I’m not dead.

Did you think I was? That I’m some corpse my husband propped up in front of the second-floor window to frighten his guests?

I’m not. I’m very much alive.

And I’m afraid my husband is a murderer.

Twelve Years Earlier

I can hear the hum of the engine and my body jolts with every imperfection in the road. My teeth sink into my lower lip as I shift in the passenger seat of the broken down Ford. A blindfold covers my eyes, shrouding me in darkness.

I desperately claw at the blindfold with my right hand. Before I can work it loose, a powerful hand encircles my wrist. My boyfriend Nick’s voice cuts through the silence. “Hey, quit doing that,” he says.

I groan. “Nick…”

“I mean it. I want this to be a surprise. No peeking.” “Fine. How much longer?”

“Ten minutes—tops.”

“At nine minutes and thirty seconds, I’m ripping this blindfold off. I swear, Nick.”

I have been dating Nick Baxter for six years. We met in high school, if you can believe that. High school sweethearts

—I know, I know. I never imagined meeting the love of my life in high school, but the second I kissed him at only sixteen years old, I just knew. This was the guy.

Have you ever just met somebody that you clicked with? That you felt was an extension of yourself? The missing piece. From the first moment we sat down to dinner on our first date, I felt like I could tell him anything. And I did. I told him I didn’t want to be a teacher like my parents kept telling me to be. I wanted to be a chef. I wanted to open my own restaurant. It was my dream. I fell in love with him for being the only one to believe in me.

Also, it doesn’t hurt that he’s pretty hot. Even with my eyes blindfolded, I can picture his dark blond hair, his slim but muscular build, and his infectious smile. Girls always give Nick a second look, but he only has eyes for me. Whether I deserve it or not, he worships the ground I walk on.

I feel the car swerving to the right, which means he is exiting the highway. Thank God. If we don’t get there soon, I swear I’m going to vomit. If that happens, he’s going to have to clean it up all by himself, because this is his own damn fault.

The car jerks to a halt. Nick’s warm, large hand squeezes my knee. I can imagine the eager look on his face. “Okay, Rosie. We’re here.”

“Can I take off the blindfold?” “Give me one minute.”

He insists on guiding me out of the car. He rests his hand on top of my head to make sure I don’t bump my head on the door frame. He places his hands on my shoulders and turns me about ninety degrees. Then he yanks off the blindfold.

“Ta-da!” he says.

I blink, adjusting to the light. “Ta-da what?” “It’s your new restaurant.”

My new restaurant? Is he joking with me?

I’ve been working as a line cook at a dingy restaurant since graduating culinary school. The salary is just barely enough that I could give up my waitressing job, since my

parents have not given me one penny to subsidize my “ridiculous lifestyle.” Nick recently graduated from college with a degree in business, and he’s been talking about the two of us starting a restaurant. I said sure, figuring it was just a pipe dream.

And now we are standing in front of a one story building that looks like it should be condemned. All the windows are cracked, there’s dirt ground into every single crack and crevice, and the door is literally hanging by one hinge. As I stare at the place, a rat scurries out the front door. I’m sure there are plenty more where that one came from.

This place is horrible. It is not a good surprise. I feel like the blindfold was unnecessary.

“Oh,” I say. I’m trying to look happy, but it’s straining my acting skills.

“I know it doesn’t look great now,” he says quickly. “But I got it dirt cheap. Trust me, Rosie, this is a great location. I scoped it out, and there are no restaurants along I-93 for twenty minutes in either direction.”

“Mmm,” I say.

“I’m going to help you get it cleaned up,” he says, “and you’ll see, this place is going to be a huge success. I promise.”

“Mmm,” I say again.

He looks me straight in the eyes. “This is your dream.

I’m going to make it happen for you.”

He sounds so sure of himself. I love Nick, but I think he overextended himself with this one. But I’ll go along with it. After all, what do I have to lose?

Nine Years Earlier

It feels decadent to be taking a day off.

It’s all I do anymore. Work. The restaurant opens for lunch, and I’m usually there till it closes late in the evening. I recently hired help so that I could at least have one night off, only after Nick bugged me to do it. I don’t trust anyone to do as good a job as I do, and also, I love being there. I love being in the kitchen of my own restaurant. It’s everything I ever wanted.

But today I have a day off, and Nick persuaded me to go to a local carnival. We rode on the roller coaster, then on the Ferris wheel, and now we’re sharing a giant blob of pink cotton candy.

“I forgot how good cotton candy is,” Nick says as he stuffs a big fuzzy wad of it into his mouth. “You should serve this in the restaurant.”

“Um, no.”

“You should. It will probably become your bestselling dessert.”

