Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
LILITH
I have to admit, I'm falling for Carmel-by-the-Sea, with its cypress-lined streets and cottages that look plucked from storybooks. This morning, I spread my turquoise mat on sand that felt like crushed velvet between my toes, the misty air clinging to my skin as I flowed through my Vinyasas.
Just four miles south is a dense forest where I go to clear my head. The Japanese call it shinrin-yoku—forest bathing. I sit on pine needles and just listen: wind in the trees, birds, the smell of moss and earth. It’s where I can finally breathe.
Further south stretches Big Sur, where ancient redwoods at Pfeiffer State Park thrust upward like nature's skyscrapers, their cinnamon-colored trunks wider than my arms could ever encircle.
Venice Beach has its charms—the people-watching, the energy—but here, nature takes over.
Last night, I drove the coastal highway to Big Sur, turned off my headlights, and looked up at more stars than I'd ever seen.
The Milky Way was clearly visible, something impossible through LA's light pollution.
My new shop is in a little Tudor cottage with leaded windows and a curved roof.
Can this paradise replace Roman? No. My heart still aches for him like a phantom limb—for his stormy dark eyes that soften only for me, for the sandalwood scent of his skin.
But I can't risk Sera poisoning what Roman and Michael have painstakingly rebuilt.
Their relationship is like a bonsai tree—meticulously tended, beautiful in its fragility.
The resort they're creating together is the soil in which their reconciliation grows stronger each day.
So I'll stay here instead, letting the waves and trees calm me down when I start to ache for him again.
And I’ll be going soon for my chakra balancing with Raven. That’ll help me so much, along with meditating, crystal healing and the forest bathing.
This morning, after my sunrise Vinyasas on the beach—sand still clinging to my ankles, hair smelling of salt—I step into Raven's incense-hazed shop. She presses her cool palms against my shoulders, her bangles jingling softly as her amber eyes narrow in concentration.
"Oh, Lilith," she whispers, her voice honeyed with concern, "every one of your chakras are blocked tight as seashells. But your heart chakra is practically pulsing with dark energy. We'll start there, unravel that knot first, then work through the others in the coming days."
So, for three hours this morning, we work on opening my heart chakra.
Raven burns sage and palo santo, the smoke curling around us as we sit cross-legged on embroidered floor pillows.
She places a rose quartz crystal between my breasts, its cool weight centering me, while smaller pieces of green aventurine form a circle around us.
"Visualize emerald light," she whispers, her voice barely audible above the singing bowl she occasionally strikes. "See it pulsing outward from your chest, dissolving any walls you've built." I try, I really do, breathing in lavender oil and breathing out the name of everyone who'd ever hurt me.
By the time the heart chakra ritual is over, I feel lighter, as if someone has lifted a granite slab from my chest. The emerald-green candles are burned down to nubs, their melted wax forming tiny crystalline pools on the meditation mat.
Tomorrow, we will work with my root chakra, grounding me to the earth again, and then the day after, the solar plexus chakra, which Raven says is a sickly yellow instead of the vibrant gold it should be.
All of these energy centers clogged with the debris of memories—Roman's calloused fingertips brushing my cheek, the scent of his sandalwood cologne, the way his voice would drop to a whisper when he told me he loved me.
I text Jack.
Loving it up here! I can’t wait for you to join me.
I also text him pictures: of the forest with its towering redwoods dappled in golden afternoon light, the beach where foam-tipped waves crash against pristine sand, and the weathered cedar cottage with its peeling blue trim and charming bay windows—the place where Mystic Tides will soon find its new home.
Three gray dots appear on my screen, pulsing hypnotically. They linger there, second after excruciating second, like the pendulum of some invisible clock counting down to an unknown revelation. My stomach tightens. Jack never writes novels unless something's seriously wrong.
I finally get it.
LILITH SYDNEY! Honey-bunny-sugar-plum! Fab to hear you're thriving in your little hideaway, but RED ALERT Roman knows you've flown the coop and WHY.
Oopsie-daisy! But like, don't give me those judgy eyes through the phone—you KNOW my mouth is like a broken pinata around him.
Secrets just fall out! He hasn't pinpointed your exact coordinates yet, but that man's brain is like a sexy GPS system.
Tick-tock! Spilled ALL the tea about Shady Barbie and her diabolical shenanigans.
