Page 56 of When Hearts Surrender

“You’re welcome. I wish I had met your sister too.”

What more is there to say to someone grieving? Even if it’s been years, the event happened long before I was born. But then again, there’s no timeline for mourning. And I wouldn’t know what I’d do if one of my siblings was brutally murdered with the killer still at large.

Morris nods before leaving and heading to his family’s burial plot on the anniversary of his sister’s death.

My chest aches for the old man. We’re all that he has left—the closest thing to family.

Perhaps I’m unlucky to live a life with death hanging over me, a curse banishing me into a lifetime of loneliness without loving another woman, but at least I have my family.

And her.

Even if I need to keep my distance for her sake.

Things could be a lot worse.

Chapter 21

I wake up witha start, my hair stuck to my sweaty forehead. I was chasing him, but he was far away and sobbing, hunched over an easel in the rose garden.

“Why can’t I draw you?” he cried repeatedly.

What?Hazy, unsettling images sift through my mind. My heart pounds and I rub the soreness there. I must’ve fallen asleep while I was working. Ever since I moved here, I’ve been having the strangest dreams, with the restlessness inside me growing.

My stomach growls as I stare at the piles of paper on my bed and on the floor—designs I’m sure the asshole Gordon would reject and make fun of.

How could he not? He has tasked me with the impossible—to create a fall and winter collection giving cozy, warm vibes but can’t have black, brown, grays, wool,sleeves, and the fabrics used have to include linen and taffeta.

“That asshole,” I curse under my breath as I step on one of my drawings on the way to the door.

I really need to find a place for my work studio. Somewhere other than the bedroom.

Quietly, I traipse down the dark corridor, the floorboards creaking and groaning beneath my steps. The door to Maxwell’s master suite across the hall is closed.

It’s like we are roommates instead of husband and wife.

But a roommate’s heart doesn’t pound whenever she’s in his presence, her ears don’t perk up whenever she hears his voice.

A roommate wouldn’t wish to share a simple pastrami and rye with a bad boy with soulful eyes on a quiet night.

Eerie whispers slither down the halls, the hollow sounds writhing then vanishing, but I’ve been told they are just air coming out of the vents. I don’t know if I’ll ever be used to the weird noises and constantly feeling like I have invisible company.

My stomach grumbles again, and I quickly make my way to the kitchen on the first floor. Mora told me in the olden days, the kitchen was in the basement where the staff lived as well, but the family has since moved the kitchen upstairs, with downstairs functioning as an extra cooking space if needed.

I pad across the cool marble floors, not knowing why I’m sneaking around when I’m the mistress of the house. My fingers brush the black marble countertops before opening one of the two stainless steel refrigerators.

What am I going to eat? God knows I can’t cook to save my life. Maybe I’ll have some fru—

“What are you doing here so late at night?”

“Holy shit!” I yelp. “Are you a ghost or something? Warn a girl next time. You scared the crap out of me!” I close the door.

Maxwell chuckles as he turns on the under-cabinetry lights, illuminating the space in a soft glow.

My heart stalls in my throat.

He’s half naked, wearing only an opened flannel shirt and a low-slung pair of gray sweatpants, his hair wet and haphazardly raked over his head like he just got out of a shower.

I gulp, diverting my eyes away from him before I do something stupid like ogle and drool over the well-defined muscles.

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