Identity of the Heart (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 1)

by Mary Crawford

  “Of course I shouldn’t have been on the list. You were a stranger to me,” Rogue protests.

  I gather her up into a loose embrace as I continue, “I found that so remarkable that I wanted to move you to the top of the list. If it had been my choice, we would have just traveled to Paris on a random Tuesday, but you were stubborn and insistent about your rules that I could not be extraordinarily nice to you. So instead, I set up The Identity of the Heart Foundation and implemented all of the suggestions that you gave me that day and added an afternoon art program for junior high school kids because I figured Ivy would like that too.”

  For a moment, it’s eerily quiet and the only noise present is the ambient noise from the traffic and the crowd around us. I know how Rogue feels about me spending money without advance notice. I wonder if I’ve taken it several steps too far this time. Her expression is almost too blank to be read.

  Finally, the corner of her mouth quirks up and she remarks, “Well, I guess it’s a really good thing for you that I changed the rules on extravagant gift giving because this certainly qualifies.”

  I’ve been to the Louvre many times but I’ve never seen it through the eyes of a true art lover. Most of the time when I bring business colleagues to see this Paris treasure, they stick to the tried and true tourist hot spots like the Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo or The Glass Pyramid. After stopping by the gift shop to buy some art supplies, Rogue is content to sit and sketch. She marvels over each and every thing we encounter. It doesn’t matter whether it was a small pencil drawing from Leonardo da Vinci to a huge multistory fresco, she is mesmerized. She is especially tickled when we cross paths with a little girl who’s mimicking all of the marble statues in what seems to be an indoor statute garden of all the greats. I know there is a formal name for this room, but that’s what it reminds me of. Rogue is sketching a mile a minute and muttering to herself, “What I wouldn’t give for my watercolors right about now.”

  When the little girl finally gets tired and leaves, Rogue turns to me and laments, “I think the jet lag is catching up with me too. I’m exhausted. There is no way we can see everything. I’m so sad because this is like taking a walk through my art history book.”

  “Rogue, there’s no reason we can’t come back any time you want, remember? I told you a long time ago that you don’t have to save these trips for special occasions. Any random Tuesday will work.”

  Rogue’s eyes light up as she asks, “Does it actually have to be on a Tuesday?”

  “All you have to do is let me know when we’re going,” I answer with a grin as I tuck her drawing tablet under my arm and escort her back to the limousine.

  “I SEND YOU ON VACATION and you come back all engaged? What’s up with that? He didn’t ask my permission,” I say with mock outrage. “Way to steal my thunder—”

  “Are you serious?” Rogue asks whipping her head around to look at me and pulling her hand back from where she’s displaying her rock to Jade.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be able to balance your tattooing machine with that added boulder on your finger?” I ask drily.

  “Oh quiet you! You know that I give tats with my right hand anyway. Besides, Tristan thought of that. He got me a solid gold band to wear when I’m working. This is just for show,” Rogue responds as she tilts her hand to demonstrate how the ring catches the light.

  “Of course he did, because he’s Super-Secret-Spy-Guy. He thinks of every contingency,” I mutter under my breath.

  “If you’re done making fun of my fiancé, tell me about what you’ve got planned for my sister,” she prompts impatiently.

  “I don’t know if I should tell you. You and Ivy communicate way too much for my comfort level.”

  Rogue makes a gesture of locking her lips shut and throwing away the key. “Mum’s the word, I promise. I won’t even send a mental hint, I swear.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to include you in my surprise. Remember when I had to go back to my old neighborhood a couple of months ago when my uncle died? Well, there’s a silversmith who works there. He was working on this and it was perfect for Ivy, even though it’s unconventional for a wedding set, it just screamed her name. Cameron is designing the wedding band part of it now.”

  As I open the little bamboo box to expose the ring, her gasp of awe tells me everything I need to know. I can only hope Ivy’s reaction is as positive.

