Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
ROMAN
She sits cross-legged on the Carrara marble, fingers resting on her knees, eyes shut in perfect stillness.
I hang back, coffee warming my palms, not wanting to disturb her meditation or whatever ritual she's performing. Instead, I simply drink in her beauty. As the first rays of dawn break across the horizon, highlighting the green streaks in her hair - she has no idea how much I love those green streaks because they’re so her - she opens her eyes, rises fluidly, and stretches skyward, unaware of my presence in the shadows.
She spins around, her smile radiating warmth across the terrace. "Roman, I couldn't resist this view! The sunrise called to me—perfect for my morning devotions to the goddess. And this rooftop garden is beyond belief!”
She's not wrong. My rooftop terrace spans six thousand square feet of curated paradise—Japanese maples casting dappled shadows over custom limestone pathways, a glass-bottomed infinity pool suspended over the Pacific, three separate lounging areas with handwoven Moroccan daybeds, and a living wall of rare orchids that cost more to maintain monthly than most people's mortgages.
I have a full-time gardener, Hans, who comes in just to maintain the orchids.
I flew in Hiroshi Yamamoto from Kyoto to design the rooftop garden and paired him with Isabelle Duchamp from Paris—they'd never collaborated before my project.
But…goddess? Then I shake my head. Of course, goddess.
This is Lilith. I need to know everything about this woman who's hijacked my entire existence.
I realize that beyond the tarot cards she clutches like weapons and her claims about seeing auras—which I'd normally dismiss as complete bullshit—I know nothing.
Nothing except that when she walks into a room, the chaos in my brain goes dead silent.
Not even the strongest sedatives have ever shut down my demons that effectively.
Christ, I'm drowning in questions about who she really is, what she believes, what drives her.
She sits down on one of the outdoor sofas—teak wood frame with cashmere cushions—and pats the space beside her. I join her, though my watch reminds me I should be halfway to the resort by now. My phone buzzes in my pocket—probably Miranda with another crisis only I can solve.
For 10 years, I've been the first to arrive, last to leave, six days a week.
Before that? Seven days, sometimes sleeping on the office couch.
The strange thing is, I never resented a minute of it.
The resort was my oxygen. But watching Lilith's hair catch the sunlight, feeling that unfamiliar lightness in my chest—I suddenly see my schedule for what it is: not dedication, but hiding.
Running from the emptiness waiting at home.
Miranda's been ready to step up for months.
She knows the operation inside out, commands respect from the staff.
Maybe it's time I trusted someone else to carry the weight.
Maybe it's time I had something to rush home for.
I grab my phone and fire off a quick text to Miranda: "Taking today off." Her response pops up almost immediately—a heart-eyed smiley face followed by:
About time! Looks like that tarot reader is working her magic on you. Don't worry about anything here—I've got it all covered. Stay away as long as you need. God knows you deserve a break.
I smile to myself, thinking how perfect today could be.
I could spend the whole day pinning Lilith to the bed, watching her face as pleasure overtakes her again and again.
But first, I need some answers about this goddess business she mentioned.
I've always been skeptical about that spiritual stuff—when someone talks about praying to goddesses, I usually picture either someone dancing around a cauldron in the woods or someone who should probably be talking to a psychiatrist instead of burning sage.
“So,” I say. “Goddess.”
She smiles. "Yes, goddess." Her eyebrow arches playfully.
"Look, if this thing between us is going somewhere, we should be honest with each other.
I could hide the fact I start each morning with goddess prayers, but eventually you'd catch me with my altar out—or worse, I'd pack it away and lose a piece of myself.
And trust me," she adds with a soft laugh, "you don't want a watered-down version of Lilith Sydney.
Better to lay all my crystals on the table now. "
I laugh, but it's raw, almost desperate. "Lilith, you could tell me you sacrifice virgins under a blood moon while chanting in tongues, and I'd be there holding the knife for you. Nothing—nothing—would make me love you any less." I nod.
Love. The word burns through me like lightning striking dry timber.
It sears my throat, ignites my chest. I never believed I'd say it to anyone, let alone mean it with every atom of my being.
Thank Christ Granddad kept his manipulative claws out of my life the way he sank them into Max, forcing him to marry Celeste.
Lilith is everything the old bastard would despise—wild, untamable, spiritual.
Everything that makes my heart slam against my ribs when she walks into a room. Perfection. Mine.
