Page 43 of His Untouchable Heart

I rubbed my palm across my forehead and swallowed against a wave of uncertainty.

This wasn’t morning. And I’ve never heard of morning sickness at night.

I wasn’t pregnant. I couldn’t be. That would be ridiculous.

This was just exhaustion. And the pressure. And maybe too much sun and not enough food.

I told myself that again, more firmly this time.Just stress. That’s all.

And if my hands trembled a little when I passed the empty glass to the nightstand, I chose not to acknowledge it.

Juliette curled onto her side beside me, already ready to dig into everything I’d missed while I was gone.

And I wasn’t ready, but I was grateful.

Because if anyone could help me make sense of the mess I was in, it was my sister.

Above us, the steady rhythm of footsteps drifted down from the deck—Anthony’s gait, even and unhurried, the way he walked when he was thinking. Or worrying.

Juliette’s head turned toward the ceiling, then back to me. “He’s pacing,” she said, deadpan. “Should we be flattered or concerned?”

Before I could answer, soft music came to life through the yacht’s built-in speaker system. Something low and smooth—piano, upright bass, the kind of subtle jazz that felt like a lullaby wrapped in velvet. Not sad. Just quiet. Meant to calm a restless mind.

Juliette smirked and pulled the blanket up under her chin. “Well, at least he’s not hovering outside the door like a nervous dad at his daughter’s slumber party.”

I gave a tired little laugh and closed my eyes. “He’s worried.”

She didn’t argue. Just nodded once. “You could do worse.”

“I know.”

The answer came easily, more truthful than reflex. And it surprised me a little how certain I was of it.

Anthony wasn’t perfect. He carried too much in silence and didn’t always know what to say when things got personal. But he showed up. He stayed. He took care without being asked.

The music played, soft and steady, filling the silence we didn’t need to break.

And for the first time all day, I felt myself beginning to exhale.

Juliette fluffed the pillow behind her and turned to face me, all elbows and curiosity. Her face had softened now that I wasn’t actively throwing up, but the glint in her eyes was pure trouble.

“Alright,” she said, tucking the throw around her shoulders. “Catch me up. And don’t leave out the billionaire parts.”

I gave her a look. “Can you not call him that?”

“What? Heisone. And you’re living in a rom-com thriller on a yacht.”

I shook my head, but my lips twitched. “It’s not as glamorous as it sounds.”

She propped her chin on her fist, eyebrows lifted. “Convince me.”

I stared out the window, trying to make sense of the timeline in my head. So much had happened in so little time. But once I started talking, the pieces clicked together more easily than I expected.

“Anthony got a call the morning we left—something about a last-minute meeting with the judge. He didn’t explain much, just that it was important and had to do with the gallery’s restitution oversight.”

Juliette nodded, taking it in.

“He flew to Dallas that afternoon and sent a private jet for me, and that’s when everything sort of… collapsed on him. I mean, I already knew about his wife, Charlotte, but I didn’t know the full story. She never told him she had money. Like, serious money. A billion-dollar trust fund she inherited when her grandparents passed.”

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