Chapter Thirty-Three

Kit

Trying to wrap up a reading with one of Millie's high school friends who didn't make the wedding party cut isn't going all that well. She's pissed, mostly attending the wedding to shit on the whole affair, and her pettiness made an appearance in her spread.

"It's just like, who the hell even is Piper?" she asks me. I have some theories on the tip of my tongue, but not a single one of them is safe for work. "She just weaseled her way into the lineup as soon as Ellen was hospitalized." She raises her brows with meaning.

"Oh, well, the cards indicate that you need to release your judgments—"

"Or is it that I'm right?" She purses her lips, cocking out her hip in defiance.

"No, usually when Judgment appears it is a prompt for the querent"—I point to her—"to look inward and assess where they are not being fair and balanced."

She sucks through her straw, chewing on the end as she glares from me back to the cards.

"Whatever, I'm getting another piece of cake," she says. Gone before I can reply.

"Good riddance," I say under my breath, shaking my head as I clean up the spread. I spritz the air with my cleansing spray bottle, when my phone buzzes with a text from Nina. She's been asking me to send her a pic of Julia and me together since I came out to her over the phone yesterday.

by now, you two are probably all liquored up

loosened up

give me the goods

I snicker, responding with a selfie of me making a kissy face.

you are gorgeous but I know what you look like

I want to see what you + Julia looks like

"Hey," Julia says, coming up from behind me and nudging the palm of my hand with the tip of her finger. I lock my phone and set it on the table beside my cards before spinning around to grip Julia by the waist. Her face is close enough to kiss but she doesn't lean in, so I don't either.

"You okay?" I ask, when it takes her a second to meet my eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, just tired," she says. "Ready to get back to LA." Her lips quirk into a small smile when I press my forehead to hers.

"Same," I say. "But only because I want to get this thing out on the open road and see what it can do." I press against her, letting our curves meld and mold together so she gets my meaning. She fits her lips with mine, and when she pulls back I see the faintest hint of tears forming in her eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere," I say to reassure her. "We're having a date at a place with fabric napkins."

She looks me in the eyes. "Kit, will you dance with me?"

The words are weighted, hefty with meaning, tinged with hope. She wants to believe me when I say I want this, and I want it out there , and I want to be out; but also she still needs more proof. It doesn't hurt as much as I expect it to, to know she doesn't quite trust me. It lights a fire in the pit of my stomach, making me want to take action.

"Yes," I say. "I'd love to."

She runs her hand down my arm until she reaches mine. Her grip is sure and gentle. I let her lead me to the dance floor they've erected in the center of the space. The stars overhead and the glow of a waning full moon, serene in the indigo ink expanse of the night sky, set the scene. She twirls me out until her grip almost releases. Our eyes lock over the parquet floor. I feel attention shifting to us, interest drifting, but Julia is the only one I see.

She twirls me in, her left hand pressed to my lower back, her right twining our fingers and curving our arms, just as Taylor Swift's "This Love" begins to play over the sound system.

The tinny, dreamy melody. The winsome, willowy vocals.

The words catch in my ears, making this moment feel as fated as every other that led us back to each other. This song came out the same year we fell apart. It played on the radio and was all over playlists, at parties, for months. A taunt of the love we lost that I couldn't believe would ever come back to life. It's about that kind of soul-aching connection that can sometimes arrive when we aren't ready for it and then the only thing for us to do is let it go.

I tighten my hold on her waist. My chest is tight, my breath catches as I remember her absence from my arms, in my life. It stung like a scorpion and throbbed like an injury deep inside my bones.

And then here she was again, a force I couldn't ignore. Breaking down my walls, waking up all my senses. This love is alive because finally I am ready to let it thrive.

We kiss as the chorus rushes to a crescendo. Tongues tangle, her breath and mine becoming ours ; her body softens against me and my closed eyes fill with tears. When I open them, the tears rolling down my cheek, she kisses once, twice, both cheeks.

"I don't want to struggle through the night with someone new," I say.

"I don't want to ever watch you leave again," she replies, her lips wobbling with tears she's holding back.

She is the one I need. No more running.

"You won't," I whisper against her cheek. She buries her face in my hair, tightening her grip around my waist. "This love is real."

When she looks at me again, her cheeks are wet with tears.

But she's smiling.

We sway together until the song drifts to the end and the mood on the dance floor shifts to something more upbeat. She draws back, laughing when I shimmy and twirl, but we don't stick around for more.

"I need to finish up my set," I say, pointing to the tarot table.

"I'm thinking of getting Zoe to cover for me for the rest of the night—once you're done?" she asks, sheepish, her cheeks flushed. I press a kiss to the constellation of freckles on her neck.

"I say hell yes ," I reply, kissing her one more time before letting her go. I watch her walk away to find Zoe.

I keep wanting to pinch myself to convince myself that this is real. Julia and I really found our way back to each other. The prophecy that we were Twin Flames destined to break apart, destined to wind up together, was true. It almost makes me want to go back to Old Pasadena and find Madame Moira just to say, Hey, remember us? We're the two twelve-year-olds you informed were meant for each other and, plot twist, you were right.