  “Marcus, you got her a dragonfly! Look at the tiny amethysts and diamonds in the wings. Did you know that those are our birthstones?”

  I grin like a kid at recess. “Who do you think requested that they be added, Ro?”

  “You’re just a big sentimental marshmallow who likes to dress in motorcycle gear, aren’t you?” she teases, but I notice that she’s wiping away a tear when she thinks I’m not looking.

  “Shh…I don’t want any of my customers to think I’m a softy,” I caution.

  Rogue giggles as she says, “Marcus, I think you’ve been busted a really long time ago. You tape every postcard that you get from Sadie on your station. I think people have pretty much figured out by now that you’re not very bad-ass.”

  “I can be when I want to be,” I argue petulantly.

  “You can be what?” asks Ivy as she drops her backpack on the counter.

  I distract her with a kiss as I slip the ring back into my pocket.

  “I was telling your handsome boyfriend that he’s a nice guy. For some reason he seems to find that objectionable,” Rogue replies.

  “He is very nice,” agrees Ivy.

  Okay enough of this. It’s clearly time to change the subject. “What are you doing here so early? I thought you were teaching the Arts 4 Tots class at the Park and Rec. District today.”

  “I was, but then they had a small chlorine leak at the pool and sent us all home,” She explains with a shrug.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, as all the worst-case scenarios play out in my mind.

  Ivy laughs softly as she clarifies, “Oh, I’m fine. It was really nothing, but they didn’t want to cause mass hysteria.”

  “Still, you were never in any real danger?” I push.

  “No, not really; they had a paramedic there the whole time.”

  I walk over to the entrance of the break room and grab our duffel bags as I say, “Say your tearful goodbyes and all that jazz, we have an epic vacation calling our name.”

  Ivy stands in front of me with her arms crossed, “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where we’re going. How am I supposed to know if I packed the right stuff?”

  “Actually, I’ve decided it’s kind of fun to keep you in the dark. But, no worries. I’ve got you covered. Mama Rosa and Rogue have assured me they’ve taken care of every possible need.”

  “Well, aren’t you clever?” Ivy suggests sarcastically.

  Not rising to the bait, I answer with an easy grin, “Why thank you. I do try.”

  Ivy walks over to the light table where Rogue is working on a complex stencil of a back piece designed to look like a stained-glass window in a church. “Wow! that’s amazing! The happiness rolling off of you is so contagious, it’s practically coming out of your pores. If I wasn’t so blissfully content in my own relationship, I might be a little jealous. Congratulations!” she exclaims as she gives her twin a careful side hug so she doesn’t shake the light table.

  “Thanks, he totally took me by surprise,” Rogue admits.

  I snicker quietly, but apparently not quietly enough as Rogue turns to me and asks, “What?” with a question in her eyes and her hands on her hips.

  “I just don’t know how you could possibly be surprised, that’s all,” I explain. “It’s clear that Super-Secret-Spy-Guy has been head over heels with you ever since he stood up to me that first day when I tried to get in your face.”

  “Okay guys, enough dissecting my love life. Go on vacation, or something…” Rogue demands as she sticks her drawing pencil behind her ear and shoos us out the door.

 
; “Explain to me again how you can work on the same sculpture for hours or an oil painting for weeks, but you’ve asked me four times in the last twenty minutes when we’re going to get there,” I tease as Ivy’s about to jump out of her seat trying to figure out where we’re headed.

  “All right, now you’re just being mean,” she protests as she flops back in the seat of the Mustang. We would’ve taken the bike except we brought too much junk to make the trip comfortably. I couldn’t really tell her that she didn’t need to bring all that stuff without spilling the beans about where we’re going.

  “It’s totally different when I’m working on a piece. I have a vision in my head where I want it to go, so I vaguely have an idea how long it’s going to take me to get there—unless of course I completely change my mind in the middle. But, this is completely different. I have no idea where you’re taking me. We could be going to Nova Scotia for all I know.”

