Page 94 of When Hearts Awaken

But I’ll get there. I’m sure of it. I’m a fighter and I’ve taken so many strides forward. I’ve just gotten so used to protecting my heart, to being alone, it’ll take time to rework my thoughts.

Emerson has been quiet on the case. Two weeks ago, he texted me the photo of the financier who was killed in jail and I remember my phone clattering to the ground when I saw it.

It was the charming man who gave me the champagne. Emerson is on the right track.

Other than the photo, the last update I have from him is, he has located a few more suspects, all powerful people in elite circles, and he’s chasing them down. I’m just thankful so far, there are no photos of me and nothing on Sir Ian, who has been completely professional and kind. He’s taken it upon himself to give me more coaching on Odette.

“Work with what you have. Don’t force something you don’t have. Use your emotions as a source of power for your dance. Channel them. Harness them into something greater. Vulnerability can come in many forms, Taylor.”That’s what he told me last week.

My muscles still tense whenever I’m around him, but I’ve come to terms with that reaction. It has to be a trauma response not grounded in reality.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slide my phone back into my pocket and clutch the roses tighter in my hands. I look at the surrounding scenery, soaking in the gloomy atmosphere. The Victorian style streetlamps flicker on and off, casting long shadows on the wet cobblestone pathways. The trees are barren, twisting against the gray skies.

Kids laugh and their parents murmur something as they walk hand in hand, wearing colorful coats. A little girl giggles as her dad hoists her on his shoulders.

I stare at the families, my heart pangs.

Leap. Odette did it with Prince Siegfried. You can do it with Charles, the wind whispers.

I take out his notecard and read it again. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and I think it’s true.

He has stolen parts of my battered heart with each angry glare and snarky retort, with his heated glances and blistering kisses.

I have already given him power to pulverize the rest of me without realizing it.

But he makes me feel safe. When he’s there, the monsters don’t come.

And I miss him.

Chapter 39

Ethan stands by thewindows, his back toward me, a glass of Scotch in his hand. Quietly, I walk into our usual private room in the gentlemen’s club inside The Orchid. We’re meeting the others in an hour, and I want to get some time alone after a week of grueling meetings. I didn’t tell Taylor it took me ten calls and twenty million dollars to buy out every copy of unflattering photos taken of us at the club in Prague.

I also didn’t tell her I had a private investigator tail the asshole who assaulted her at the club. He caught him doing the same thing to another woman a week later. His new victim reported him to the police.

The fucker is in lock up now.

The work at the bank hasn’t stopped since I left Prague—press conferences, financial reporting, new corporate initiatives, forecasting. It’s relentless, and normally, I’d live for the challenge, since I have no one waiting for me at home, but now… I just find myself fucking annoyed at it all. But at least the stock price is finally stabilizing and my name or the Bank of Columbia doesn’t appear in newspapers or gossip rags as often now.

I’ve also thrown myself into interviewing for the permanent CFO role.

This time, I’m vetting out every single candidate myself, reviewing all their background checks, not letting any detail escape me. I haven’t found the right fit yet, and with the interim CFO only assisting in bare minimum tasks, my workload has increased significantly in the meantime.

But through it all, I miss her. I know her sister and girlfriends flew to Edinburgh to spend Christmas with her, but I couldn’t get away—investor calls, all the fucking work landing on my lap as we close out another calendar year, not to mention the almost mandatory networking to be done at the infamous Christmas Ball at The Orchid.

Other than our texts, each of which I’ve read and memorized by heart, and sending her the roses I know she loves, I haven’t seen her or heard her voice.

I often wonder if that night we had together scared her. If she’s keeping her distance on purpose. But I told myself she’d been through unspeakable terrors, that patience is the name of the game now.

Today, I thought I’d get an hour of quiet just to sort through everything, but it seems like I’m not the only one who needs alone time.

Ethan is dressed in a dark suit, his profile still as he stares at the sea of white outside the window. It isn’t a January day in New York City without a snowstorm.

“How is she?” he murmurs, still not looking at me. The cold light renders his face into half shadows.

I know he’s talking about Firefly.

I pour myself a drink before I stand next to him. “How did you know I visited her?” It was the first snowfall of the new year—a blizzard at that. Firefly would always be so excited when that occurred.

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