She laughs. “No virgin sacrifice here. But I participate in solstice and equinox celebrations.”
Roman arched an eyebrow. "You celebrate solstices and equinoxes?"
"Mmm," Lilith nodded, her silver moon earrings catching the light. “You do too if you celebrate Easter and Christmas.”
“What do you mean?”
Her lips curl into a smile, her eyes catching the light.
“You know how we decorate eggs and fill our homes with flowers at Easter? The ancients did the exact same thing for Spring Equinox celebrations. And Easter’s date?
First Sunday after the first full moon after the Equinox—pure lunar calendar stuff.
Total pagan playbook. Christianity just came along later and sprinkled some Jesus over traditions that had been around for centuries. ”
She's practically glowing, thinking she's blown my mind with this revelation. I've heard it before, but watching her excitement, I realize I'd never connected those dots about the lunar calendar. Should've been obvious to a science guy like me.
She goes on. “And Christmas? Those evergreen decorations, gift exchanges, feasts, even the yule log burning in the fireplace—all borrowed from Winter Solstice traditions.” She tilts her head, a playful challenge in her voice.
"When early Christians were converting the masses, they weren't fools.
They knew people wouldn't abandon their harvest festivals and winter solstice celebrations overnight, so they simply rebranded them.
Easter eggs became about resurrection rather than fertility.
December feasts celebrated a holy birth instead of the return of the sun. "
I nod along, even though I could recite these winter solstice and spring equinox rituals from memory.
Something about the way Lilith's eyes light up when she shares her "secret knowledge" makes me bite my tongue.
Her hands flutter like birds as she speaks, punctuating each revelation.
I find myself leaning closer, not to hear the facts I already know, but to watch her animation.
Now, this goddess business she's getting into...
“Now, you were praying to a goddess this morning?”
Lilith's eyes lit up. "Yes. The goddess Brigid.
" She traces the silver pendant at her throat—a triple spiral etched into hammered metal.
"She's the Celtic goddess of healing, inspiration, and protection.
Her sacred flames were tended by nineteen priestesses in ancient Ireland.
" She smiled, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.
"I really don't do anything elaborate, just meditate on her presence each sunrise while thanking her and asking her to watch over me and my loved ones through the day.
" She nods. “I built a small altar for her in my garden.
I've got these red candles for fire—Brigid was the goddess of blacksmiths, you know.
Then white ones to honor her connection with dairy farmers, and yellow for spring and renewal.
There's this little statue of her too, right in the center.
It's nothing fancy, but it feels right to have her there, watching over my herbs and flowers. "
I shrug. Whatever works for her. People file into pews every Sunday seeking the same thing Lilith finds at dawn with her crystals, candles, statue and incense. Different deities, different rituals, same human need. As long as it brings her peace, who am I to judge?
“And what do you get out of praying to Brigid every day?”
"When I commune with Brigid, I feel... anchored. Like there's this invisible thread connecting me to something ancient and powerful." Her eyes meet mine. “And I feel that she watches over everyone I care about." A soft smile. "Especially you, Roman."
I sink into the sofa cushions, my eyes fixed on her.
She prays for me. Something shifts in my chest at the thought—warm, unfamiliar.
Part of me wants to dismiss her faith in some ancient goddess watching over us as childish fantasy.
Yet I can't. There's something about her devotion that disarms me completely.
I change the subject, though. “I’ve decided to play hooky from the resort today. What do you say we disappear together?"
Lilith's eyes light up, then dim slightly. "I'd love that, but I have readings scheduled. My clients—"
"Say no more." The disappointment stings, but I push it aside. "When's your next free day?"
She scrolls through her phone calendar, brow furrowed. "Tuesday and Wednesday next week. I always block those off—keeps me sane."
"Tuesday and Wednesday it is, then." I step closer, claiming those days with my tone. "They're ours now." I kiss her until we're both breathless. "I should go. Tonight, though?"
"Tonight?" Her smile turns playful.
"Jack's with the Abercrombie model, right?"
She laughs. "He practically lives there now. Yes, come over. I'll cook."
"Eight o'clock." I brush my lips across her forehead. "Lock up when you leave?"
"Of course."
Driving to work, I message Miranda about my changed plans. My thoughts drift to Lilith. We're from different universes—me with my billion-dollar empire, her with her tarot cards, crystals and goddess-praying. Yet somehow she's become essential to me.
And that terrifies me in the best possible way.