  “I seriously doubt that. Didn’t we already establish a while back that I totally despise the cold? Why would I willingly go anywhere near it on vacation?”

  “Okay, you have a good point. Which brings me to the other question; Why are we actually going anywhere? I figured after you worked so hard while Rogue was gone, you’d just want to sleep for a week and watch a little bit of wrestling, basketball and football.”

  “Well, I suppose I could’ve—but that would’ve defeated the purpose of having you all to myself. I have very intrusive friends and family members who don’t know the meaning of ‘alone time’. I plan to take advantage of every moment with you. I think you’ll decide that what we’re planning to do this weekend is going to be far more fun than any couch surfing could ever be.”

  “Stop with the torture!” Ivy exclaims with a laugh. “You know my imagination is going in a million different directions. You’re adventurous enough that we could be doing anything.”

  “Rogue, I did try to warn you that I like to color outside the lines. I can guarantee you that very few of our dates will ever just include a nice sedate dinner and the movies.”

  “May women everywhere rejoice! Dinner and a movie is actually a pretty complicated date if you’ve never actually gone out with the person before. You’ve got to decide how much violence and lustiness you’re going to accept while sitting next to someone you don’t know. If they disagree with the movie choice or if they’re handsy, it just mucks up matters more. The worst sin of all is to have a guy who has absolutely no conversational skills. Then, you’re stuck next to him for a good three to five hours. Trust me, I’ve been known to alphabetize my craft room on dates like this. Here’s a piece of helpful dating advice from women everywhere—just say no to first dates where we sit around and stare at each other all day,” she finishes in a rush of breath, before she takes a long sip of her Sprite.

  “That’s all very solid advice,” I agree as I hand her what’s left of the Doritos. “Still, I must not be making things very clear.”

  Her brow wrinkles in confusion, “What do you mean?”

  “I was just thinking, if I could wave a magic wand, I’d never have to go on another first date again in my life,” I confess.

  “Aww, you’re so sweet. You must be taking lessons from Tristan. Rogue tells me about all the perfect stuff he says to her. I swear, the man’s talents are wasted programming computers. He should be writing dialogue for romantic comedies or greeting cards. Welcome to the sappy side,” she chortles as she winks and starts to read her Kindle again.

  I want to kick myself for my impromptu statement. Actually, I want to beat myself over the top of the head with a stupid stick. My mom always told me being the class clown would come back to haunt me. I always laughed it off, feeling invincible. But now, I don’t feel so invincible. I feel old, creepy and vulnerable. I am at a stage in my life now where I want to be taken stone cold serious, no one except for Ivy can see beyond the goofy affable, living-my-life-on-the-edge kind of guy and even she seems to be missing my true intent here.

  Ivy looks up at me through her thick lashes, “Are you okay, Marcus? Your internal peace seems to be fading.”

  I decide maybe the car isn’t the best place to have this kind of discussion, so I mentally shake it off as I remark, “You know how I get when I’m hungry, but luckily this is our exit.”

  Abruptly, Ivy sits up straight in the seat and stares out the window, when she sees the large billboard she squeals with delight, “Please tell me we’re going to Ripley’s Believe It or Not!”

  All of her earlier fatigue seems to have dissipated and she’s practically vibrating with excitement. Her happiness is infectious and helps to chase away my earlier bad mood. “If I would have known that something so simple would have brought you this much joy, we could’ve come a long time ago,” I comment.

  “I know it’s stupid. But, the hospital I stayed at when I was younger had one of those big Ripley’s Believe It or Not! books in every pediatric room. I used to study all of the obscure pictures and think how fun it would be to be noticed for something. Wouldn’t it be ironic if they found something unusual about Rogue and I and we were listed on some weird Discovery Channel program? I guess those programs are kind of like the modern-day Ripley’s Believe It or Not!. Between Ripley’s Believe It or Not!, The Guinness World Records and Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum, I was one really weird kid. I used to drive my mom crazy. I would hoard all the ketchup and sugar packets from my meals because I was sure that I was going to set some world record and be listed in one of those books. She was forever trying to throw away my ‘world-famous’ collection and my dad was always sneaking in more. The nurses must’ve thought our family was the pilot for some twisted sitcom.”