I give him the side eye. “I’m not even sure if you’re kidding.”

“I’m not!”

I’m still somewhat in disbelief over how successful our restaurant has become. I’m not going to lie—the first year was rough. It took forever to get Rosalie’s cleaned up and in condition to serve as a restaurant. Nick and I worked our butts off. We replaced all the windows, cleaned everything out by hand, bought all new kitchen appliances and furniture for the dining area. We invested a lot of money and a lot of labor. And for the first few months, I thought it was all going to be for nothing. I could count on one hand the number of customers on a given week. There were about twenty times that first year when I thought about giving up.

I’m not sure what Nick did, but our business picked up at the end of that first year. We started getting steady customers, and the second year, we broke even. The third year, we turned a profit.

Then a few months ago, Nick bought the two houses next door. One for us to live in and the other to turn into a motel.

So we’re going to buy a house together? I said when he told me his plans. That sounds pretty serious. We’re not even married.

Well, we should probably do something about that, he said.

The bastard had a ring in his pocket. I said yes. Obviously. I couldn’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.

We’re getting married next month. It will be a small ceremony at City Hall—just close family. Mostly because all of our money has been sunk into the restaurant and the new motel. And also, neither of us have big families. Plus, my parents don’t like Nick. My mother is never clear about why, but she always hints that I could do better, and she doesn’t think much of our restaurant either. That’s why I don’t speak to her much anymore. I’m not even sure she’s coming to the wedding.

“I’ll let the cotton candy idea percolate,” Nick says. “In the meantime, what do you want to ride next? Should we ride that one that turns you around in a circle in the air and then upside down?”

I look at the ride he’s pointing to. Just the sight of it makes my stomach turn. “No, thank you. How about…” I look over at a little black tent with the sign on the front with painted black lettering that reads, Fortune-telling, three tickets. “Ooh, I want to get my fortune told!”

Nick snorts. “You don’t need to go to a fortuneteller to know your fortune. I can tell it to you right now.” He presses his fingertips into his temples. “The future is saying you’re going to marry a super handsome business genius, and then you’re going to have five kids together.”

“Hmm. Are you sure the future is saying five kids?

Because I’m kind of feeling like it might be three.”

“Pretty sure it’s five.”

We have always talked about having kids in an abstract sort of way, but now that we’re actually getting married, these talks have become a little more serious. We both want a lot of kids. We’re both only children, and we’ve always wanted big families. But five seems like an awful lot. And he’s not the one who has to push them out.

“See,” I say, “this is why I need to talk to the fortuneteller. And in the meantime, you can try to win me a decent prize this time.”

Earlier in the day, Nick played a game where he had to knock down bottles with a ball. He did spectacularly badly and insisted the game was rigged. Anyway, he won me a tiny rubber duck, which wasn’t really worth carrying around, so I tossed it.

Nick salutes. “You got it. I’m winning you a stuffed animal so big, one of us will have to ride on top of the hood on the way home.”

That remains to be seen.

While Nick goes to find his game of choice, I walk toward the black tent. I’ve never had my fortune told before, but it always seemed like fun. I don’t believe in stuff like that, but there’s no harm in it.

The curtains of the tent are slightly parted, and I push them aside with my hand and peek my head in. The tent is lit by only a few candles, but it’s enough to see the contents. There’s a small wooden table inside, and a folding chair on either side of it. On one of the two chairs sits a woman with long black hair. And by black, I mean black. I’ve heard black described as the absence of color, but I never understood that description until I saw this woman’s hair.

She raises her eyes to look at me, and they’re just as black as her hair. So black that I could not possibly see her pupils. “Hello,” she says.

“Hi.” My voice cracks unexpectedly and I clear my throat. “You do… fortune-telling?”

She nods and gestures at the folding chair across from her. “Please have a seat.”

I hand over my three tickets, which she stuffs into the purple robe she’s wearing. I study her features, partially obscured by the shadows. I can’t tell how old she is. She could be twenty or she could be sixty. It’s so strange.

“My name is Naomi,” she says. “I’m Rosalie.”

“That’s a pretty name.” Her black eyes flit down to my left hand. “And that’s a pretty ring.”

I squeeze my left hand into a fist subconsciously. The diamond is tiny—all we could afford—but I love it. “Yes. Thank you.”

“He is a good man.” She says it like it isn’t a question. “At least, you believe he is a good man.”

“He is,” I say, with fierce loyalty.

Something almost resembling a smile touches Naomi’s lips. “We shall see.”

She picks up a deck of Tarot cards. I’ve seen Tarot cards before, but I’ve never had my fortune read before. I know the whole thing is silly, but my stomach churns. I wish I had stayed outside and cheered Nick on while he won me another prize (or failed to win me another prize).

