Carla felt her cheeks flush and she set down her fork. “I don’t remember you being this perceptive before.”

“Perhaps divorce made me a better person.” Aaron smiled to himself. He sprinkled salt on his food and threw a few stray grains over his left shoulder. He moved his leg, and his knee accidentally brushed against hers.

A hot ripple spread through Carla’s body and she inched away from his touch.

“Tell me about your husband-to-be,” Aaron said. “Are we alike?”

She shook her head. “You couldn’t be more different. He’s calm, studious, kind and—”

Aaron gave her a look of amusement. “Are you saying that I’m not?”

Carla raised a firm eyebrow at him. “And he doesn’t interrupt me when I speak,” she added. “Tom listens and he’s so creative. We met through my agency and have a fantastic compatibility score.”

“That’s great,” Aaron said, pressing a napkin to his lips. “It really is.”

Carla toyed with a strand of her hair, wondering how much to tell him about the past few weeks. “Of course, my family dragged me to a fortune teller, just to make sure. She read my tarot cards and claimed to see someone in my past who’ll be important to my future. She highlighted six cards, and each is supposed to correspond with a man I met during my gap year. Apparently, my happiness hinges upon one of them.” She gave a disbelieving headshake.

Aaron nodded. “I remember how your family was superstitious. And yes, my mum still carries that horrible rabbit’s foot everywhere with her.” He stroked the knot in his tie for a moment. “I thought there had to be a good reason for you to fly to France to see me. Unless it was for my good looks and charm?”

Carla sighed, laughing despite herself. “Nope, sorry.”

“And yet, here you are...” His words were light yet loaded.

“The tarot-card thing is ridiculous,” Carla blurted out. “I wasn’t even aware we’d met during my gap year. You did work as a bartender in Corsica? I saw a photograph of you there.”

Aaron frowned at her. “Are you sure it was me?”

Carla took out her phone to show him the photo.

Aaron let out a surprised, sharp laugh. “Yep, that’s me all right. I was only there for a few weeks.”

“I don’t recall you ever mentioning it.”

Aaron took some time to answer. “I was a bit ashamed, to be honest.”

“About working behind a bar?” she asked incredulously. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. I just did something very stupid.”

“Why, what happened?”

Aaron sipped his wine. “A friend of mine was in trouble. She owed some rent money to her landlord, and he’d demanded she pay it that evening, threatening to throw her out on the street if she didn’t. But then someone stole her purse. The banks were closed and there were no cash machines around, so she begged me to help her out. I didn’t have that kind of money, either, so I borrowed some from the till of the bar I worked in, right at the end of the night. I swear I was going to pay it back first thing the next morning so no one would notice. It was a pretty dumb thing to do, but the owner didn’t really like me, so I couldn’t ask him for a favor. Anyway, he saw me taking the cash and called the police. I spent the night in custody and lost my job. It was all pretty horrendous. After that, I kind of erased Corsica from my memory. When you and I talked about our travels, I didn’t mention it to you. I don’t recall you going there, either.”

“I only went there for a day trip,” she said.

They both looked at the photograph again.

“I bet you thought I looked hot in that T-shirt.” Aaron found a grin. “Even I think I look great.”

Carla tutted at him. “I didn’t even notice you.”

Aaron set his wineglass down. “Are the tarot cards really so silly if they brought you here? Which card am I supposed to be?”

The roots of Carla’s hair prickled and she struggled to utter her next words. “Perhaps The Lovers,” she murmured.

Aaron leaned forward again, so closely Carla could feel his breath on her neck. “I suppose we could find out if the prediction is true,” he whispered.

Carla immediately shot back as if scalded. Her head told her to run away, but she had too many things to discuss with him, and too many things she needed answers to. She speared a piece of beef and struggled to swallow it, even though it was tender. “Never.”

“Fair enough. I’m sorry things didn’t work out between us,” Aaron said. “I was always in a rush—to do things, to go places, to be someone. If I’d have taken more time, listened to you more, things could have been so different. We might even still be together.”

Underneath his confident swagger, he’d never been so sensitive or vulnerable with her before, and his blue eyes displayed a new sincerity and maturity. Carla swigged a glass of water to ease a flare of regret.

“We were young,” Aaron continued. “You’d lost your mum and helped to raise Jess. You were surrounded by all those superstitions, and your gap year overseas gave you a taste of the real you. And then I came along and proposed to you.”

“It was something I wanted, too...”

“I should have allowed you time to grow. If I could turn back time, I’d do things differently.”

Carla felt the memories rush back to her, along with the pain of their marriage ending. “You just wanted everything straightaway, a wife, travel, a business, a home...a child...” She let her words fall away, her cheeks burning when she remembered some of their volcanic arguments. “The portfolio of things didn’t mix.”

“I shouldn’t have taken that damn job.” Aaron shook his head.

They both picked up their glasses and took a long swig.

Carla and Aaron had been married for over two years when he’d been offered a job in Toronto and had asked Carla to join him. She’d hugged him tightly, full of happiness for him, while also scared of moving away from her family. She was still in a post-wedding haze of homemaking, hosting barbecues and thinking of starting a family, not moving somewhere a thirteen-hour flight away.

Aaron had gushed about advancing his career, all the snow and beautiful green spaces, low crime rates and maple syrup. “After a couple of years living in Canada, I’d love to move to Paris. I want an office with a view of the Eiffel Tower...” he’d said.

He always approached everything with zeal and it had been easy for Carla to get caught up with his big plans and ideas. In bed at night, Aaron drew his visions in the air with his hands while Carla wanted to sleep. He was like a tornado spinning around her and she wanted to step out of the eye of the storm sometimes, especially when she’d found out she was pregnant.

When she’d presented the white stick with the two lines to her husband, they’d held hands and danced around their living room together until they were so exhausted they’d collapsed in a heap on the sofa.

“Oh gosh, we’re going to be parents.” Aaron had beamed and they’d looked at each other with eyes full of astonishment and wonder.

The next few weeks had been a rush of buying pregnancy books, making doctor appointments, throwing away cream cheese from the fridge and buying underwear in a bigger size. They’d agreed not to tell their families until after Carla’s twelve-week scan, their secret making things feel even more precious.

Although it had been early days, they’d discussed names for their baby. Carla liked the classics: Lucy or Emily for a girl, perhaps Oliver for a boy. Unusual ones appealed to Aaron more, like Zorro or Bowie. Carla drew a line at them, and they’d agreed that when their child arrived, they’d look at him or her and just know the right name.

This changes everything, Carla had thought to herself. Now we’ll stay in England.

Except her pregnancy had added an extra layer of complication to their plans. Aaron started to talk about Canadian education systems, plowing ahead with their move, and the speedometer on their lives revved up a notch. Carla felt like she was on the median strip of a highway, watching cars whoosh past her as she waited for a gap to cross.

They’d held hands tightly when they’d gone for the first scan, looking forward to telling their loved ones about the pregnancy. Carla could still remember the deafening silence of the sonographer as she’d examined the ultrasound image on-screen. Carla had lain there feeling vulnerable with her stomach exposed and shiny with gel, until another nurse had entered the room. The two medical professionals exchanged a few whispered words together.

“I’m very sorry, we can’t detect a heartbeat,” the sonographer finally said, handing Carla a wad of blue tissue to wipe her belly.

Carla looked at Aaron, and they both numbly faced the screen. “But I can see the shape of the baby. Maybe it hasn’t had time to develop properly yet.” She’d grasped at thin air as a tear trickled down her cheek.