Page 145 of When Hearts Surrender

My eyes find Belle’s again, every cell in my body clamoring for her, but I know I’ve hurt her too many times, and I need to make amends. “Yes, my marriage started as a sham. An arrangement. But I love her, my wife…my muse.” My voice thickens at the end.

The fire that roared to life a few days ago is now burning hot in my veins, and I stare at her, the love of my life, hoping to convey the depths of my love for her, my sincerest regret for hurting her.

“She’s taught me my scars are beautiful, that every step I take is a sign of courage. She’s the better half of me, a woman I don’t deserve. And I’d hurt her in the past by ignoring her feelings because I was too focused on mine.”

Belle swipes her eyes, her lips trembling. Millie rubs her back as Taylor crosses her arms and frowns at me with clear disapproval.

“Belle,” I call out, “I’m sorry for taking your choice away. I’m sorry for not listening to you. I’m sorry for any tears I’ve caused you to shed.”

Thumping my chest, I let out a ragged breath. “This time, the choice is yours. Because I trust you, because you’re the best person I know. Because with you, I’ll be brave…and I’ll fight my demons. I only wish you’ll be by my side because I love you…so, so much.”

Her face crumbles and she heaves in struggling breaths. The reporters turn toward her, clearly making the connection I’m talking directly to my wife. They take a few steps toward her.

“Please! Give her space, p-please,” I murmur, and the press pauses, a few of them glancing at each other with uncertainty.

I love you,I mouth to Belle, who’s being dragged away by Taylor and Grace, with Millie following fast behind.I’ll be waiting for you.

Now and forever. This life and all the lifetimes thereafter.

Chapter 53

Thick clouds roll infrom the distance, the color of a fresh bruise, swollen and festering. I take a seat on the lonely bench in the rooftop garden at the estate. Taking a page from Maxwell’s book, I decided to face my discomfort and finally venture up here. In the past, I’d avoided this place along with the rose garden and blamed it on random reasons—bad weather, a fear of heights, a heaviness in my chest.

It felt like there was a loss buried deep in my soul, a hole I hadn’t been able to fill until I met him. Considering Maxwell had avoided this place as well, perhaps he felt the same way.

I look at the wilted wildflowers and overgrown weeds, a rusted veranda barely standing. The forgotten rooftop garden is completely at odds with the well-kept grounds of the estate. This place appears frozen in time, a shrine for someone long having left this world.

But now, as I sit here, I get the distinct sensation I’ve been here before, a ghostly imprint I feel in the marrow of my bones, very much like the stirring of my heart when I first met Maxwell at the race. One look into his stormy eyes and I was instantly captivated.

I still can’t believe Maxwell apologized so publicly yesterday. The headlines today are all about him—his brave acknowledgment of his anxiety, the press clearly sensing they have a heroic figure on their hands. Any lingering doubts about our marriage have faded away—the articles painting a devoted husband utterly obsessed with his wife.

His public declaration of love, his plea for me to choose him.

He’s letting me decide this time.

He heard me.

I’m so proud of him, because I know it isn’t easy—braving the world and their scrutiny, facing his fears.

Putting it all out there…for me.

I heave out a sigh, relief mixing with heartache as I rub the phantom soreness in my chest. I miss him so much.

The girls asked me last night if I’d accept his apology, if I’d take him back. My immediate impulse was to say yes, to run to him and throw myself in his arms. But I needed to think things through, to let my emotions settle, because I knew if I were to give him back my heart and he shatters it, I’d never feel whole again.

Standing up, I walk to the edge of the roof and look down at the rose garden, the thorny bushes gnarly, the small, lifeless patch of soil still there at the edge.

I remember my dream, the desperation of running toward Silas or Maxwell, as their figures blur together, the crushing agony when I never reach him. And I realize I want to forgive him and repair our relationship, knowing that it won’t be a smooth journey ahead with his fears and anxiety.

But if he can be brave about it and take my hand, then so can I.

Mind made up, I breathe in the earthy scent carried by the blistering wind—the unmistakable smell of damp earth and thawing snow, cloying decay mixing with emerging life. I turn around and take a step toward the winding staircase when my eyes snag on something.

An iron placard hammered on the bench, long rusted, but the delicate carving is very much clear.

My heart is buried here with you, my love, resting alongside you for eternity and beyond.

I’ll forever roam the land, searching for you, aching for you.

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