Page 36 of Holy Hearts
My lips part, but I don’t ask her to elaborate. I’m scared she’s going to realize she’s sitting naked in the bathtub with someone other than her husband any second now, and yell at me to get out.
By not speaking, it feels like the spell can remain in place for just a few more minutes.
A second later, she tips her head back and squeezes her eyes shut, inhaling and exhaling a few times. “It means my periods are incredibly painful, and it’s not just my periods, either. I get flare-ups periodically, especially right before my period. And since I’m allergic to opioids and I’m of child-bearing age—meaning several doctors have refused a hysterectomy—I can’t do a damn thing about it. Besides this, of course,” she says, holding the spliff up.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her earnestly.
She shrugs, blowing more smoke out. “It’s okay most days until it’s not. Julian and I… we tried having children.” I swallow. Again, I’m not sure what to say, or even if shewantsme to say anything. “It was two years of hell, and then… everything with Julian’s family happened, and we decided we didn’t wantbiological children. In a way, my endometriosis saved us. Not that I don’t want a child… I do. I just don’t want to deal with trying to get pregnant again.”
My brows knit together. “Would you consider adopting?”
She nods, putting the spliff out in the bath water and placing the filter on top of the cigarette case.
“We’d like to adopt, I think.” She sighs and turns to face me. “Julian’s been fixed. It’s… complicated, I suppose. Julian’s title is hereditary and can only be passed down to a biological heir. If we adopt, our children wouldn’t inherit it. They wouldn’t be recognized in that line of succession, so the title would end with him.”
She looks down, almost reflective. “In a way, it’s freeing. The title comes with expectations, responsibilities, and endless judgment from people who think they know us simply because of a name. Julian’s done his duty. He tried to fit the mold, but we both know it’s not what we want for our future children. It’s why we left England. To start over.”
There’s so much vulnerability in her voice, and my hand twitches at my side. I want to touch her, to stroke her hair and make her feel better.
I keep my hands to myself.
“The family, the estate, the legacy—it’s all designed to be inherited by blood. It’s how these things work. There are centuries of tradition. But traditions like that aren’t built to account for love that doesn’t fit into tidy boxes. We’re more interested in giving a child a home where they’re free to be themselves, not bound by outdated rules. Not like we were for so long.”
Her voice is light, but the words carry a heaviness that settles in my chest. I recognize that weight—it’s the sound of someone pretending they’ve come to terms with a wound that hasn’t fully healed.
I wonder if anyone’s ever told her it’s okay to still hurt, to still wish for that life.
I clear my throat. “That’s very brave of both of you. To walk away from everything and start over, like you said.”
She takes another spliff from the box and lights it. “Yes, well, there were things his family would never approve of.”
I cock my head, feeling brave. “Like what?”
A faint smile crosses her lips, and she turns to face me. “Married people things,” she says coyly.
I tell myself she’s in pain, but I can’t help watching her full lips suck on the spliff as she lights it—can’t help but watch her delicate fingers hold it, can’t help but be in awe of how beautiful she is under the soft light of the bathroom.
“What about you? You’re a handsome man. Do you want to get married one day?”
I shrug, leaning forward and placing my elbows on my knees. “Maybe. I’ve never really felt the itch to make anything official, but one day I’d like to settle down, I think.”
“And your job? Do you enjoy the religious aspect?”
I pull my lower lip between my teeth as I study her. Because right now? I don’t feel religiousat all.As my eyes skim over her dewy skin and the way her hair curls slightly along her hairline, or the way her bare shoulder is poking out of the water…
“Sometimes. Other times, it feels like God wouldn’t approve of me.”
She arches a brow. “How so?”
My lips tug into a lopsided smile. “Single people things.”
She barks a laugh, a soft, restrained sound that barely escapes her lips, more a controlled exhale than an outright laugh. It’s tinged with that effortless aristocratic composure, polished and measured, as though every ounce of mirth has been delicately refined.
In fact, until today, every part of Sophie has been polished and refined.
I smile as I take in the slightlylessrefined version of her, and I wonder if this is the side Julian gets to see all the time.
That sneaky jealousy springs up again.
