Page 75 of Broken Hearts

“Sit,” I say, pointing at the bed and opening my underwear drawer to retrieve the black velvet box there. I sit beside her and hold the closed box in my hand. “We’re going to make a deal, Angel.”

“Another one?”

“Uh-huh.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“I’m not going to ask you to marry me or open the box. You know my feelings for you; you know I’m all in, and I want this marriage to be a permanent thing.”

“I know,” she whispers, keeping her eyes on the box.

“So this is how it will go. I’ll leave the box on the dresser… closed.”

She turns toward me, one eyebrow raised. “Closed?”

“Uh-huh, and if you open it, you wear it.”

“And if I wear it?”

“It means that the trial is moot, that you are mine. That we’re in it for the long haul and that we’re a forever kind of thing.”

She looks at the box with such intensity that I feel the excitement burst in my chest as her fingers twitch. I see it in my head. She’s reaching for the box, opening it, and sliding the ring on her finger. I’ll then be able to wear mine and make love to my wife. But she doesn’t, and I can’t help but feel a little deflated.

She grabs her plump lower lip between her teeth and nods. “Okay, that’s fair.”

I want to pry and ask if it means she’ll look at it or is not planning to look at it at all, but I don’t. Instead, I stand up and put it on the dresser, in full view of the bed.

Settling back beside her on the bed, I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Why did you come, Angel, really?” I ask, my voice soft, inviting her to open up.

She hesitates, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. “I’m overwhelmed with everything… the doctor for my hand, in a few days… I just… I don’t know. I wanted to see you.” Her voice trails off, revealing her vulnerability.

My heart swells at her words, and I pull her closer, lying down and bringing her head to rest on my chest. “It’s a good reason,” I murmur, running my fingers through her hair. The world outside our bubble fades away, leaving the two of us in this moment of shared vulnerability and understanding.

“I love you, Angel. So much.” The words come out easily, a simple truth that resonates deep within me.

“I love you too,” she whispers back, her words barely audible but filled with emotion.

We lie there in silence, the only sound being our synchronized breathing. I feel her gradually relax against me, the tension ebbing away. It’s moments like this that remind me why I took the leap, why I chose to marry her, even in the most unconventional way. Despite the chaos, the uncertainties, and the fear, at the core of it all, there’s a connection that’s undeniable.

I close my eyes, loving the feel of her body against me, her gentle perfume. I tighten my hold on her, feeling hope, love, and a fierce protectiveness. No matter what challenges lie ahead, I’m ready to face them with her. She’s my wife, my partner, my love—and I’m determined to prove that every single day.

And before I realize it, I’m asleep, holding my world in my arms.

Chapter 27

Eva

The world outside blurs as we drive to the clinic, a high-end establishment with a wing named after the Westbrooks. It’s a reminder of the new reality I’m still grappling with—being Mrs. Westbrook.

A name that feels both foreign and strangely right. The changes are progressive. I’m still living with my roommates, and nobody except our close friends knows about it. I’m not wearing the ring Cole bought yet. But as more time passes, I know it’s not “if” I’ll wear the ring but “when” I will.

As we sit in the waiting room, my mind races with anxiety and a flicker of hope. I’m here to see Dr. Mahoney, someone who might give me back the full use of my hand, the part of me so crucial to my music, my passion. It’s a chance to regain a piece of myself that I thought I’d lost forever.

“Mrs. Westbrook?” The receptionist’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and for a moment, I don’t look up. Nobody calls me Mrs. Westbrook.

Cole nudges me delicately, his presence a steady anchor. “It’s us,” he murmurs, and there’s a warmth in his voice that makes me feel seen, known.

I stand up, feeling a rush of gratitude for his support. I haven’t told him yet, but him being here means the world to me. I want to share this with my dad, too, but the thought of raising his hopes only to potentially dash them holds me back. And then there’s the part about explaining my impulsive marriage to Cole—a story I’m not ready to unpack yet.

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