right into.
And maybe there’s a small part of me that worries he’ll think I’m crazy. Maybe I’m worried I’m crazy.
“It’s been busy, Lib. Cut me some slack.”
“Mmm. So busy you forgot to tell me about any more life-altering plans? Anything I should be aware of in case Page Six runs an article?” I try to keep my words light, but a vise grips my chest. Carter keeping these details from me is so unlike him.
So unlike us. It’s left me reeling about where our friendship stands.
“This again? We’ve been over it, like, a hundred times. I was going to tell you.” He shakes the snow from his hair like a wet dog and takes a pull from his water bottle. The droplets that miss his mouth curl their way around his jaw, down his neck, and over his Adam’s apple.
“Sure.” I look at the ground, averting my eyes from his neck. “You just never mentioned it was that serious.”
He shrugs and puts his hands on his hips. “Things moved quickly.”
“And how does this job with the Carmichaels work, exactly? I thought you were supposed to take over the Coldwell oil dynasty.” I’m aiming for the jugular. Carter would never abandon his family’s business.
“There’s a lot of overlap between oil and diamonds, actually. Ever heard of industrial diamonds?”
“No.” I cross my arms against the cold.
“Well, I’ll still be involved in the company.
This job with the Carmichaels will only require part of my time, but it’s a good business decision, and some time in London with contacts over there can’t hurt.
” His hazel eyes study mine and he tugs my ponytail.
“I’ll still be back and forth to New York, don’t worry.
And someday, when the family wants me to take on a bigger role, I’ll be ready. ”
I sigh. “So, you’re really going.” My eyes are glued to the ground. I don’t want to see his face when he says it.
“Don’t really have a choice.”
That man has never made a decision for himself in his whole life.
Trip’s words from the night of the engagement party echo in my memory.
I shiver, pushing that evening to the farthest corner of my brain.
My life over the past couple of months has been blissfully normal.
No hallucinations of any kind, no communicating with disembodied spirits.
I’ve chalked the whole thing up to my surge of adrenaline from hearing about Carter’s plans to move to London and one too many martinis.
And yet, Trip was so real. It wasn’t like a dream where everything is blurry at the edges. The line of his jaw, his full lips, his dark amber eyes that glowed with light. If my brain was making up those details, kudos to her. I have a better imagination than I thought.
There’s also the fact that Trip Coldwell does exist. I’ve looked him up.
I initially avoided it out of some sort of self-preservation, but one night after staying up till two a.m. watching old Marlon Brando movies I—for some reason—couldn’t get Trip out of my mind.
I pulled open my laptop and typed his name into the search bar before I could think twice.
Sure enough, there he was in all his Brando-esque, three-piece-suit glory.
The very same man I had seen in the library.
There were plenty of old articles featuring him and his grandfather, the legacy of their family’s company, and how Trip was poised to continue that legacy as the next in line.
I might have absorbed more of the content if I hadn’t been so distracted by how annoyingly good-looking he was in every single photo.
It’s one thing to be wealthy beyond one’s wildest dreams, but do you have to look like a Calvin Klein model while doing it?
Yet, there were fewer articles in the past couple of years.
While they still profiled his grandfather up until his death, Trip was noticeably absent.
One short line mentioned he was stepping away from the family business, and then a couple of months ago, another indicating he was dealing with health issues the family preferred to keep private.
Perhaps I did see Trip at the engagement party and only imagined the part where my hand reached through him.
Maybe I was on drugs, maybe someone slipped something into my drink.
This is as far as my thoughts usually take me before I give up on trying to make sense of the scenario.
Better to stay within the reality of my everyday life, which right now means giving my undivided attention to Carter.
“You got time for the bodega?” Carter places his hand on my lower back, steering me toward the sidewalk.
“I have to get to work—”
“You’ve got time.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s barely eight. You need to stop working so hard.”
“Easy for you to say. It’s not like you’d be fired if you slack off.”
He looks toward the sky, considering. “Promoted, probably.” His mouth breaks into that winning smile.
“Well, you better get used to putting in hours if you’re going to be working for Daddy Carmichael over in London.” I’m like a dog with a bone, but it’s all I can manage to think about.
He frowns. “Let’s…not call him Daddy.”
“Fine, Big Daddy, then.” I hook my arm through his and quicken our pace.
We walk in silence for a bit, watching the park-goers enjoy the rare sunny morning.
The air is crisp and snow coats the ground in an early first sign of winter, but the sky is a brilliant blue overhead.
A couple walks their dog, and a group of kids throw snowballs at each other.
It’s like any other day with Carter. What do they think when they look at us?
Do we seem like a couple out for a stroll?
“Lib, there’s actually something I wanted to ask you. About the wedding.” He unhooks his arm from mine and rubs the back of his neck.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Sabrina’s getting to town next week and we have a bunch of wedding commitments I’m sure the powers that be are going to force us into. Unfortunately, in true closed-minded fashion, many of these things are gender-delineated.” He glances over at me. “Lib?”
“I’m with you.” My stomach drops like it knows what’s coming before he says it.
“Look, I think it’d be good for you to spend some time with her. And vice versa. I know the engagement was a bit of a shock and I’m sure I could get you added to the guest list for some of these things.”
“Well, how generous of you.”
“That came out wrong. In all honesty, I think Sabs would really appreciate it. There’s going to be a bridal shower, fittings, registry things, I don’t know all the details, but the agenda we were sent is several pages long.”
“Doesn’t she have friends to help with these things?” I’m being uncharitable, but the cranky monster within me reared its ugly head when he called her Sabs.
