Page 105 of When Hearts Surrender

I release a relieved exhale, pull back, and beam at him, thrilled I’ve solved his problem when he has taken care of many of my problems for me.

I can fix him. Save him from the so-called curse.

“I only did minor touches—the painting felt like it was missing hope. So I added a dash of gold and pink to the clouds. You can’t really see it, but it brings in more light to the stormy skies. It’s like the bit of red in atrovirens, which makes all the difference. Because,” I glance at the painting, “even in the darkest storms, there’s always light, you see? It’s always there—it might not be sunshine, but that glimmer of light is lurking in the background, telling you the storm is just passing by.”

I point to the lighthouse and continue, “I added some white and amber here. Just a tad, so it looks like it’s a beacon of hope, cutting through the dark clouds. Because that’s what lighthouses do. They give hope to sailors, protecting them and telling them the shore is near. Not huge changes, but I think they’ve made all the difference, don’t you think?”

Hearing no response, I turn back to him and fall silent. Maxwell’s dark eyes glitter, the gray pools iridescent, like the clouds I just painted. His chest moves rapidly, like he’s struggling to breathe.

“Maxwell?”

“You fucking amaze me, Belle, my little muse. God, I…I lo—” He stops himself. He balls his hands into fists at his sides.

He’s going to say he loves me.My heart leaps in joy.

But he says nothing and I can’t help but feel the crushing disappointment in my chest.

Clearing my throat, I strain a smile and change the subject. “Your art is beautiful. I saw your paintings in the studio. They’re full of passion. Have you ever thought about displaying them in a gallery?”

I don’t ask him if he wants to put on a huge art show—it’d be a nightmare for him, dealing with the crowds, not to mention people critiquing the work that contains part of your soul.

I would know since my designs all have a piece of myself in them.

His gaze is somber as he replies, “I’m surprised you aren’t asking me why I’m not touring the country with my art or having exhibitions at The Met.” He bites his lip before releasing it. “That’s what most people would do.”

“I don’t think you’d like it—being in the spotlight. And that’s perfectly fine. But that doesn’t mean your art can’t be admired. Didn’t you tell me, ‘What’s art if not to be loved and admired?’”

His body stills. “You wouldn’t mind hiding away from the spotlight with me?”

I shake my head. “The only spotlight I care about is you. Everyone else doesn’t matter.” My lips wobble as I try not to touch him, because I’m afraid he’ll bolt from the way his muscles are coiled tightly.

“Plus,” I whisper, “I’m not hiding in the shadows when you’re shining your light on me.”

He rakes in a sharp inhale and for a moment, the world quiets and all I can hear are the sounds of our breathing.

“I promise not to love you,” he rasps before pulling me to him and crushing his mouth against mine. His lips seek, taste, and drink from my mouth while I do the same.

A warm furry body slinks away to the passageway, Silas’s mournful howl echoing into the room, like he understands the ache I’m feeling inside.

Maxwell’s words still hurt, but his crushing embrace stems the bleeding. If this is all he can give me, perhaps I’ll learn to be okay with it.

Because I can’t foresee living a life without him by my side.

Chapter 38

“You have an eyefor design,” Belle says, her head dipped over her desk.

I look away from my canvas—a blank canvas I’m sure will be my greatest work yet. Because it’s a portrait of her. My muse. The person I wanted to draw for the longest time but couldn’t bring myself to.

She’s staring at the notes I made on her newest sketches. She had questions on color combinations, silhouettes, sustainable natural fabric options, and while I’m no expert on fashion, I know art and composition.

“You have an eye for colors,” I comment.

She used the smallest bit of paint yesterday to transform the painting of the scene I witnessed at Lake Superior, when I was standing alone on the rocky shores.

I was restless then, a dark hole in my chest, my muse long disappeared.

Belle blushes and smiles. She looks so happy here. With me.

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