Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
LILITH
The next day, I'm still shaking. Every cell in my body vibrates with aftershocks from that night with Roman on the beach.
Sand still clings to my hair, my skin raw where his stubble burned against my neck.
I close my eyes and feel the weight of him again, pressing me into that blanket, the roar of waves drowning out everything but our breath.
My soul recognized his before my mind could catch up—how else to explain the way my body arched toward him without thought?
Six times we made love, and each time I shattered completely, rebuilt only by his hands.
The hunger between us was primal, violent even—teeth and nails and promises.
Even now, hours later, I taste salt on my lips and don't know if it's the ocean, his skin, or my own tears when he finally broke something loose inside me that I never knew was caged.
I keep quiet about my night with Roman. It feels too private to share, especially with Jack, who'd want every detail. When he asks about the surfing and why I didn't come home, I lie through my teeth.
"We fell asleep under the stars," I say, fighting the wild flutter in my chest, desperate to keep my face neutral even as my skin feels electric with the memory of Roman's touch.
If Jack catches even a hint—God, he'll pounce.
He'll ask intrusive questions about every detail—how did he kiss, was he good, how big is his manhood—reducing something magical to a vulgar checklist.
I can already hear him: “Rate him on a scale of one to ten. Did he make you scream?” I can't bear it.
I won't let last night become another of Jack's brunch anecdotes.
What happened between Roman and me detonated something inside me.
It's mine. Mine to protect. Mine to cherish.
Mine to understand before the world tries to diminish it.
Jack's eyebrows shoot up. "Spill it, honey! You two finally sealed the deal, didn't you? I'm dying for details."
I swallow hard. My palms dampen as I search for a convincing lie, and I try hard to dig deep and summon any acting skill I have. Which isn’t easy, considering the last time I acted was as Tree Number Three in Our Town and I got stage fright.
"Jack," I say, forcing my lips into what I hope is a casual smile.
"Nothing happened. After surfing, we had this amazing picnic right on the sand.
We talked for hours—I mean, really talked—and I guess I dozed off against his chest. The night was so perfect, all warm breezes and stars overhead. We just... stayed there."
Jack's face falls. "Hold up. You're telling me this is the second night you've been with Mr. Tall-Dark-Handsome-and-Loaded and he hasn't made a move?" He squints at me. "Maybe my gaydar's on the fritz. I was positive he was into you."
I see the trap he's laying—trying to get me to blurt out some steamy confession to defend Roman's masculinity. Not happening.
"He's perfectly fine," I say, meeting his gaze. "He's just... respectful. And when something does happen, you'll be the first to know."
He narrows his eyes, leaning in so close I can smell his cologne.
"Bullshit," he whispers, then slaps his hand on the table.
"You're lying through your teeth. That man rocked your world, didn't he?
You had the kind of sex where you saw capital-G God, honey—and I'm talking full-on divine revelation, hallelujah, speaking in tongues—and would've seen stars if you weren't already seeing actual stars because, let's be honest, that man dragged you outside for some al fresco action, didn't he? The SCANDAL of it all!”
I shake my head ineffectually and go to the kitchen to make some tea.
Jack follows me in there, his eyes eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Fine. Keep your secrets." He leans back, a knowing smirk spreading across his face.
"But I see right through you, Lilith. You're already picturing white picket fences with this guy, and God forbid I reduce your future husband to a piece of ass.
" He winks. "Don't worry. Your dirty little secret's safe with me. "
I smile. Jack knows me so well. Too well. “Thank you,” I simply say. “Now, I have to get to work and I think you do too. You’re on the schedule for today after all.”
Jack's eyes roll dramatically. "I come in at 11, you know that. So I’ll see you there, slut." His giggle erupts, infectious, and I can't fight mine either. God, if he only knew. The truth burns inside me like a supernova—Roman didn't just make me see stars; he ripped open the cosmos.
My body still trembles with aftershocks. But what's destroying me, what I absolutely cannot confess to Jack, is how Roman detonated something in my soul. The vulnerability terrifies me. Jack's staring now, wounded by my silence, hungry for details I'm clutching to my chest like precious contraband.
