Page 172 of When Hearts Surrender

That’s what he told me before, and I turn around as my legs pick up in speed, my hair floating behind me, hitting him in the face. He laughs, a rich, loud sound I’ll never get sick of hearing.

Grinning, I break into a half jog, him matching my pace behind me, as my heart pounds in an excited rhythm. After a few turns in the convoluted maze of walls in the gallery, I come to a slow stop, my breathing coming out in quick pants. Squeezing his hand, I walk toward my destination, a singular portrait decorating a large, white wall, with a lone spotlight shining on it.

My favorite piece of his creations.

It’s the painting of me smiling, with the rose garden behind me in full bloom. The painting he was working on when I was taken six months ago. The painting that made my heart hurt in sadness before, but now swells in joy because of the love in every stroke.

His love for me, captured on canvas. The essence of our story.

“I thought this one wasn’t for sale,” he says as we walk up to the painting.

“It isn’t. But I want the world to see it, because it’s so beautiful,” I whisper, curling my arm around him and leaning my head against his shoulder. “Many people wanted to buy it, but I refused. Because this one is mine.”

“Hmm…” He stares intently at the art.

I hold my breath, wondering if he’ll see it. The subtle change I made. A glimmer of pale cream on the dress at the waist, so it looks like it’s floating in the wind, molding to the subtle new curves of my belly. Justlike the dash of hope I instilled in the turbulent skies in his painting of Lake Superior or the streak of red hidden in the blue-green of atrovirens.

A few moments of silence pass by as I’m breathless with anticipation.

Suddenly, he shifts, his muscles tensing at my side, and I smile inwardly.

He sees it.

He grips my hand tightly as his breath catches, and he slowly tugs me closer to the canvas.

“Did you… Is it? What?” Nonsensical words tumble out of his mouth and he turns to me, his eyes darting to my midsection, then to the painting, then back at me again.

“Belle… Are you? Is this what I think it means?”

Tears well in my eyes, and I press my lips together and nod as a choked sob slip out of my mouth.

“Yes, Maxwell.” I throw my arms around his neck, pulling his head down so we are at eye level, his charcoal eyes glittering with moisture under the stark lighting.

His face blurs in front of me and I whisper in his ear, “You’re going to be a dad.”

His breath catches. Pulling back slightly, he cradles my face in his hands, his eyes shining with so much wonder and awe…and joy.

Complete elation.

We turned to IVF shortly after he recovered, since my egg reserves were much lower than expected. It had been months and months of pills, hormones, and shots—three egg retrievals, yielding only three viable embryos and the last two attempts had failed. I was a moody mess, my body reacting horribly to the procedures, and we promised each other if this last attempt failed, we would craft a different dream for ourselves.

Because we would be happy either way…even if the present was painful.

The last transfer was two weeks ago, and I got the call from the clinic yesterday with the good news. I then spent the next hour in the Elysium modifying his painting of me.

Maxwell’s breathing grows ragged as he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my fingertips with such reverence, my breath stalls in my throat.

He then leans forward and dips his forehead against mine, much like all the other times before, and he presses a kiss there.

Then he moves to my lips, searing me with a gentle kiss before whispering, “I love you so, so much, Belle.”

Finally, he kneels down and cradles my belly. Tears slide down my face as I watch him smooth his hands over my nonexistent curves.

“Hello, baby. I’m your father, and I love you to the ends of the earth,” he whispers before pressing a kiss there.

Another sob escapes my mouth, and he glances up at me, tears welling in his eyes.

Standing up, he curls his hand around my nape, the other angling my jaw before he crushes his lips to mine, making love to my mouth as I do the same to him.

---