Sooooo... don't be shocked when Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Temperamental comes storming up your driveway like a romance novel cover come to life. XOXO with sprinkles on top! ~Jack
Despite the anxiety coursing through me, I can't help but smile.
Classic Jack. But Roman has no idea where I am.
Even if he narrows it down to Carmel, what then?
My shop isn't open, and I've been crashing at Raven's place—someone he's never even heard of.
Carmel has thousands of residents. I'm practically invisible.
I catch myself. Shouldn't I want him to find me?
But the truth is, I don't. If Roman tracks me down, Sera will make good on her threats.
She always does. Women like her—blessed with beauty, bankrolled by daddy, and willing to fight dirty when necessary—they've been getting their way since the beginning of time.
The rich crush the rest of us simply because they can.
Serafina's just following the same old script, and I'm the nobody standing in her way. What chance do I have?
Still, I can't help myself. Raven doesn't do tarot, but Raven's friend, Marigold, does.
So, I go to her shop, tucked between a vintage bakery and a handmade jewelry store in that quaint town area where every building looks plucked from a Brothers Grimm illustration—all gingerbread trim and storybook shutters.
The moment I push open the door, I smell jasmine, my absolute favorite scent since childhood.
Polished oak floors are so pristine that I can almost see my reflection as I walk.
Marigold floats toward me, her honey-blonde hair cascading in waves beneath a teal silk scarf, her flowy tunic the color of sunset.
Before I can even introduce myself, she enfolds me in a hug that feels like coming home, her arms surprisingly strong for someone so ethereal, and in that instant—her cheek pressed against mine, her heartbeat somehow in sync with my own—I know with bone-deep certainty that she's one of my soul sisters.
“Raven tells me you’re suffering from a broken heart,” she says. “So let’s see what the cards tell us.” I follow her back to her reading room, and she shuffles some cards and throws them out - she doesn’t put them into two stacks and have me choose a stack. To each their own.
She tilts her head, silver bangles tinkling as she studies the Celtic Cross formation.
The final card catches my eye immediately—The Sun, its golden rays bursting from the edges of the worn card, promising happiness on my horizon.
Happy with Roman? The thought sends a flutter through my stomach, though I can't imagine how that's possible right now.
Still, the card promises joy will find me, one way or another.
My fingers hover over the spread, tracing the air above each revelation.
Roman dominates the layout—The Emperor sits upright in his stone throne, stern and commanding in the position of influence.
The King of Wands blazes with fiery Aries energy in the hopes position, his lion-headed staff aglow with the same intensity I've seen in Roman's eyes when he's focused on a goal.
And there, in the position of what's coming, the Knight of Cups offers his chalice with a dreamy expression, revealing a tender heart beneath Roman's hard exterior.
Together they paint him in vivid strokes—powerful yet passionate, visionary yet vulnerable.
And remarkably, each card sits in a position of promise rather than warning.
She studies the cards, her eyes widening.
"This man you're mourning—he's still very much in your future.
I see something quite promising here." Her gaze flicks up to mine.
"What happened between you?" Before I can answer, she waves her hand.
"No, no—I see it now." Her finger taps the reversed Queen of Swords.
"This woman—cold, calculating—she inserted herself between you.
She wields words like knives, thinks only of herself.
" A soft click of her tongue. “Nasty piece of work, that one.
But look here—" she traces the surrounding cards, "—her influence is temporary.
These cards suggest she'll fade from your story soon. "
She gathers the deck, shuffling with practiced hands.
"Let's see what becomes of her, shall we?
" Her eyes close briefly as she lays out a new pattern.
A small, satisfied smile curves her lips.
"Ah. Her own schemes will be her undoing.
See the Seven of Swords? Deception. And here—Justice.
The scales will balance. I wonder what secrets she's hiding. "
I trace my finger over the cards, lingering on the Justice card that sits opposite the reversed Queen of Swords—Serafina, no doubt.
The cards whisper of deceit, of secrets kept in shadow.
My pulse quickens as I imagine Roman uncovering whatever Sera's hiding.
The Tower and the Lovers sit side by side in the outcome position, promising destruction followed by union.
My chest tightens with a feeling I haven't allowed myself since Serafina’s threats.
Could the universe actually be conspiring in our favor?