I get to the shop and get busy. It’s August on Venice Beach and the crowd’s in full swing.
One person after another comes in, looking for crystals, books, cards, candles.
I have three readings scheduled, all of which will take place once Jack gets here at 11 so he can man the shop while I do my readings.
Jack gets in at 11, just like clockwork.
He looks at me with side-eye, but nods. “Lilith,” he says.
“I’m sorry about this morning. I was thirsty, I’ll admit it.
But if you don’t want to tell me about your soul-shattering sex with Roman, then I know you’re serious about him.
And all I can say is…” He smiles and mimes popping a champagne bottle. “When’s the wedding?????”
I shake my head and then see a familiar face - Max. I smile at him and he comes in and gives me a hug. “Max!” I say. “What brings you here?”
He smiles. “I needed to talk to you about a few things.” He points to my back room. “Can we?”
I nod, feeling apprehensive, not knowing what this is all about.
We go back to my reading room, which is private and away from the shop. “Some tea?”
He shakes his head. “No, that’s okay.” Then he smiles. “I see the look on your face, and it looks like you’re scared that I’m here. Don’t be. I don’t bite.” Then he grins. “Well, I won’t bite you at any rate.”
I laugh, too, and wait for him to tell me why he’s here.
“I heard about your surfing date with my brother,” he finally says.
“My other brothers, Silas and Ansel, tell me that they think Roman is gone for you. Said that he’s never looked at a woman the way he looks at you.
Said that they’ve never seen Roman so patient with a woman.
And just the fact that he invited you surfing at all says everything.
He’s never, ever invited a woman surfing. ”
My heart is pounding with every word Max is saying. If the brothers think Roman is serious about me, then…Well, they’re Roman-whisperers, at least I assume they are, so they must know.
“That’s…” I want to tell him that I feel the same about Roman, but the words escape me.
Max clears his throat. "Look, the brothers sent me as their spokesperson since we've met before—when I was hunting for those healing crystals for Celeste, remember?"
I shift in my seat, trying to read his expression. Friend or foe? Too soon to tell.
"I'm not here to give you Roman's whole biography. But there's something about our dad you should know. Whatever Roman's told you...well, it's probably not the complete picture."
"I figured as much," I say. "I'm listening."
Max's eyes soften. "Dad's actually incredible.
But the addiction controlled him for years.
Mom's death destroyed him. He's staying in my guest house now, and honestly?
These past six months I've finally gotten to know him as an actual person, not just this...
shadow from my childhood. I was barely seven when he disappeared, and our grandparents basically made him a forbidden topic. "
My pulse quickens. This could be exactly what I need—a window into Roman's father that isn't clouded by Roman's anger.
"The truth is," Max continues, twisting his wedding band, "Dad chose the bottle over a noose.
Jameson was his lifeline when everything else felt hopeless.
He left because he knew staying would damage us all.
" Max rubs his temple. "Roman can't forgive him for not fighting the alcoholism, but it wasn't just about drinking.
It was grief tangled up with something much darker.
" He pauses. "Dad recently told me something none of us knew—he battled severe depression long before meeting our mother. Multiple hospitalizations."
The pieces click together in my mind. A man already fighting his own demons, then losing his wife while raising eight boys? No wonder he drowned himself in whiskey. The alcohol wasn't weakness—it was survival.
Max's eyes drift to the window. "Turns out Dad's been fighting depression his whole life.
Started on medication when he was just a kid—thirteen.
Mom was the one who made sure he took his pills every day.
" He rubs his jaw. "None of us had a clue.
Dad thought it would make him look... I don't know, broken somehow.
" His voice drops. "After Mom died, he just...
stopped. Not on purpose. He was drowning in grief, couldn't remember to breathe, let alone take medication.
" Max pulls out a silk handkerchief, working it between his fingers.
"The meds withdrawal hit while he was already at rock bottom.
Missed doctor appointments. Told Granddad and Nana he was fine, still taking everything.
But he couldn't even see straight enough to save himself with the very thing that had kept him going all those years. Just kept falling."
“So, your father…”