Page 4 of His Untouchable Heart

“Yoo-hoo! I'm home!”

“Grab a bottle of wine out of the cooler, will ya?” Juliette, called back to me.

The air in our small apartment was filled with the aroma of tacos and paint. Juliette’s latest project, still drying on a makeshift easel by the window, displayed vibrant colors that caught the evening’s light. She referred to it as a “teaching tool” for her students at the University of Miami, but I understood its true purpose.

The canvas was her escape, a way to lose herself in the kaleidoscope of colors when the pressures of academia weighed heavily on her shoulders. Each brushstroke was a meditation, a rebellion against the suffocating expectations of her doctoral studies.

I curled deeper into the worn armchair, comforted by its familiar embrace. My half-full glass of red wine tilted precariously in one hand and a taco in another. Across from me, my twin sister lounged on the couch, her bare feet resting on the cushions, one leg casually tucked under her. She was absorbed in her laptop, scrolling through an endless array of reference images, the blue light reflecting in her eyes like a digital sea.

“Are we actually talking about anything,” she mused, lifting her glass to her lips, “or are we just pretending to be intellectuals while getting drunk after work?”

I smirked, savoring the playful banter. “Both,” I replied, with a knowing glance.

She snorted, a sound of amusement mixed with exasperation, but didn’t argue. Her frustrations were palpable; she had spent the past few minutes venting about a particular PhD committee member who was impossibly convinced that she didn’t grasp Renaissance symbolism. This was despite the fact that Juliette Vanderburg could probably teach an entire seminar on the subject with her eyes closed.

I had nodded at all the right moments, offered the appropriate amount of outrage on her behalf, and diligently refilled our glasses like a good sister should. In this cozy sanctuary, surrounded by the creativity and chaos that defined us, there was a comforting sense of camaraderie, a shared understanding that transcended words.

But I hadn’t really been listening. Because there was something I needed to say. I exhaled, swirling the wine in my glass, then finally admitted, “I think I’m attracted to Anthony.”

Juliette’s fingers froze mid-scroll. Her gaze snapped up. “Anthony?”

I held her stare. “Anthony Moreau.”

For a long second, she didn’t speak. Then, slowly, she set her laptop aside, stretched out her legs, and gave me a look that was equal parts amusement, concern, and pure, unfiltered disbelief.

“You mean your boss, Anthony? The one who’s in charge of overseeing our family’s stolen painting?”

I winced. “Yes.”

“Oh, wow.” She exhaled a slow breath, processing. “This is unexpected. And potentially disastrous.”

“Thanks.”

The room fell silent, the weight of my confession hanging between us like a thick fog. I could feel my cheeks growing warm under Juliette’s scrutinizing gaze. I wondered if I had made a mistake in confiding in my twin sister.

Juliette finally leaned forward, her voice softening. “Have you told him how you feel?”

I shook my head, feeling the nerves tighten my stomach. “No, of course not. I don’t think it’s a good idea. It could ruin everything we both have been waiting for since we were teenagers.”

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Well, you’re playing with fire, sister. But sometimes, that’s exactly what you need to light up your life.”

Her words lingered, a mix of caution and encouragement. I took another sip of wine, hoping it would steady the rush of emotions swirling inside me.

“Wait.” She sat up straighter, her mind clearly catching up with her wine intake. Juliette always had this uncanny ability to switch from tipsy to sharp instantly. “How attracted are we talking? Like, he’s objectively handsome? Or you’re actually thinking about him when you should be working—because he is so sexy, you can’t keep it together?” Her eyes sparkled with curiosity, a trait of hers that was both endearing and exasperating.

I took a long sip of wine instead of answering. The truth was, I didn’t want to admit how much space he occupied in my thoughts, and I was having trouble keeping it together when I was near Anthony.

Juliette groaned a sound that was half-annoyance, half-amusement. “Gabrielle.”

“I know,” I said quickly, feeling a wave of embarrassment. “It’s stupid. I shouldn’t feel this way.” My voice wavered slightly, betraying my inner turmoil. I had always prided myself on being rational and composed. But lately, my emotions were like a rogue wave, crashing unpredictably.

“You’re right.” She pointed her glass at me, her expression a mix of concern and teasing. “You shouldn’t.”

I pressed my fingers against my temple, willing the warmth in my face to disappear. “Look, it’s not like anything’s happening. It’s just… there.” My voice was softer now, almost pleading for understanding.

Juliette narrowed her eyes, a mischievous glint appearing. “But you want something to happen.”

“No.” Too fast. Too defensive. I sounded as if I was trying to convince myself more than her.

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