Carla turned and walked away from him with the corners of her mouth curving down. Tears swelled in her eyes and she headed into a beach shop as a brief respite from the glare of the sun. A bright red backpack sat on a table, and Carla remembered how she’d once traveled so lightly during her gap year, without tugging her cumbersome baggage around. She hastily bought it, hugging it to her chest for comfort as she hurried back along the promenade toward her hotel.
Once she was inside her room, Carla closed the door and leaned her back against it, sliding down to the floor. Her cheeks were hot and wet from tears, and she used her fingers to wipe them away. Everything suddenly felt too much to bear. Her problems with Tom, the reality of the curse, saying a final goodbye to Fidele, and The Lovers card seemingly guiding her toward a past relationship she’d tried to forget. Her pulse quickened whenever she thought about that man, and not in a good way.
Carla decided to stay in Sardinia for the night, ready to move on again in the morning. Her hotel room was expensive, and she was feeling homesick, really missing her gran.
She tried to compose herself by sifting through all her clothes, removing the plainer ones and leaving them in a pile on top of her suitcase. Hopefully the hotel owners could use them or donate them to charity. She stuffed the tarot cards into the side pocket of her new backpack.
Eve’s photos were the last thing she packed, and her fingers twitched as she opened the envelope. She slid out the photograph of the man sticking his fingers up behind her hair and thought that it was the kind of silly thing he always used to do.
She’d tried to ignore all the signs around her pointing toward this man’s existence. Carla had seen him grinning from the Find Your Happy Place billboard that Fran had sped past on the highway in Spain, and on the TV property show when Babs had applied her makeup. Carla had torn her eyes away from him both times, trying her absolute best to force him out of her thoughts.
And then she’d spotted him again in Eve’s photograph. A third sign.
The number three was considered lucky in many cultures, the first odd prime number, the Holy Trinity, three acts of a story, good things coming in threes. Carla realized the only way she could complete her search for her exes—and to assure herself that The Lovers card did, or didn’t, mean anything—was to reach out to the man in the photo.
She took a snap of it on her phone before pushing the envelope of photos into her backpack.
Just thinking about him again made Carla’s heart feel exposed, red and beating for everyone to see. She could still recall every digit of his phone number, even if she hadn’t used it for years, and her hand shook as she dialed it.
It wasn’t a surprise to reach his answer machine, his lack of availability always a sore point between them.
The voice on the other end sounded familiar and warm, like he was still part of her life and had never left it.
Carla waited until the voice recording ended, and she left her own in return.
“Hi, Aaron, it’s Carla. Your ex-wife. Ring me back when you get this message.”
Twenty-Five
Watch
Not long after she’d left the message on Aaron’s answering machine, his assistant got back in touch with her to put a meeting in his calendar. He would be working in his Paris office for the next few days if she was available to come then. Or would she prefer to wait until he was back in the UK?
Carla wanted to get their meeting over with quickly. He was the last man she was looking for, the one she had to discount if she still wanted to walk down the aisle with Tom. He’d been in her life for the longest, and she was glad he was treating their catch-up as a business appointment rather than a rendezvous.
She had no recollection of meeting Aaron in Corsica during her gap year but the evidence was there in the photograph. She really should be traveling back home to England to prepare for her wedding, but instead Carla was going to fly to France. She left her hotel in Sardinia early the next morning in a hurry and arrived in Paris by early afternoon.
The French capital was the supermodel of all others and wasn’t shy about owning its grandeur and beauty. It was Carla’s second time here, and any sugary photos posted on social media didn’t do it justice. It was like the color saturation settings had been turned up on the city, with avenues of tall emerald trees, and the Seine shining teal blue. The dome of the Sacré-Coeur reminded Carla of an intricate meringue, and the scarlet canopies on restaurants shaded diners who chatted over croissants and milky coffee.
As she walked along the Parisian rues, avenues and boulevards with her backpack, each building she passed seemed to have shuttered windows and curled wrought-iron balconies. The romantic swirls of the art nouveau metro signs and streetlamps contrasted with the stark glass pyramid of the Louvre art museum.
