Page 10 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
Honestly? I couldn’t have dreamed up a man like him. I hardly know Andrew Stone but he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever met, and one of the most generous. I go to bed each night floating on air just because the Greek God from the Meadow Lane Suite bought meanothercoffee.
This morning, I’m so nervous I can’t stop my hands from shaking. It’s Day Seven—the day I share Andrew Stone’s birth chart with him.
I sit in the conservatory, just as I said I would, and try to stop my knees from knocking together as I wait. Since the day he passed me his date of birth, I’ve spent nearly every evening calculating, dissecting, analyzing, until it’s become quite possible I know the man better than he knows himself.
I’ve positioned myself at the far window so that I might see him coming and have at least a moment to steady my breathing. I’ve never been this affected by a man before. My body simply doesn’t know how to handle it. For a second I entertain the idea of a stiff drink but then dismiss it as madness.
He’s just aman, Sera. A human man. And also, it’s ten a.m.
My heart seems to pound harder before his figureeven comes into view, as though the energy in the air has shifted. He’s wearing dark colors again, and even at a distance, the blue in his eyes is picked out against the fabric. By the time he’s standing at my table, I’m almost hyperventilating.
I swallow repeatedly as he pulls out a chair and manages to lower his thick thighs onto it gracefully. His eyes spear me before they look away and magically capture the attention of Rory, one of the waiters.
“Mr. Stone. Your usual, sir?”
Andrew nods once, then pans his gaze to me. “She’ll have a hazelnut latte,” he says to Rory, not shifting his focus from my rapidly reddening face.
With the drinks now ordered, Andrew rolls up his shirt sleeves and rests his forearms on the table. My gaze is drawn to the ink lining both arms. My collarbone grows unbearably hot and I have to swallow again.
“Lord,” I groan, inwardly. “Why would you do this to me?”
My lip suddenly stings and I realize I’ve been biting it.
I clear my aching throat, push the birth chart to the center of the table and begin.
“Thank you for asking me to do this,” I smile, timidly. “I love doing birth charts for people, especially when they’re as interesting as yours is, Mr. Stone.”
“Andrew,” he says, his voice low and firm.
Nerves hammer against my chest. “I’m s-sorry,” I stutter. “Andrew.”
I clear my throat again. I’ve interpreted hundreds of charts before. I shouldn’t bethisnervous.
“Look here.” I point to some of the symbols I’ve highlighted. “You’ve got a Capricorn Sun, Scorpio Moon, and Aries Rising. These are very strong signs. Two of them are cardinal—they’re the alphas of the zodiac, the signs that begin each season. You want to be first in everything—the best. And you often are. The combination of these signs though… I wouldn’t describe it as a ‘light’ energy.” I try not to wince at the word. “It’s more…dense.”
He shifts in his seat and leans further forward until his breaths warm my hands. Trying to ignore the heat as it creeps up my neck, I continue.
“Your Moon is intriguing. Scorpio Moons are private and protective. They don’t really like to be seen. They tend to watch from the shadows and carefully plan their moves.” I watch his reaction as I speak. “You may not say a lot but you remember everything.”
His forehead softens with interest.
“Your Ascendant is your outer personality—how you come across to people. Yours is in Aries, which is the sign of a leader—someone who takes charge and makes decisions. It’s a fire sign. People with this placing are often looked up to and respected…” I clear my throat,again. “Some might even say, ‘feared.’”
I peek up at him through my lashes and catch him staring at me intensely.
Taking a deep breath, I continue. “Your Moon is in water though. That’s good. It calms and quiets any… intensity. It actually makes you more formidable. You have all this fire going on which could be reckless, but having water so prominent in your chart will temper it. For some people, this could make them… lethal.”
He doesn’t seem at all surprised by my summary, so I move my finger to another symbol among a crisscross of lines and aspects. “Your chart ruler is Mars in the eighth house. That’s the house of power, control, even other people’s money. It can be…” I’m not sure how to put this without sounding overly dramatic. “…pretty intense.”
I look up just in time to see a small quirk in one corner of his mouth. Then it’s gone just as quickly.
“Honestly, it’s a placement I see in people who’ve become adept at reading danger because, whether they intend to or not, they seem to attract it.”
I take a deep breath and rock back on my chair. The need for oxygen creeps into the space between us. Part of me hopes I’ve misinterpreted some of his chart because I don’t like the thought of this man, who has so far only shown kindness and interest in me, having to be ever-watchful for danger. Then I remember that no chart—least of all his—is quite so black and white.
I continue. “There’s a duality to your chart actually, almost like you’ve lived two lives. There’s something about you that doesn’t align with how you present yourself. Not in a deceptive way, but in a self-protective way. Like you’ve had to compartmentalize who you are.”
I look up and his eyes are narrowed in focus, and I get the uncomfortable feeling I’ve hit a nerve.