  “I don’t know, your family seems pretty All-American and enviable to me. Maybe it should’ve been on T.V.,” I respond.

  Ivy fidgets in her seat before she haltingly explains, “I guess it’s time for me to explain a few skeletons in my closet since you’ve so eloquently explained all of yours.”

  “Don’t feel like you have to just because I did. It’s entirely up to you. Everyone’s got a past. Lord knows, I’m in no position to judge anyone else’s,” I say as I reach out and grab her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.

  “No, I want to share my story. I think it’s important for you to understand where I’ve come from,” she explains with a sad smile. “Please understand that I’m not the same internally tortured, angsty teenage girl anymore either— although, I still have a tendency to care a little too much about what people think of me.”

  I point to myself as I say, “Hello Pot, meet Kettle. I think it happens to all of us. Don’t beat yourself up about it too much.”

  “That’s easy for you to say because you don’t know all the stuff I put my parents through. There was a time in my life during late junior high and early high school where I decided that I didn’t want to be a ‘patient’ anymore; I stopped all of my treatments and I didn’t tell anybody. I stopped all of my blood thinners and asthma medication without tapering down first. The results could have been potentially fatal. Fortunately, they weren’t, but it was pretty touch and go for a while. My parents were nervous wrecks and the whole thing took an awful toll on my parents marriage. In the ultimate twist of fate, my move almost cost me my spot on the cheerleading squad and the soccer league. My desperate antics to become part of mainstream society almost marginalized the athlete I really was. Talk about one of my all-time stupid moves.”

  “How are you feeling about things now?” I ask.

  “Well, I finally came to grips with the fact that I’m not totally normal and I’m not ever going to be. Even the doctors can’t agree on what might eventually happen to me. Some have gone as far as to suggest that I might need a lung transplant. Others insist as long as I maintain a healthy lifestyle, no intervention will be needed.”

  “Look on the bright side, it’s not like the medical profession has been a reliable source of information in your case up to this point, so maybe the ones that are sug
gesting that you need a lung transplant have no idea what they are talking about either,” I suggest, not entirely tongue-in-cheek.

  “I know, right?” Ivy replies with a grin. “I used to spend hours obsessing over this stuff as a teenager. It’s my own fault that my parents watch me like a hawk. For a long time, I didn’t give them any reason to trust that I could take care of myself, because I didn’t. I thought if I ignored my asthma, I could pretend that it wasn’t there. Unfortunately, that’s not the way that it really works.”

  “But, you take better care of yourself now?” I prompt.

  “Much. I take all my medication and go to the doctor like I am supposed to now. I’ve come to the conclusion that asthma is not the only reason that I’ll never be considered totally normal, so I might as well just roll with it,” she quips with a wink.

  “Hey! I resemble that weirdness remember? We quote Mel Brooks movies together like Jeopardy champions. By the way, I already mentioned several times that I think you’re beautiful inside and out. I wouldn’t change anything about you,” I declare emphatically as I lace my fingers through hers and pull her hand up to my lips and kiss the back of her hand.

  The tips of Ivy’s ears grow red as she stammers, “Even after all these months, I still can’t believe a guy like you feels that way about me, a gawky college student who can’t seem to find my way in the world. It’s baffling— the way that love works. For the record, I wouldn’t change anything about you either. It’s a weird concept to wrap your brain around because I wish there hadn’t been so much pain and suffering in your background. But, maybe in a weird way, it had to be there to make you the man you are today. If you hadn’t made every single step you made in your past, our paths would not have crossed.”