Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
LILITH
The night after my confrontation with Roman has given me some distance—I’m calmer now, and things look a bit clearer.
Yet what I really need is more clarity. I can’t read my own tarot cards—like I’ve told Jack over and over, my personal bias always seeps in.
If I laid out a spread with the Ten of Swords, The Tower, Three of Swords, Five of Swords and The Devil, I’d twist even those dark cards into something hopeful, simply because I’m desperate to hear what I want.
Jack offered to do the reading for me. “Lilith,” he said once Roman stormed off, “I don’t know what set him off, but I’m not judging him. I know you love him, whether you admit it or not. Let me read the cards—we can sort this out together.”
I appreciated his offer, but I needed someone truly objective.
Jack wants that fairy-tale ending for us just as badly as I do—even after seeing Roman’s rage explode, the moment he kicked Blake and Jack witnessed every dreadful second, Jack’s hope for us is as strong as mine.
I still believe Roman is hurting, and part of me thinks I’m in his life to help him heal.
That’s why I’ve reached out to my mentor, Elinor Jacobs, in Malibu.
The Ethereal Veil sits right in downtown Malibu and is probably the most frequented psychic bookstore in L.A.
Elinor is sixty, has read for everyone from royalty to Hollywood stars, and when I was launching my own shop she guided me with nothing but good advice.
I trust her completely—and still, I’m jittery about what she’ll reveal.
What if the cards don’t show what I’m hoping for?
Then again, tarot readings aren’t set in stone.
They just map out possible futures if I take no action.
And I have the power to change the outcome.
"Hello, Elinor," I say, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and sage that always clings to her flowing silk kimono.
"Lilith!" She glides across the room in her bare feet, silver anklets tinkling, and enfolds me in a hug that smells of jasmine oil. "I saw you made an appointment, and I was so excited. You've been on my mind lately for some reason."
Though her silver-streaked auburn hair is twisted into a loose bun atop her head, wisps of it frame a face remarkably free of wrinkles.
Her emerald eyes sparkle with the vitality of someone decades younger than her sixty-something years.
She always credits her ageless appearance to a regimen she follows religiously: organic vegetables from her own garden, gallons of green tea instead of wine, sunrise yoga on her amethyst-crystal mat, and daily "grounding" sessions where she presses her bare feet into dewy morning soil to absorb the earth's energy.
The smooth bronze of her skin and the easy way she moves make me wonder if maybe she's onto something.
"You probably knew I'd be coming in," I say, watching her fingers—adorned with silver rings on every digit—arrange her tarot cards with practiced precision. After all, Elinor actually is psychic, not just a tarot reader.
"Well," she says, her bracelets clinking softly as she gestures toward the velvet-cushioned chair across from her. "Let's do your reading."
I follow her into the reading room. Lavender incense perfumes the air, mingling with the warm glow of flickering candles.
Behind the reading table, a crystal tree clings to the wall, its branches illuminated with delicate white lights.
The brilliant red walls—the color of passion and vitality, connected to the root chakra that grounds our spirits to earth—make me reconsider my own reading space at Mystic Tides.
The front of my store got its dream makeover; perhaps my consultation room deserves the same attention.
Sinking into the plush velour chair, I watch Elinor's nimble fingers shuffle the deck. Her eyes meet mine with knowing mischief.
"Love question today, isn't it?" she asks with a mischievous glint in her eye.
My cheeks warm, the flush spreading across my face like spilled wine.
Usually, I come to Elinor with business concerns—when I first considered opening my shop in that crumbling Venice Beach storefront with the leaky ceiling, and several times since for guidance on expanding my crystal collection or redesigning the window displays.
But today feels different. My shop is thriving, shelves stocked with leather-bound journals and amethyst clusters that catch the California sunlight, and my position at Roman's resort—with its panoramic ocean views and clientele dripping in diamonds—fulfills me professionally.
It's my heart, fluttering like a caged bird whenever he enters a room, that needs navigation now.
Since meeting Roman, I've realized how shallow my past relationships were—boys playing at being men, none worthy of even a moment's reflection. None ever affected me deeply enough to seek the cards' wisdom.
Only Roman.
She shuffles the cards with practiced hands, cuts the deck, and waits for me to select a half with trembling fingers. The Celtic Cross appears before me, card by card. Her brow furrows.
"This man of yours," she murmurs, tapping the King of Wands, "carries storms inside him.
See how Temperance lies reversed across his path?
Peace eludes him." Her fingertip traces the edge of another card.
"Yet Strength paired with The Star suggests determination to evolve.
But childhood shadows him—the Six of Cups upside down tells me he clings to old hurts. "
She settles back, studying the pattern. "He stands at a threshold, though there's much to clear away first. As for your future together..." She indicates a card showing a flower-adorned structure. "The Four of Wands promises eventual harmony, but the journey there won't be simple."
"Worth pursuing, then?" I ask.
"The cards suggest so." Her eyes meet mine, suddenly penetrating. "The Seven of Swords reveals what truly troubles you—not his volatility or chaos, but his inability to trust you. That's the heart of your concern."
I nod. Nailed it on the head, of course.
I twist a strand of hair around my finger. "But how does he move past it? The trust issues?"
My chest tightens. If Roman can't learn to trust me, we're done before we've really begun.
Yet here I am, already drowning in feelings for him—like I've sunk to the bottom of some impossibly deep ocean trench with no way back to the surface.
Maybe I could still swim away now, save myself from completely shattering later. But I need to know if there's hope.
Elinor shuffles the cards again, laying them out in a deliberate pattern.
"The cards suggest healing will come," she says, tapping one.
"Temperance, upright now. And here—Judgment indicates a personal breakthrough awaiting him, something separate from you that will ultimately bring down his walls.
" Her fingertip rests on a bright card. "The Sun promises joy when that happens.
" She meets my eyes. "These spreads are swimming in love, Lilith. He's worth the fight."
Later on, at my house, I sit cross-legged on my meditation cushion, journal open in my lap. My pen hovers over the page as I write about Roman's jealous rage, the way his foot connected with Blake's face when he saw us talking. The candle beside me flickers as I pour my confusion onto the page.
By the final paragraph, clarity emerges like moonlight through clouds. Roman's wounded soul is the question mark in our story. A man whose heart is barricaded behind walls of hurt can't truly love. I need someone whose spirit is open to connection.
I close my eyes and send one final wish into the darkness.