Page 12 of When Hearts Surrender

He swallows, his throat rippling, and turns around before striding out of sight.

I groan into my hands. Even the blind can see Cole’s interest in me, and I wish I could reciprocate. Cole Whelan is the dictionary definition for tall, blond, and handsome. He’s thirty-two, eight years older than me, some sort of IT genius working his way up a security company for the investment banks in the financial district.

He’s kind, funny, sensitive, and heck, volunteers at the pound every other Saturday without fail. I’ve seen how the other volunteers stare at him, their mouths practically open and drooling like the dogs here when he walks around.

But I don’t feel a thing. Not a flutter or a skipped heartbeat. No shortness of breath or flushed skin. No daydreams about his beautiful eyes or wondering how his hands will feel on my body.

He’s more like the brother I wish I had growing up, instead of being the lonely princess locked away in her large, shiny new castle, talking to her dolls as her only friends, wondering what it’d be like to be a regular girl being smothered by her parents’ kisses or getting a bedtime story before bed.

I sigh. Not that my feelings matter to anyone. I overheard my parents last month talking about candidates for marriage. I knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later. After all, most people in our circles treat marriage as a business merger. But I’ll fight them or die trying.

I shake myself and straighten my back. I’m a lonely princess no more. Now I have my girls, my career, I’m afuckingtwenty-four-year-old and the world is my oyster. I’m going to take control of my life. There’s no way they can shove a random man down my throat and expect me to just take it.

As if sensing my changing moods, the little terror ambles toward me, rubbing his thick fur against my leggings, leaving a trail of white and brown hairs behind. Then, he trots back to wreak more havoc on his crime scene, his fluffy tail wagging, not knowing these are his last few hours on this side of the rainbow bridge.

Unless I do something about it.

He stares at me with the solo cute blue eye and sits obediently on the ground like a perfect dog.

My eyes water and I crouch down and stroke his soft fur. I bury my face in his neck and he softens against me and lets out a low whine. Why can’t the world see how perfect he is, one-eyed terror and all? How much love he has to give? Why can’t anyone see the true him, this sweet dog?

My chest aches and my nose burns, the stench of sterile antiseptic filling my nostrils, bringing me back to my appointment three days ago with my reproductive endocrinologist.

“Sorry, I’ve reviewed your test results. Your hormones are low, Ms. Law-McKenzie, and the ultrasound shows a very small number of follicles,” Dr. Chen says softly, her brown eyes shining with sympathy.

“S-So you’re saying?” A heaviness weighs on my lungs and I can’t breathe.

“You’re right. Diminished ovarian reserve. DOR. Much earlier than expected, to be honest.”

Shaking my head, the lump grows larger in my throat. “I knew there was a chance I’d have DOR, with Mom having the same issue when she was younger, and now with my periods getting more and more irregular.”

“It isn’t a death sentence. There are options for fertility, you know.”

“IVF. Egg freezing. Trying earlier? But time is running out, isn’t it? My egg reserves are that of someone who is near menopause, not someonewho has years left.” I’ve spent hours researching online, panicking that my biological clock is about to run out.

I thought I’d have at least until thirty before I had to worry about this. And I don’t have a boyfriend or any candidate to even think about trying earlier. And now, I realize I’ll soon lose the chance of becoming pregnant.

I have three goals in my life.

First, I want to protect Grandpa’s legacy at McKenzie Atelier, the only American couture company going head-to-head with the famous fashion houses in Europe.

My nose burns and eyes prickle at the thought of my grandpa, the only family member who’d given me his free time and care when I was growing up and taught me everything he knew before he passed away.

I’m going to make him proud.

Second, I want to have kids of my own so I can shower them with the love I wish I’d received as a child. I don’t even need to have a husband or a man in my life. I just want the kids.

Now, with the ticking clock inside me, there’s a desperate need to experience the miracle of life myself before it’s too late. I want to fill the yearning and restlessness inside me and find the missing fragments of my heart.

Third, I want to give back to humane societies, to eradicate kill shelters one by one, saving unwanted animals so they can be taken care of the way they deserve.

But two out of the three goals are vaporizing in front of my eyes, and I’m helpless to stop them.

The little terror nudges me with his nose and lets out a soft whine before he delivers a comforting lick to my fingers. The burning sensation in my nose grows stronger and I sniffle.

You’re perfect—flaws and broken body and all.

I ruffle his fur and he wags his tail so vigorously, it thumps against the wall in a staccatorhythm.

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