Page 106 of When Hearts Surrender

A warm heat floods my insides, and I rub the spot over my heart.

I no longer feel that dark hole.

And damn if that scares me, because I tell myself it doesn’t mean what it means.

I vow to myself I’ll never love her.

I know she’s trying to convince me the curse isn’t real, but she hasn’t seen what I’ve seen. Mom lying in the coffin, her skin ice cold. Sydney’s limbs twisted on the sand, her fingers rigid as if she fought until her last breath.

So, I can’t love her. I can only give her pleasure in my bed, save her family’s business, buy out animal shelters she has her eye on, and fulfill her adventures one by one.

A clawing desperation boils me up from inside, panic taking root.

I’m calm. I’m at peace. I accept myself.

I repeat the mantra ten times, twenty times, but my pulse doesn’t settle. My mind is flooded with Belle’s smiles, her soft touches, her sweet kisses, only for the memories to be chased away by images of Sydney and Mom, Dad sobbing at the cemetery, Grandfather’s eyes glazed over as he finally smiled before taking his last breath because he said he was going to be with Grandma again.

The images swirl and shift into the snippets of my dark dreams at night—this time, it’s Belle in the rose garden laughing, telling me she wants to go to Venice one day. Then there are the visions of me cradling her broken body on the ground, the rain falling around us. Dreams that feel so real, I question my sanity.

I can’t love her. I can’t. I can’t love her.

My breathing grows shallow and I walk to the windows and look outside at the thick snow and trees, still barren skeletons of black and brown.

Lifeless.

“Maxwell? Maxwell! Are you okay?”

Releasing a calming breath, I turn around, faking a smile.

Belle frowns, her pencil perched behind her ear.

Shaking my head, I answer, “I’m fine. Just thinking about work. I fucked things up last week at the gala, didn’t I?”

“You were defending me. I think everyone saw that.”

“That’s what Lana told me. I owe her a box of chocolates because she worked the past few days to put out press releases.”

After we emerged from my bedroom yesterday morning, I finally saw the text messages from my siblings. They’d ironically changed the name of our text group to: “Where is His Majesty?”

It’s almost a routine for them now. Last year, it was “Save Ryland from Himself,” and the year before was “Save Steven from Himself.” Now the idiots have their attentions set on me.

Ryland

If I didn’t see Belle going after you and Morris telling me you are otherwise “occupied,” I’d be worried.

Rex

What’s better than a quick fuck? A sex marathon. Ha! Old man Morris is probably traumatized by you two being so “occupied” with each other.

Ethan

Seriously, C. Some things belong inside your mind. You don’t actually have to say everything you’re thinking.

Charles

Can someone tell me why I’m in this group chat? I’m not even an Anderson.

Rex

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