Page 122 of When Hearts Surrender

“I remember you thought it wasn’t possible, and I remember feeling sad because I didn’t know why you felt that way. I asked myself why didn’t this beautiful man have any hope for his future? For something so simple?”

“And now you know,” he murmurs.

“And now I do.”

The lush aria fades in to silence but we keep dancing. He releases a deep exhale and says, “You’ll make a wonderful mom, Belle.”

His words prick a raw nerve, and unable to hold it back, a sob escapes my mouth.

Maxwell stops swaying and tilts my face up toward him. He frowns and wipes his thumb under my teary eyes. “Belle? What’s wrong?”

I rake in a ragged inhale before releasing it. I need to tell him the truth. Even though he’s fine with us using fertility treatments after a year, we are partners in this marriage and he shouldn’t be left in the dark.

Year of yeses and doing things that are uncomfortable. I’ll be brave.

“There’s something I never told you before,” I whisper and hold his gaze, fighting the urge to look away.

He stills as a pulse flickers on his forehead.

Taking his silence as a sign to continue, I push out the next words, “I have a condition called diminished ovarian reserve. It means I have fewer follicles than other women my age and I’ll enter menopause early. It alsomeans the chances of me getting pregnant naturally are lower. Much lower.”

The house is silent except for the sizzling of the noodles in the pan, and he reaches back to turn off the stove, not taking his eyes off me.

His face is inscrutable, the same mysterious intensity boring into me, and I want to cry, to ask him what he’s thinking, to ask him…

If he regrets choosing me as his wife, since his goal for this marriage is to have heirs.

My face crumbles and I blurt, “I know I shouldn’t have withheld this information. Before we agreed to the arrangement, my parents didn’t want me to tell you because they were worried you wouldn’t want me then. And with our financial situation, I didn’t have money for fertility treatments and I needed our arranged marriage to save Grandpa’s company.”

He stands before me, his hands twitching at his sides, and remains silent. I feel like I’m standing in front of my executioner as panic and fear swirl inside me.

“And when we got married, we always fought and frankly, there were days when I was wondering what on earth we were doing and it didn’t feel like the right time to tell you. But now, I don’t want to hide anymore. It’s not right. I’m sorry for not telling you, Maxwell.”

Wiping my tears away, I sniffle. “If you want to divorce because of this, I’d understand.” My heart twists in a vise and I dip my head down.

Maxwell doesn’t speak as he stalks forward, and soon, I see his feet in my vision. His hands cup my face and tilt my head up.

“Maxwell,” I whisper, not looking at him. Fear tears through me because I’m afraid of what I’ll see in his eyes. Pity? Anger? Resentment?

“Look at me.” His voice is rough and commanding, leaving no room for disobeying.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slowly meet his eyes.

A wet sheen glimmers in his eyes as his nostrils flare. His chest moves up and down rapidly from his heavy breathing.

He crushes me to him, wrapping me tightly in his arms like he wants to meld our bodies together. I feel his heart pulsing, beating rapidly against mine, and the rumble in his voice when he starts speaking.

“My beautiful Belle. You’re my muse, the person who brought back light into my empty mansion, who brought back joy into my life.”

Slowly, he pulls up his sweater, baring his deep scars in the bright daylight.

“You told me my scars were beautiful…art on canvas. And I’m telling you, Belle, you’re beautiful. Glorious. Shining from within. The fact that you’re facing challenges in life with a smile on your face makes you all the more breathtaking to me.”

His voice grows stronger, more ardent. “Youwillbe a mom, Belle. Even if it’s not from natural conception. We can use treatments, see doctors, or adopt.”

I clasp my trembling hand over my lips, unable to stop the choking sounds from escaping.

He looks similarly emotional as a flush creeps up his neck. He pries my hand off my lips and presses a kiss at the center of my palm. “We can grow old together, just you and me, if that’s what you want. We can adopt a few more dogs and cats, even though they’ll destroy the mansion and drive Morris crazy. We can spend the rest of our years painting and sketching side by side, listening to music, and I can be the old man who scares his wife by taking her on joyrides.”

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