Page 47 of When Hearts Awaken

The impermanence of beauty. No, I’m afraid this image will be emblazoned in my mind forever.

The burgundy gown drapes over her lean frame as she holds her head high—the innate poise of a ballerina. The late afternoon sunlight bathes her elegant frame in a golden caress, illuminating those expressive dark eyes of hers, the mirrors into her soul, her plump lips, a perfect cupid’s bow.

Even though she tries to hide behind her dark makeup and lipstick, I can see through it. The sweetness, the softness, the same loneliness I recognize in myself. And an untold pain she’s holding inside her, the reason she’s lashing out at the world.

My pulse rushes in my ears as she moves toward me.

One step. Two steps. Three steps.

I swear I smell her distinct scent of vanilla and patchouli and my mouth waters. I’m tempted to close my eyes and draw in a deeper inhale to savor every single note of this intoxicating fragrance.

She looks up, her eyes locking with mine, and she stumbles, her luscious lips parting. Her gray eyes widen and I’m thrown back to the moment I witnessed half an hour ago, when she was standing in the shadows, looking so alone, with utter heartbreak and devastation in her eyes.

When I wanted to rush toward her and pull her into my arms.

The brief second seems to stretch forever, and I slowly clench my hands into fists. The same impulse makes a reappearance—the need to go to her and pull her into my arms. To tell her she’s not alone.

Because she has me.

Madness. You’ve lost your mind, Charles. She’s a brat, the very definition of instability you try to avoid.

Then she wipes her face clean of expression, her shoulders squared, head held high, and breaks our connection before making her way to the girls. The music switches to Felix Mendelssohn’s famous “Wedding March,” and everyone stands as Grace walks in with Linus Anderson, who has tears in his eyes. No doubt he’d never expected the daughter he recently reunited with would let him walk her down the aisle.

The crowd murmurs with apparent excitement—smiles and joy abound—but I can’t pay attention.

Instead, I find myself glancing at Taylor, standing a mere few feet away from me.

She’s smiling at her sister, but her eyes are shining with sad tears.

And my heart breaks a little inside.

Chapter 22

Loud cheers and thunderingapplause erupt inside the rooftop lounge as Steven sweeps Grace into a low dip to end their first dance together as husband and wife. The clinking of silverware against plates soon follows, the crowd ravenous for a display of affection from the normally cold king of Wall Street.

Steven chuckles, the whites of his teeth blinding as he stares at a blushing Grace, who’s hiding half her face behind her hand. He leans down and murmurs something into her ear and I don’t think it’s possible for my sister to flush any redder, but apparently there’s no limit tonight.

Gently, he pries her hand off her face. The smile slips off his lips and the cold king is back—but this time, the smolder in his eyes is burning hot. Steven clasps the nape of Grace’s neck and kisses her like we’re not here.

He kisses her like it’s the end of the world and he can die a happy man with her in his arms.

What would it feel to have someone look at me like that?

Wolf whistles and laughter ring in the room, but it all sounds so far away—like I’m underwater. Even if I were to find out the truth about that night, I don’t think I’m capable of letting anyone in—my walls are so high, even I can’t scale them. Frankly, I have no desire to let anyone into my heart. Camden’s betrayal haunts me to this day—that someone who claimed to love me could abandon me at the lowest point of my life.

I’d never put myself in that position again.

I focus my attention on the glittering skyline of Manhattan, unrivaled in its beauty. The wedding is perfect—everything Grace deserves. The food is scrumptious, and Ainsley and Maddy did a phenomenal job leading the little dancers into a short, but lovely ballet inspired byThe Nutcracker.

Even the skies are clear tonight. I swear I even see a shooting star or two. My lips twitch in a smile—Grace has an obsession with shooting stars. She believes they’re magical, that the gods will grant wishes.

If only it were that simple—wishing upon a star.

The crowd’s excited laughter and murmurs reach my ears and while I’m surrounded by a room full of people, I’ve never felt so alone before in my life.

I’m happy for Grace. Truly. She deserves Steven and all the love in the world. But in these moments, when their ardent love is in my face, it hurts like a sucker punch aimed at my broken heart.

It’s not their fault. It’s not my fault. I understand why I’m feeling this way.

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