Page 38 of When Hearts Surrender

“What!” Rex exclaims from his corner.

Ryland is silent, his identical gray eyes searching my face, no doubt trying to figure out what I’m not saying. As my fraternal twin, he has the uncanny ability to read me sometimes. Fucking twin-sense.

I take a sip from my glass and look away, not wanting Ryland to peer into my soul any more than he already does.

“We need the good press for Fleur after my…” My voice trails off as shame washes over me.

“You don’t need to take on the public. I’m more than happy to do it for you,” Ethan says. “Don’t get married just for good publicity.”

No. I’m done hiding and shirking my responsibilities. And they know I’m not marrying only because of the press.

Shaking my head, I reply, “Even without my fuck up at the press conference, you guys know it’s going to happen eventually. That’s the way things are done.”

I don’t mention the curse since Charles doesn’t know about it, and it’s something we try to keep under wraps within our family. We’ve only recently clued Steven into the situation, seeing as he’s going to become part of our family soon.

“What if you don’t need to, Maxwell? What if everything is just coincidence, a bad stroke of luck?” Ryland murmurs quietly.

“A bad stroke lasting centuries?” I snort and take another fortifying gulp of alcohol. “I don’t think so. I’m not superstitious, but even I can’t deny the facts.”

There are simply no surviving female Andersons who are married to the eldest son in the family and part of a love match. Not since our familyset foot on American shores in the eighteen hundreds. The only women in our family are Lana and our half sisters, Grace and Taylor.

Sydney’s face floats to my mind.

No one is safe.

“But, what if—”

“You forget what happened to Sydney?” I turn toward my twin and his brows pinch, but the expression is quickly wiped away. I lean toward Ryland, clasping my hand on his knee, and squeeze softly. “Because I didn’t.”

Chapter 14

Eighteen Years Ago, Anderson Estate

I stride up thestairs of the estate, my fingers lingering on the lion head carved into the banister. It’s a symbol of loyalty and strength—what our family stands for.

It’s fucking dreary outside—another New York storm drowning us in torrents of water. The antique Tiffany floor lamps are turned on but do little to brighten the gloomy atmosphere as I take the stairs two steps at a time.

But nothing can dampen my spirits today.

I smile, thinking of Sydney…my wife, the beautiful girl I somehow convinced to elope with me after we walked across the stage for high school graduation at Broadbent Academy.

How did I get so lucky?

I pass by an oil painting of my great-great-great-grandfather, Silas, on the second-floor landing—he’s the most auspicious duke in our family—the one who left his duties behind in England and moved to the States for business opportunities.

He stands tall and regal, befitting someone of his station, his wife by his side and sons at his feet, the heirloom black agate ring on his index finger—the same one on mine.

“I got married to a girl I love,” I murmur to him, needing to tell someone other than Ryland. “There is no curse. They are idiotic superstitions, old wives’ tales, and I’m going to prove it to Dad.”

Silas’s piercing glare never wavers and I feel a shiver down my back—a distinct disapproval radiating from his gaze.

Ridiculous. It’s only a painting.

Shaking myself, I continue down the hallway to my room. I just need to change out of my casual clothes, speckled with paint from my hours at the studio, then I’ll meet Sydney for dinner.

Heated voices around the corner alert me to the presence of someone else.

Two people, to be exact.

---