Carla loved overhearing arguments on street corners and admired how French people were so straightforward, knowing what they wanted and where they were going, all while looking so chic.
She still couldn’t believe she was doing this. That she was actually here. The more she thought about her situation, the worse it seemed. Was she a bad person for going to see her ex-husband just before she got married again? If she got married again. Tom still hadn’t called her back and she had no idea how he was feeling.
She pictured him wandering around game factories in America, the noise of the machinery drowning out his worries. Maybe he’d be schmoozing in meetings while his thoughts were with her and the baby.
If Tom really loved her, after learning about their mismatch and her pregnancy, hopefully he’d still accept her as she was. And then she’d know he was the right person for her and that they were still perfect for each other.
But Carla had to put matters from her past to rest, to face, unpick and resolve things she’d run away from. It had never been her intention to keep secrets from Tom, and she wanted to be the best version of herself in the future. Unfortunately, that also meant meeting with Aaron.
As she walked, Carla sensed love in the air all around her. She spotted fingers trailing over the smalls of backs, and lips waiting to be kissed. A man with an abundance of chestnut hair stood talking in the street to a woman with a platinum crop. Their body language was a little awkward, their bodies angled away from each other, but Carla detected something stirring between them, new and delicious, that they had yet to discover for themselves. She bought two red roses from a street vendor and handed them over with a smile. At first the man and woman stared at her, frowning as if she was strange, but then they glanced at each other and laughed, their barriers breaking down. “Merci beaucoup,” the man said with a bow.
An elderly lady wearing a purple pillbox hat with a veil was looking around for somewhere to sit, so Carla offered the crook of her arm and suggested that she settle next to a gentleman in a tweed suit who was alone on a wooden bench. The two nodded cordially to each other and the man offered his bag of peaches for her to take one.
Focusing on these couples made Carla think about Aaron even more, bringing her thoughts back to the first time they’d met.
There had been a brief period of time when her gran had talked about downsizing from her bungalow, and Carla had helped to set up a series of appointments to view various other properties. A newly built block of apartments was fresh to the market and she arranged to meet the property developer at the premises so he could show them both around. Carla and Lucinda had stood outside in the rain for ten minutes waiting for him to arrive.
When he had eventually pulled up in a shiny gray Mercedes, Carla’s eyes had hardened. He wore a finely tailored suit and a gold Rolex that was too large for his wrist. He’d introduced himself as Aaron Frame and apologized profusely for his lateness.
He’d let them in and showed them the glossy kitchen with built-in appliances and the bedroom with the Juliet balcony. He’d reeled off his spiel about financial plans, deposits, service charges, low-cost energy and maintenance fees, making Carla feel increasingly inadequate. It had been three years since she’d returned from traveling and she’d struggled to slip back into her routine at home. Life on campus and the structure of lessons had felt too stifling after her travels and she’d dropped out of university. Afterward, she’d taken on several admin roles, with any kind of proper career alluding her. Living with Jess, who had now turned seventeen, had also taken its toll.
While Lucinda had examined the wardrobe space in the bedroom and considered where she might display her ornaments, Aaron had rolled up his sleeve and looked at his watch.
“Sorry, are we holding you up?” Carla had snapped. Her socks were soggy from waiting outside in the rain.
“No, apologies. It’s my mum’s birthday today and I promised to take her out for afternoon tea. The traffic’s been appalling all day and my appointments have stacked up. I’m running late and I hate to keep clients waiting, or rush them during their viewings. I’m hoping I’ll still get to Mum on time.” He’d looked around him and knocked on the windowsill.
Carla had stared at him. “Why did you do that?”
“Habit, I suppose. Isn’t knocking on wood something to do with spirits and protection? My mum’s interested in things like that.”
“My family, too.”
“Mum carries this horrible old rabbit’s foot around with her.” Aaron wrinkled his nose.
Carla had smiled wryly, feeling a little warmer toward him. “I can totally relate.”
