When I was twelve, we went to a summer carnival and snuck into a fortune teller’s tent. Madame Corvina was her name. Onthe centerpiece of the table was a single crimson rose suspended inside a glass dome, glimmering under candlelight.
To me, it looked just like the rose in the jar fromBeauty and the Beast.
Ironic. I felt just like Belle.
Mesmerized, I picked it up. Just then, Madame Corvina returned and caught us, startling me. The jar slipped out of my hand and shattered when it fell on the floor.
I was full of apologies, but Madame Corvina had just the right thing in mind to creep me the hell out.
“The rose is the heart, and the glass is its protection. You’ve broken both,” she’d said, voice cracked like dry wood. “Now you’ll pay with a curse. Everything you love will fade, one petal at a time… until someone dares to bleed for you and mends what was broken.”
What a cruel thing to say to a twelve-year-old. But she was serious, and I swear my life has never been the same since.
Now I have to literally marry a man people call a monster. À lathe Beast.
Mia leans against the counter and turns her palms up in that habitual gesture of hers when she’s trying to calm me down. “Look, you are not cursed.”
“Really? Behold, my tragic resume: Age thirteen—two months after Madame Corvina’s curse, I nearly drowned at summer camp.” The memory stops me, my lungs tightening as if they remember, too. I still get nightmares, sometimes panic attacks when I’m overstressed. It’s a miracle I haven’t had one yet.
“Age fourteen—Mom had her first heart attack, then months later my portfolio with two years of work, got trashed by my high school bully, and I lost my placement at Juilliard’s summer program. Age fifteen and sixteen—my grandparents died one year apart, on the same damn day. Age seventeen—Dad left hisjob at Vale Global because of the scandal, which we now know was his fault. Age eighteen—the business he built crumbled, and we’ve been struggling financially ever since. Age twenty-two—Chad, the so-called love of my life, dumped me two days after graduation to move to Australia. Then Mom got really sick, the theater burned down, Dad died, and now…this.”
I glare at Mia, eyes wide enough to pop. “You tell me if you wouldn’t think you were cursed. It’s too much.”
She nods, agreeing. “Life hasn’t been easy on you. You’ve definitely been through a lot. But, Isla, some of those things are just natural events that were bound to happen. Like your grandparents’ deaths. Sure, dying a year apart and on the same day is strange, but they were in their late eighties. And as for Chad…” She pauses. “He was obsessed with Australia back in high school.”
“I know, but he kept his plans to move there a secret.”
“Yes, that was an unforgivable asshole move.” She smirks.
“Exactly. A complete fuck-you to whatever I thought we had.”
She nods vigorously. “I agree. But Isla… I don’t want you spiraling into doom and gloom because you think some creepy old woman cursed you. Negativity drains you, babe. And then you stop trying.”
I wince and close my eyes. I want to tell her there’s nothing left to even try for. Before Dad died, I had a plan: rebuild my portfolio, apply for the dream job on Broadway, and chase the life I wanted.
But now…
I can’t even think that far. It all feels impossible.
Footsteps echo in the hallway. We both turn toward the door as Mom walks in, looking worse than she did last night. Her phone hangs limply in her fingers, a breath away from slipping.
My hand presses against the counter, my heartbeat picking up just at the sight of her bony frame in that thin nightdress.
She looks at me, a single tear sliding down her cheek. Her lips part to speak, but nothing comes out. Jesus, something else must have happened. Something worse.
“Oh… God,” Mom splutters, lifting a trembling hand to her mouth before breaking down completely.
Mia and I rush to her side. I slip my arm around her, holding her up before she collapses.
“Mom, what happened?”
“Your father’s insurance company just called.” She’s crying so hard the words barely make it out.
“What did they say?”
“They’re not paying out any more money.”
“What?” The word tumbles from my mouth.
