Page 63 of The Malibu Destiny

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.

Chapter Thirty-Six

LILITH

Time melts away as Roman and I fall into a delicious rhythm—he arrives each night after his shift at the resort, just after I turn the key in my shop's lock. Six consecutive nights of passionate bliss until dawn. Jack's been scarce, wrapped up in his Abercrombie & Fitch model fling. I laid out cards for them at Jack's insistence—the spread suggested a passionate but ultimately temporary connection. Jack seems perfectly content with this forecast.

"Seth's gorgeous but a bit of a himbo,” Jack confided over mimosas yesterday. "Though what he lacks in conversation, he makes up for elsewhere." He paused, watching me with knowing eyes. "But what you have with Roman? That core-shattering deep earthquake kind of love? Me too. Want that too. So still on the lookout.”

Tuesday finally arrives—two whole days just for us. Gracie will be fine in Jack’s care - he’s promised to stay with her for the next two days and have Seth over instead of him going to Seth’s. And I’ve got a surprise for Roman he'll never see coming.

The purr of his Aston Martin announces him outside my door. Of all his luxury cars, this sleek beast makes my heart race the most. He kisses me as I slide into the buttery leather seat.

"Where to, my little witch? The world awaits." His eyes dance with possibility. "Paris is just a private jet away. Or Lake Como—my resort there makes the one here look pedestrian." His hands paint pictures in the air between us. "Picture my Parisian penthouse: top floor of a pre-war masterpiece, Eiffel Tower framed in every window. September in Paris means golden leaves. We could walk through Luxembourg Gardens barefoot—I know how you love feeling the earth. We'd dine at Bellanger, dance under moonlight, and fall into bed until dawn breaks... though that last part's becoming our specialty anyway."

I bite my lip. "So I can choose anything?"

"Whatever your heart desires," he says, bringing my fingers to his lips.

I meet his eyes. "I want to visit your mother's grave. I had a dream about it last night—something tells me it's important."

Roman's Adam's Apple bobs visibly. "Let me get this straight. I offer you the romance capitals of the world, and you want to spend our getaway at a cemetery?" His brow furrows, then softens. "But who am I to argue with your sixth sense? You've always been better at reading the universe's signals than I am. And here I thought you'd jump at the chance to see the Eiffel Tower."

"Paris will still be there," I say, squeezing his hand. "This feels more urgent somehow." I keep to myself the rest of what the dream revealed—how this visit might open a door between him and his father. How the little boy who lost his mother at three never properly grieved. The cards had been showing me this path for weeks, but now I was certain.

So, we drive south to Newport Beach to Pacific View Cemetery, where famous people like Kobe Bryant and John Wayne are buried. The cemetery has neat green lawns that go downhill toward the ocean, which you can see past the cliffs. You can smell the salt water and trees in the wind that moves through the palm trees along the walkways.