Page 108 of When Hearts Surrender

Lifting my head up, I stare into the gray overcast skies, watching a raven spread its dark wings and soar, its silhouette lonely.

“By then, I had my small social circle. I was comfortable. Then, we dove into high school and college prep. Time passed by and I could cope by working in the shadows. I could tolerate minimal small talk. I thought Ryland was happy being the public face of the company. I thought I had things handled.”

She wraps her arms tighter around me.

“I thought, ‘Yes, Maxwell, you have anxiety, but who isn’t anxious from time to time?’ It had been years since I had severe panic attacks. Dr. Chandler used to tell Dad they weren’t true hallucinations but were my overactive imagination at work.”

I scoff and shake my head. “You’re going to think I’m pathetic. I’m thirty-six years old, and I couldn’t even make a speech without breaking into a sweat and panicking. You’re twelve years younger than me and you have to save me. My brothers had to save me. I couldn’t save myself, I couldn’t—”

Save anyone. Mom. Sydney. And now Belle’s getting hurt—her week in the hospital still haunts me to this day.

Belle wedges herself between me and the window. The cool daylight bathes her skin in flawless ivory, tears framing the lushest lashes I’ve ever seen.

Tears for me.

She cups my cheek and whispers, “You’renotpathetic. You’renota freak. You are so strong, fighting this battle alone for so long.”

Her lips tremble. “I’m here now. I’ll fight alongside you. You’ll never be alone again. And if you want to consider finding a therapist…I’ll bethere with you too. They helped my grandpa…I know they can help you. And finding help doesn’t mean you’re weak—it just tells me how strong you are to fight against the current.”

She slowly lifts my sweater, her fingers tracing the raised scars and mottled skin. Ugly patches of purplish red. Her lips rain kisses over my flaws and my rough edges, just like she did that night in the kitchen.

But now she knows. She knows everything, and she isn’t running away.

“Your scars…inside and out, are so beautiful,” she kisses the biggest one from my abdominal surgery, “you’re enough. Just as you are.”

Growling, I haul her up, slam my lips on hers, and she melts in my arms.

My beautiful muse with her beast.

My heart tumbles and swells, every thump the most beautiful music to her aria. She’s the flowers in the spring and I’m the soil underneath, quietly nurturing her, protecting her, giving her my all so she can bloom brightly for the world to see.

A lone tear slips out of my eye as I angle her face to the side so I can kiss her deeper, so I can steal any piece of her for myself.

I vow to never love her. I vow to never love her. I vow to never love her.

The words don’t stick.

What a fucking liar.

Chapter 39

A knock sounds atmy bedroom door as I finish tying the sash on my black and gray sweater wrap dress for a date night with Maxwell.

My husband is taking me out on a public date.I can’t stop grinning with glee.

“Come in!”

Agnes steps in, her face severe as always, her hands clasped together. “Ms. Belle.”

I swallow a sigh. It’s been months of the same strained treatment and nothing I do seems to make her like me. But she’s good at her job, managing the day-to-day chores around the mansion so I don’t need to be bothered with many things.

“How can I help you, Agnes?” I try to smile but am afraid I look like one of those scary clowns at the circus instead.

She narrows her eyes before clearing her throat. “I see you and Sir Maxwell have grown…fond of each other.”

I arch my brow. She is walking on thin ice. Very thin ice.

“I was Ms. Julianna’s lady’s maid when she was alive.” Her nostrils flare and she looks away. “She was a wonderful woman.”

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