Page 94 of When Hearts Surrender

“My family has been f-firm proponents of giving back to the community, of philanthropy, b-because we recognize the immense p-privilege of being an Anderson,” he begins, a vein pulsing on his forehead.

Immense privilege, but also a curse, it seems.

He stares at me, his face unsmiling but his gaze burning hot as he says, “Our m-motto is, ‘Valor and virtue, with honor, we stand,’ andperhaps you may question the valor with me s-standing before you tonight, the inarticulate orator,” the crowd chuckles at his rough attempt at humor, “but I strongly b-believe in the virtue and honor we hold ourselves to.”

Maxwell pauses, the color slowly coming back to his complexion, but his face still shines with sweat. “A-Anxiety and depression are global mental health crises, invisible illnesses plaguing millions of people. Our family believes in philanthropy, in d-doing our part to shine a light on these two invisible afflictions that p-plague the lives of millions of people in the world. And we h-have the p-privilege…”

He trembles and lets out a shuddering exhale. And another. The connection between us breaks as his gaze darts around the room, his chest heaving rapidly. “W-We h-have the p-privilege…”

He bows his head down, the muscles bunching in his shoulder.

“Fuck.” A soft whisper, barely audible from the microphone, but I hear him from where I stand.

He looks so terrified.

I blink away the tears gathering in my eyes.

Quickly, I climb the steps and stand next to him. The bright spotlight temporarily blinds me. “Easy there with the spotlight. I think I may get a heatstroke from it. No wonder Maxwell is sweating bullets up here in his tux. Can we dim it a little bit, please?”

The audience laughs, and a staff member dims the lighting. I can finally see the faces of the crowd—the rich and the elite sitting with amused expressions, folks whispering furtively to each other, their eyes darting to Maxwell. Charles and Ryland standing up, their faces stern, like they are seconds away from storming up the stage and rescuing us. Taylor is uncharacteristically grabbing Charles’s forearm and Grace and Millie are standing next to her, concern brimming in their gazes.

Slowly, I take Maxwell’s clammy hand in mine, twining our fingers together.

His breath hitches as he holds on tightly, his grip borderline painful.

I’ll be his source of strength, his partner…his wife.

“Our family,” I squeeze Maxwell’s hand and recite the speech from memory, “believes in philanthropy, in doing our part to shine a light on these two invisible afflictions that plague the lives of millions of people in the world. And we have the privilege and platform to do so. In lieu of the Christmas Ball at The Orchid this year, we want to invite you all to join us and open your hearts, your minds, and yourwallets, to the conditions that can affect people in all stages of life and from all backgrounds.”

Turning toward Maxwell, I find his lips parted, his gaze firmly affixed on me. His eyes darken with so much intensity, passion, and what I can only describe as awe, I can’t help but be swept up in the turbulent pools.

“It’s a cause near and dear to my husband’s heart,” I murmur. This isn’t part of the official speech.

His eyes flare at the words “my husband,” and I feel him tugging me closer, his fingers disentangling from mine before he curls his arm possessively around my waist.

Heat rushes through me and I wet my lips, watching his gaze dip to the movement before raking down the rest of my gown.

I shiver and turn back to the crowd. “Thank you for being here tonight, for the cause, for my family, and for my husband. We are eternally grateful and we wish you all a very Merry Christmas.”

Applause rings out in the ballroom as I grab Maxwell’s hand and lead him down the stage where my friends and his family have gathered.

“You were a badass,” Taylor says, and I grin.

Grace nods enthusiastically and Millie blinks, moisture clinging to her eyelashes. I smile at her and she nods—the invisible kinship of loving Anderson men.

Loving?My heart races in my chest.No, I don’t love him. I can’t. That’ll just set me up for heartbreak because he won’t love me back.

Ryland clasps his brother on the shoulder, the twins exchanging silent sentiments before he turns to me.

He pulls me to him and whispers in my ear, “Thank you, Belle. Thank you for being there for him. He needs you.”

I look back at Maxwell, finding him standing quietly to the side, his gaze inscrutable, a vein pulsing on his forehead.

Does he need me? And is that enough?

“I will never,everbe in love with you.”

His words all those nights ago echo loudly in my mind.

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