Page 15 of When Hearts Surrender

Our family is well educated, but after so many deaths, we were forced to face the ugly truth. Denial is useless. Our only hope is someday, one of us will find a way to break the curse.

Knock, knock.

“Come in,” I holler.

Morris Coventry, our butler, slowly walks in with a tray of food. I glance at the grandfather clock by the fireplace. Eight p.m. I apparently forgot about dinner again.

The elderly butler, the closest thing I have to a grandparent after Grandfather passed away, smiles, his kind blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Sir, your dinner. Eat it while it’s hot.” He sets the tray on my desk and nods at my father on the screen. Stifling a groan, he straightens and rubs his lower back and right leg.

“Thank you, Morris.” I quirk a grin. “Can I convince you to retire yet?” I motion to his leg. “That old wound has been acting up more and more lately. Let me hire help and you can rest and enjoy your retirement here.”

He harrumphs and shakes his head. “Nonsense. I’ll work until my last breath.” He ambles out of the study and quietly closes the door.

Dad chuckles in the background. “Old Morris will never change. He’s been exactly the same for as long as I can remember.”

I smile before sitting down on my leather chair and facing my father.

Dad sighs as he redirects our conversation back to the topic at hand.

“An arranged marriage isn’t as hopeless as you think it is, Maxwell.”

He leans back in his armchair in our house in the Hamptons, where he has moved to recently. The estate seems more silent in his absence. “Your mom and I had nine wonderful years together before she passed. She was a good friend, my closest confidant. She was e-everything.”

His voice cracks as he looks away, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Just don’t fall in love. Don’t do what I did, what your grandfather did. You know the risks. You understand what happened with Sydney—”

“I don’t need you to remind me how my wife died!”

Dad’s eyes sharpen as he takes in my uncharacteristic outburst, and I close my eyes.I am calm. I am at peace. I accept myself.

I repeat the mantras. Ten times, twenty times, until I feel my heartbeat calming.

Dad’s patient. After all, he understands the lonely path in front of me.

“You can do it, son. If there’s anyone in the family who can abide by the rules of the curse, it is you.”

I know that to be true. After all, I’ve had the shadow of death hanging over my head my entire life, and I’ve suffered its cruel consequences. It has to be me to bear it. What if I detract from the path, give the middle finger I’ve always wanted to give to the ancestor who started it all and say, screw you and your need for heirs, and this curse falls on Ryland? There’s no way I’d risk Ryland’s happiness and safety.

And you’re going to have heirs and doom your son, you asshole.Guilt nags at me, but I shake myself. I’ll teach him how to thrive and live, despite the curse. He’ll be fine.

The thought isn’t comforting.

“And a side benefit,” Dad begins, “having a wife and, later on, children by your side, will show stability to the press. It’s archaic and ridiculous, but it symbolizes you are mentally healthy enough to have a family. It’ll put any rumors to rest and the stock will recover.”

Our stock plummeted thirty percent the day after the disastrous press conference. It’s holding steady now, but complaints from the investors are loud and clear. They aren’t happy with me.

They think something is wrong with the CEO.

How interesting they’ve conveniently forgotten the ten percent growth per year I’ve brought them since I took on the role when Dad retired.

Pathetic idiots.

“I understand. I’ll fix this. I’ll bring Fleur’s stock price back up, Dad. I’ll get married and beget heirs and all that shit. You have no complaints from me.”

I hang up the phone and stride into the empty hallway, ignoring the creaking and groaning of the place—it’s just the house settling in for the night. A lone sconce is lit, giving just enough visibility for me. Despite the paisley runner on the dark wood floors, my footfalls echo like phantom companions in the dark.

It’s eerie and quiet. In another life, perhaps the mansion would be ablaze with light, with little kids like the ones I saw at the lake running around, laughing and squealing, music blaring from the speakers. A woman I love would embrace me as I crossed the threshold to the living room and whisk me into a dance.

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