“No, my dear,” Cleo says with an amused smile. “Not death. Not yet.”
Ty turns to look at us and gives a tentative thumbs-up over his shoulder that makes Flynn and Jude burst out laughing. I’m too busy to join in, though, staring down a far-too-pleased Cleo as she smiles at me.
“What?” I ask, interrupting their whooping. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Perhaps because your story is the most complicated of them all.”
You know what? Fine. I might as well get this over with so we can get the fuck out of here.
I nod to Ty and then jerk my head to tell him to move his ass. He does so, quickly, obviously not wanting to take another punch to the shoulder as added incentive.
Cleo reaches out a hand, her long fingers with red-tipped nails floating like a blowing flag in a gentle wind. It’s subtle but enticing, and I stare hard at the movement, my logic still making me resistant to the idea of giving in and letting her take my hand in hers.
“Remy,” she calls, using my nickname in a way that makes me flick my eyes up to hers. “Give me your hand.”
I take a deep breath, uncross my arms from my chest, and slowly place the palm of my hand against hers, twitching when she closes her fingers around the sides to take it in her grip.
She closes her eyes again, leaning back in her chair and looking to the ceiling, and the lids of her eyes start to shimmy like they’re vibrating.
It’s almost as if she’s dreaming in fast motion, the rapid speed of her thoughts making her eyes spasm back and forth.
I glance back to Flynn, and he puts a supportive hand to my shoulder. Relax, man. It’s just for fun, I can hear him repeating in my mind.
And he’s right. This is just for fun. It’s inconsequential at best.
I take a discreet deep breath and let it out again as Cleo opens her eyes, looks me dead in the center of mine, and says with the kind of gentleness I didn’t know was humanly possible, “You, Remington, my darling, I’m sorry to say, will experience great heartbreak.”
Great heartbreak? What the fuck?
A jolt of unease and shock hits me square in the chest, setting me into the backrest of the chair. My lips won’t move, my mouth won’t open, almost as though she’s taken control of my emotions and is forcing her trumped-up prophecies into the truth center of my brain.
“What?” Jude asks, his surprise evident, clearly not feeling the same lack of control that I am over his vocal cords. He chuckles a little bit, stating, “He’s getting married this weekend.”
Cleo nods, but there’s something in the way she does it that makes me angry. Because of it, I finally find my voice. “I am,” I state with firmness. “I’m getting married this weekend. So, I’d say your reading is total shit, wouldn’t you?”
Cleo inclines her chin, but it’s plain as day that she thinks she’s fucking placating me.
Like she already knew I’m getting married.
Like she already knew it, and still, she said I’m going to experience great heartbreak.
Rationality pumps the brakes and lets irrationality take the fucking wheel. Anger floods my veins, and I jump up from the chair, sending it careening back into my brothers and then clattering to the floor.
“Fuck this, and fuck you, Cleo,” I spit. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fucking done in here.”
I turn, shove through my brothers, and slam my way through the front door, out into the clammy New York summer air. I take deep gulps and put my hands to my knees to get control of myself.
What a load of hogwash…right?
I hate that my mind is wavering back and forth, like it subconsciously wants to believe what that charlatan just said.
But I refuse to let the woman get to me.
Because I know it’s total bullshit.
All. Fucking. Lies.
I’m marrying Charlotte this weekend, and anyone who says I’m not because of some horseshit connection to the future can kiss my ass.
Flynn
The door slams shut after Remy storms through it, and Jude, Ty, and I are left staring at each other in disbelief.
Jude is the first to react, turning to Cleo angrily and shouting, “You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about! My brother is happy. This night was supposed to be about having fun!”
“Jude, my darling, I’m sorry. But the future isn’t up to me. I’m merely a vessel—”
“A vessel, my ass,” Ty snaps, jumping in. “You’ve been trying to get under his skin since the moment we stepped in here. I can’t believe I went along with your shit for this long.”
He shoves through Jude and me, following Remy out the door and onto the sidewalk. Jude gives Cleo one more hard look before doing the same, but I can’t do anything more than watch as they go.
When the door slams behind them, and Cleo and I are alone, I turn around and ask the stupid thing I really don’t want to ask.
“What’s the rest of it?”
“The rest of what, child?” Cleo asks, seemingly filled with sympathy.
“The rest of the fortune, prophecy, whatever. What else do you see about Remy?”
“There will be a chance for happiness,” she says. “A redo, so to speak. But he’ll never get there if he doesn’t learn to open up his heart.”
I shake my head, willing everything she says to be words of fantasy and make-believe. I don’t believe in the connection to the future or in a single person’s ability to see it, but in this case, I feel like it bears the use of an abundance of caution.
What we do—based on the way we feel—is what truly influences how our lives turn out. And with the way Remy is feeling right now, if he goes home to Charlotte at this point, it wouldn’t take much to make this prophecy self-fulfilling.
I pull a wad of bills from my pocket and toss them down on the table between Cleo and me. She glances at the money, but by and large, her green eyes stay locked on me.
“For your services,” I say as farewell. I turn around, walk the distance from the back room, through the velvet curtains, and out the front door to join my brothers.
The three of them are waiting, varying degrees of bundled nerves at their roots making it seem as if any one of them could take off in flight at any moment.
Who would’ve thought a fortune-teller would flip the Winslow brood on their heads?
I guess I should just be thankful Rem—or anyone else—didn’t have the forethought to ask Miss Cleo about our baby sister.
Lord knows, if she would’ve dropped some horrible bomb about Winnie, Rem, being the uberprotective eldest brother that he is, would’ve literally gone Hulk Smash on that fortune-teller’s shop.
I run a hand through my hair. Fucking hell. What a night.
A night that isn’t supposed to be over yet, mind you.
A night that I need to redeem. It’s time I pull my brothers back down for a much-needed grounding.
“Come on, guys,” I order authoritatively, making all three of their heads come up. “Back to the Bronco. Now.”
A little over an hour later, I cut the engine and hop out of the driver’s side door, making sure to click it shut as quietly as humanly possible. A warm breeze brushes across my face, and I smile as my eyes adjust to the darkness.