When I reach my tarot table, I see the ghost of a notification darkening on my screen. I pick it up, absently swiping when I see it's a few back-to-back texts from Nina. She's probably berating me for that pic again.

But when my eyes focus on the texts, that is so not what it is.

The first comes directly after a FaceTime notification, reading: babe call me back immediately

The second and third are pleas for me to reply.

The fourth is a link to a TikTok and the preview image is of me.

Me and Julia.

Dancing.

My heart rate skyrockets. My mouth goes dry.

With a shaky hand I click on the link. It opens in the app, spinning for a second before fully loading.

It's a video of us dancing. Kissing. Snuggling. Lost in the moment together.

It's a video of us, but it looks like a movie. Like we're at the earned romantic climax, and not the compulsory third act breakup, and as much as I want to believe we're ready to walk into the sunset together, I can't. Every pin holding up questions I have for myself and my future falls from the vision board of my life as I watch us spin around the dance floor.

My eyes drop to the text on the video.

She wanted sympathy for her breakup but she was keeping a secret. #mysticmaven hooks up while on the job. Geez, let the sheets cool. Trying a woman this time, too??? Fast, even for a serial dater with no identity of her own. Being alone must be her kryptonite. #chooseyourowntarotadventure

My legs wobble as the words sink in. Whoever wrote this yanked my fears out in the open and posted about it on TikTok. They used my hashtags so all the people who follow those would see it as soon as it hit their feed. I tap over to Instagram and Twitter to see it has loaded up on each of the sites.

My followers are flipping out in the comments. They are sharing it, calling out the account that posted it while simultaneously spreading the fucking word like an unchecked California wildfire. My body reels and I fall against the table, bracing but not able to stay steady.

Coco is the one whose arms break my fall. She heaves me up, letting me sway against her as I try to keep my bones from going liquid.

"You okay, Kit?" she asks, and I can smell the alcohol on her breath. I wish I'd had one too many and that was why my head was swimming. I drop the phone to the table in front of me and I watch her gaze fall to the screen. The mysticmaven hashtag is alive with the video. Taking over my other content. Taking over everything.

Over and over and over.

Me sharing an intimate moment in what I thought was a safe space.

Me forced to come out.

This is not how I wanted to do it.

This is not how anyone wants to do it.

In a few hours it will be everywhere. My friends and fellow influencers will be coming into my DMs with all kinds of support and trios of hearts and GIFs of girls kissing and fuck fuck fuck I don't want that right now.

My haters will spew vitriol like Linda Blair in The Exorcist . Heads spinning around with gleeful possessed mania. I refuse to look at the comments to see how many of the trolls have already found their way in there or are the ones actively sharing it.

My mom—Mom will see this. There is no way Dad won't find out. And no matter how they react, I won't be the one who told them. It won't be coming from me, on my terms.

"Who did this?" Coco asks me, getting in my eyeline. "Do you recognize the account?"

"It's a fake account," I say.

"It has to be someone at the wedding." Coco stands up straight, looking around as if she'll be able to identify the culprit with just a glance.

"I know who it is," I say. Coco follows my gaze to the edge of the dance floor.

Piper stands beneath a lantern glowing red. The shimmer of a champagne flute in her hand. The glimmer of a malicious grin on her face.

"Why would she—"

"She's Julia's ex."

Coco's response is lost in the whir of blood rushing past my ears, the spinning dervish of my thoughts as I think back over the events of the evening. Before we danced, Julia's expression was pained. Her makeup muted. Her mascara-tinged lower lashes smudged. Could she have had an argument with Piper while I was distracted working? She told me Piper was vindictive; she told me she always gets what she wants. I know Piper wanted her back—her reading all but confirmed that for me.

"I have to get out of here," I say, gathering up my tarot deck. The cards spray out in my haste, dropping from my grip and falling all around the table. I frantically grab them up, while Coco tries to assist.

"We need to let Julia know," she says. "I think she'd want to help."

My eyes fly to hers. "And risk blowing up this wedding? No." I shove the cards in my bag and yank up my phone. Piper's ideal is me running scared and Julia broken, back in her arms. She knows about our history and she knows me bailing will trigger Julia's insecurity about what happened when we were teenagers. I know that no matter what I say, Julia will try to stop me from leaving.

But I have to get to my parents before they see this. If that's even possible.

I have to at least try to tell them on my own terms.

My heart slams rapidly, pumping me up with confidence, not sending me flying with fear.

I have to face this head-on.

"Going somewhere?" Piper asks as I near her. She takes a generous sip from her champagne flute.

"You know this is the kind of behavior you can get canceled for?"

"Like I care about a few snowflakes on the internet calling for my blood," she replies with a sneer. "Besides, they couldn't prove it was me."

I'm not dumb enough to engage her anymore. I swipe a champagne flute from a passing tray, lifting it toward her as if in cheers. Her brow rises.

I aim for her face and shoot.