“Akiva, people commit murder for that kind of curse. People have betrayed their own brothers, done horrible things, for that curse”

T

he rise and fall of muted jazz was suddenly deafening.

Libby’s heart was racing so fast, she worried she was going to pass out. Was this what a panic attack felt like?

The other patrons in Trufflei continued eating and murmuring and laughing, bathed in a golden haze that suddenly excluded her.

Akiva was looking down at his plate silently. She was glad for the quiet; he’d said a lot and she’d hated every word.

But the silence also scared her.

This wasn’t a regular Akiva-spur-of-the-moment scheme. This was thought out and deliberated and very real. She could barely recognize the man sitting across from her.

She cleared her throat. “Let’s go home,” she said, hoping the word “home” would shake him out of… this.

But all he did was nod at the waitress for the bill, and soon they were cruising along in Akiva’s new Range Rover.

An hour later, she was sitting curled up on the couch, trying to breathe, when Akiva came in.

When they’d gotten home, he’d gone straight into his office and closed the door. Normally, she would have changed into comfortable clothes and a tichel after a night out; messaged her sisters-in-law about who she’d seen. But tonight, she’d sat down, wrapped her arms around herself, and hadn’t moved.

“Libs…” Akiva said now.

She looked up at him blankly.

“I’m sorry. To have sprung this on you.” A tiny pause. “But I genuinely believe it’s going to change our lives. For the better,” he added quickly, as she opened her mouth.

She snapped it shut.

“Money like ours… it can be a curse,” he said.

And then the silence was broken.