Page 96 of Wicked Fortune

My heart squeezes a little, and I hold the card with one hand, then trace over the intricate artwork with my fingertip. Two figures stand together, offering their cups to one another, their connection undeniable. It’s about partnership. Love built on mutual trust and understanding. At least, that’s what my Tarot book says.

I sigh. Trust and understanding. That pretty much sums it up. How can I trust him when he’s kept so much of himself hidden from me?

But is it himself?

I’m not sure if the little voice comes from the two on the card, my own mind, or if I’m channeling Bree. But I know I can’t ignore the question. He has the diadem, yes. But he got it twenty years ago when he was The Cat.

He’s not a thief anymore. If anything, he’s the epitome of a businessman, with fingers in all sorts of corporate pies.

Am I the same person I was twenty years ago? Ten? Even five?

I’m not—I know that.

But at the same time, I wasn’t ever a thief.

So everyone deserves a second chance except him?

I mentally glare at the errant thought. My mind is going in circles, but somewhere in those spinning thoughts is the flicker of something I’ve been missing for days. Not certainty—God knows I’m nowhere near that—but something softer, gentler. A little bit of hope. Maybe enough to make me brave.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting.

I exhale slowly, then, tuck the card into my purse. It’s a sign, and I’m going to hold it close.

The elevator hums as it rises, and I swear I can feel every vibration as it ascends. I’m the only one in the car—possibly the only one in the building—and the numbers above the door tick by at an infuriatingly steady pace.

Nine.

Ten.

I watch, not sure if I want to will the thing to go faster or slower.

Eleven.

Twelve.

And then the car glides to a stop, and I realize with a sudden jolt of terror that the doors are going to open onto the rooftop—and there’s no going back from here.

I half-consider jamming the button for the lobby, then hiding in the corner, but that’s only nerves. I want to be here.

More than that, I think I have to be here.

Then the doors slide open with a quiet ding. Cool air rushes in, carrying the faint scent of wood smoke.

I hesitate, the threshold feeling like the edge of a cliff.

My stomach twists. What if I’m just setting myself up to be hurt all over again? What if I step out there and it all falls apart?

The possibility terrifies me, but I also know that if I step off this car and onto the roof, then I’ve created a future where Matthew and I at least have a chance. That chance might evaporate ten minutes from now, but at least it will have existed.

I think about Bree’s words About forgiveness not meaning forgetting. I think about how Matthew risked everything to find the truth about Jenny and the others. And about how I still miss him so much it feels like a physical ache.

But what if it’s not enough?

It will be. It has to be.

But what if it’s not?

I can’t answer that question. All I can do is remind myself that it’s Matthew. And at the very least, he’s worth the chance.