Page 31 of When Hearts Surrender

A lump forms in my throat and I feel a tug in my heart.

“Belle, time is of the essence. Maxwell wants to meet you in a few weeks and we shouldn’t keep him wait—”

“Albert, let the girl breathe. This isn’t a new car purchase we’re talking about.” Mom snatches Dad’s phone from his hand, and he rolls his eyes and harrumphs.

“Fine.” He glances at me and murmurs, “We know we’re asking a lot of you, but I trust you’ll make a rational decision. And don’t think Ihaven’t heard from Gordon how you’ve mucked up the first run through of the spring collection. Our numbers are dropping because the elite are choosing designs from the other fashion houses. An alliance with the Andersons will shift this narrative.”

Anger burns through my veins as I think back to the humiliating presentation yesterday, where Gordon Flair, my lecherous boss and the bane of my existence, berated me in front of the entire design department.

He rips my designs in half and I want to shrivel from embarrassment. The room erupts in snickers.

“Nepotism is alive and well!” Gordon sneers. “What trash is this? This is why McKenzie’s is failing, because of talentless people like you!”

“But you asked for these specifications in the design, I told you they were—”

“Excuses! Only the weak blame others for their failures.” Gordon leans in and pats my cheek—like I’m a toddler. Heat rushes to my face, and it takes everything in me not to give him a right hook. “Try again, princess.”

It was embarrassing and infuriating.

Dad leans forward, his eyes sharpening. “Belle, this is a win-win for everyone, and we’ll get to keep McKenzie Atelier afloat. I know you want that.”

I hate what he’s saying makes sense.

Chapter 11

I take a fewdeep breaths, a last-ditch attempt at calming my nerves before I meet with my fiancé at The Menagerie, a small cocktail lounge on the second floor inside The Orchid.

I’m going to do it.

Marry Maxwell Anderson.

After mulling it over the last two and a half weeks, I realize I need to be logical about this. My three biggest dreams: a thriving career in my family’s company, creating a haven for unwanted animals, having children of my very own, all could be solved by saying yes.

All these dreams require capital, and with having children when your fertility clock is quickly running out, I need a man, a donor with good genes. I’ve thought about my friend, Cole, but considering how he has feelings for me, asking him for the favor of sperm donation would be too cruel. Plus, I don’t have money for IVF right now.

And so, I will proceed with my parents’ plan, including their stipulations.

“Don’t tell Maxwell about your condition,” Mom warns.

“But isn’t this lying? If he wants an heir, shouldn’t he know I may encounter fertility issues?”

Mom grips my hand tightly. “You don’t have issues yet, just fewer follicles than other people. Don’t let him know. We don’t want him to back out of the deal.”

My conversation with Mom last night echoes in my mind and a slither of shame creeps inside me. The way Mom spoke of me as if I’m broken, but I’m not. I refuse to believe it.

But deep down inside, I wonder if perhaps I am.

Broken.

I shake myself—these thoughts aren’t helpful, and I put on my brave face as I step into the lounge fifteen minutes before our meeting.

In a terse email exchange, Maxwell asked me to meet him here to discuss terms for the marriage. We also shared health check results with each other—all clear on both sides. We haven’t spoken on the phone before, but I figure it doesn’t matter since I’m going to see him in person, anyway.

My eyes widen at the intricate and tasteful decor, from the pale pink sunken plush seating, the low-hanging pendant lights in the shape of tree branches, to the hand-painted gold vines and foliage on top of the blue-green wallpaper.

“Favorite color?” His deep voice is laced with amusement.

“If I had to choose one, I’d say it’s atrovirens.”

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