She lays three cards out on the table. She stares down at the cards for a moment, her fingers lingering on the middle card, which is a tower on fire after being struck by lightning, with two men hurling downward to their death. I know nothing about Tarot cards, but this doesn’t look good.

“What?” I say.

“This is The Tower,” she says. “It means you will have a life altering revelation. One that will leave you blindsided.”

I shake my head. “Like what?”

Maybe I’m pregnant. My period isn’t due till next week, but I forgot to take my pill a couple of nights this month. Nick would love that.

Naomi touches the rightmost card. This one is even more disturbing. It’s a picture of a knight riding a horse with a dead person below the horse’s feet. Except the knight’s helmet is raised and you can see it is actually a skeleton. I can make out the word on the card.

Death.

Naomi raises her eyes sharply. She reaches out and grabs my wrist with fingers that are as cold as the skeleton on the card.

“Rosalie,” she hisses. “You must not marry that man.” “What?” I try to yank my hand away, but she’s holding

on tight. “What are you talking about?”

“Please.” Her black eyes lock with mine. “You must listen to me. You think this man will bring you happiness, but he won’t. He will bring death into your life.”

“Death?” I repeat. “You mean… he’s going to die?”

The thought of Nick dying is like a hand squeezing my heart. I can’t imagine my life without him.

“No,” she says firmly. “He will not die. He will bring the death of another.”

“You mean…” My head is spinning. “He’s going to kill someone?”

She is silent. She releases my hand, but I’m too stunned to move.

“God.” I shake my head. This is preposterous. I don’t believe in this stuff, but there’s something about this woman… “You don’t know Nick. He’s a good guy. And he is… He would never hurt anyone. Ever. And… I love him. A lot.”

“But that will change.”

“No, it won’t.” I glare down at the cards in front of her. “So basically, you flip over a tower and a skeleton, and then you say that my fiancé is a murderer? This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It is not just the picture on the card.” Her voice is quiet. “It is what the cards say to me. This is the gift I have.” She frowns at me. “You still have time. You can call it off.”

I open my mouth to tell her off, to say that there is no way in hell I would ever break up with the man I love because of some psychic at a stupid carnival. But somehow, no words come out.

“Think about it, Rosalie,” she says. “I can only show you the right path. You must choose to walk it.”

My hands are shaking when I get out of the psychic’s tent. It was so dark in there that the sunlight startles me. I blink a few times as my eyes adjust.

“I did it!”

I turn around and find Nick holding up a stuffed panda triumphantly. It’s about a foot tall, so not so big that it won’t fit in the backseat, but admittedly more impressive than that rubber duck. He has an adorably proud grin on his face, and I throw my arms around his neck. And I can’t seem to let go.

“Whoa!” He laughs. “I didn’t know you were such a fan of pandas.”

But when I pull away from him, the smile drops off his face. It’s only then that I realize there are tears streaking down my cheeks.

“Rosie, what’s wrong?” he asks. “Are you okay?” I blink back fresh tears. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” He glances at the black tent. “What the hell happened in there?”

“She…” I take a shaky breath. I hadn’t meant to tell him what Naomi said to me or let it ruin my day, but I can’t help myself. “She told me something bad would happen if we got married. That we should call off the wedding.”

His mouth drops open. “Are you kidding me? She said that to you?”

I nod slowly.

He shoves the panda into my hands. “That is unacceptable. I’m going to go talk to her.”

I grab his arm. “Nick, please don’t.”

“But she upset you!” A muscle twitches in his jaw. “She has some nerve. She’s just some cheap carnival fake psychic. You know nothing she says is real. Right? It’s all just a show.”

“Right…”

“Rosie…” His brown eyes are wide. “You’re not really taking this seriously, right? She’s not psychic. That’s not even a real thing.”

“I know.”

“And… I love you.” He reaches out and grabs my hand in his. “If we didn’t get married, I don’t know what I would do. There’s no one else I would ever want to spend my life with.”

I swallow down a lump in my throat. “I love you too.”

“I mean,” he says. “That psychic said something bad would happen if we got married, but I honestly can’t imagine anything worse than not being with you.”

I feel the same way. “I know.”

“So…” One side of his lips quirks up. “You won’t break up with me because of what that psychic said?”

I allow myself a teeny tiny smile. “I guess not.”

He kisses me, squishing the stuffed panda between us. I try to enjoy it, but I can’t quite push away what that psychic told me. I don’t believe in this stuff—I know it’s fake. But I can’t stop seeing the frightened look in her eyes.