“They’re all in the UK and won’t be getting here until closer to the wedding. Plus, she doesn’t know New York as well and I figured you could show her around.”
“Can’t you show her around?”
“Please, Lib.”
Not an answer, but okay.
I stop short on the sidewalk and squeeze the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger.
“The wedding’s in”—I count backward on my fingers—“five months. So, what? You want me to join her for any events happening between now and then? As her lady-in-waiting?” I can’t stop the sarcasm from slipping out.
“She’ll be back and forth between London during that time. She has obligations and she’ll be getting our place ready.”
My face twitches at the words.
Carter grabs my biceps and rubs them, smoothing out the goose bumps under my shirt.
“You’re my best friend, Libby, and Sabrina’s going to be my wife.
It’s important to me that you get to know each other.
I think you’d really hit it off. And yes, I still feel bad for how the news of the engagement went down, which you’re clearly still bitter about.
” He nudges my side. “But that’s totally my fault and shouldn’t be held against her.
C’mon, you won’t leave her to fend against my relatives alone, will you? ”
I know all about Carter’s extended family, and I wouldn’t wish them on anyone, even a diamond heiress.
Which is perhaps why I say, “Fine.”
“That’s my girl.” He smiles and leads me down the sidewalk. “First thing is a women’s luncheon. They’re hosting it at the Plaza next weekend. I’ll text you the details when I get back to my place.”
“Sounds good.” Or anything but.
We round the corner to the bodega, and though I fight with all my might, the words slip off my tongue before I can stop them.
“Random question, but who was that cousin you used to be close with?”
“I’m close with a lot of my cousins.”
“This was before we met. You two went your separate ways but you still talked about him sometimes. I think his name starts with a T? Troy?”
“Trip?”
“That’s it!” I snap my fingers. My acting skills are subpar at best.
“Yeah, that’s him.” He steps off the curb.
“Trip’s a couple years older than me. We were really tight as kids but kind of fell out of touch.
He always did his own thing. Had to be his own person.
Different school, different friends. And then after our dads…
well. There are a lot of painful memories there.
Things changed. We grew apart. But I’ve been feeling a lot of guilt around it recently, especially since he—”
A horn blares and a flash of yellow enters my vision. “CARTER!”
The taxicab speeds by, nearly clipping Carter’s heels. He drops to the ground and hunches into a ball next to the drain.
My heart is playing pinball in my chest. I rush over to him and place my hand on the broad part of his back. He lifts his eyes to mine and they’re wide as stoplights, the look in them one of pure terror. It’s like I can read his mind.
The curse.
I don’t take my eyes off Carter for the next two hours. He sips a mug of tea across from me at a small table in a boutique coffee shop. It’s one of those industrial spaces with Edison bulbs and plants that look fake.
“Do you think it’s the—”
“I don’t know, Lib.” The words are sharp. His usual frivolity is replaced with stiffness.
My mind drifts to last year, the night Carter showed up at my apartment with a bottle of tequila and we fell asleep on my couch. His grandfather had just died and naturally the curse was on his mind again. We haven’t talked about it since.
I gnaw on my bottom lip, unsure what to say next. Instead, I stay quiet and rest my hand on top of his.
“Remember the day I told you about the curse?” Carter’s voice is hoarse.
“Of course I do.”
He takes a sip of his tea. “Couldn’t even get you to go in the library after that.”
Until that night two months ago. “You can’t blame me if it brings up bad memories.” I run my pointer finger along the lifeline on his palm. “Since that first…death. Have any of your relatives not died in a cab accident?”
“Male relatives. Remember?” He fidgets with his mug. “But of the men, no. There aren’t any anomalies.”
I nod. “What if you were to move away from here?” My heart constricts. “Go somewhere where there aren’t any cabs? Somewhere other than New York?” Where you’re playing Russian roulette every time you step into the street.
“Doesn’t work. Had a few relatives who tried to game the system.
” He draws circles on the wood grain of the table.
“My great-uncle Henry moved to London and was hit by a cab there. Another relative from way back moved out west, far from any kind of city. Some bigwig in a neighboring town hired a cab service for himself and—” Carter rolls his lips together and releases them with a pop. He shrugs. “There’s no beating it.”
“Maybe it’s coincidence?” After all, I’ve convinced myself as much for the past twelve years.
His smile is pained. “I think we’re past coincidence at this point.”
“Okay, so operating under the assumption it is a curse, there must be some way to break it. What if we looked into it? I could research—”
“Lib.” He slides his hand out from under mine and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “My grandfather spent half his life trying to figure this thing out. Hiring psychics and spending more money than was wise chasing a solution.” He runs a hand through his hair.
“Trust me when I say my family is doing everything we can to solve this.”
His gaze meets mine with a desperate expression I can’t decipher. I look away and fiddle with my mug.
“Let’s get some croissants and go back to my place.” He rises from the table, stopping the conversation in its tracks.
At the register, he grins at the blond cashier and her cheeks turn a pretty pink. Same as it ever was. Except for the stone low in my stomach. I’m sixteen years old again, finding out my crush is a marked man.
But I’m almost thirty now. And yet my feelings for Carter have only grown, along with the mystery around his family’s curse. My mind drifts back to the library. Reaching through Trip’s body and the electric current of energy spreading through my arm. I swallow, the coffee souring in my stomach.
Maybe if anything’s changed in the past twelve years, it’s that I won’t let Carter’s apathy sway me from trying to save him.