Page 59 of Severed Heart

“How long have you been doing these?” I ask, noting that a few pages are less defined and sloppier in execution, as are her notes next to them—the handwriting like night and day. The deterioration, I suspect, is due to her drinking. Guilt threatens at the thought just before she confirms it.

“For many years,” she relays, avoiding my eyes, “since before I came from France.”

“And when was that?” I flip another page.

“When I was young. Younger than you are now.”

I haven’t probed into her past yet. It always felt like those questions were off the table, but I can’t help but ask one.

“Why did you leave France?” I ask, knowing the answer.

“Why all come to the States.”

“The American Dream,” I utter, my tone indicative that I’m not buying it as I table it figuratively and literally for a different time.

“You know,” I tell her as she glances over to me. “I’ve never met a woman—even those in my military family—who is so fascinated by all facets of war and, more notably, the brazen and brave acts of historical figures.”

“True history is too often ignored, Tyler. Far more stories than those selected for history books. Tales of unsinged heroes who deserve recognition.”

I hold my smirk at her misspoken verbiage.

“There was a woman who was part of the French resistance in World War Two who was instrumental in helping to keep the Germans from reclaiming a stronghold in Paris. She’s barely mentioned, and her efforts were many. Her acts those of a very brave, fed-up street soldier. It’s soldiers like that who I admire most and respect.” She smiles. “This is the type of soldier Ezekiel is and that you, Sean, and Dom will become.”

“I hope so,” I say.

“No need to hope. When Ezekiel left, I saw it in his eyes. The determination to do, not say. I see it in Jean Dominic. I also see it in you.”

“You know they don’t go by their birth names, right?”

She smiles. “That’s why I use them.”

“To piss them off?”

“No, becauseInamed them.”

“What?” I ask, shocked by the disclosure.

She nods. “I named them both. It was my”—she pauses—“my privilege Celine gave for being aunt.”

“Do they know this?”

“No, I don’t want to give them more of a reason not to use their names ... Ezekiel means ‘strength of God,’ and Jean means ‘God’s grace.’”

We stare off for a long second before collectively bursting into laughter.

“Dom’s namesake doesn’t quite suit,” I cackle.

“He will grow into it.” She beams back at me. “He’s still young but very much has his mother’s heart.”

My chuckle slows as a flicker passes over her features, one I know is thanks to the subject himself. It’s her expression that has me fighting myself to keep my oath—that other’s personal relationships are none of my fucking business. Something I know will serve me well.

“He’ll grow out of that, too,” I assure her, and she waves her hand, ending the discussion. Within a matter of minutes, we’re back studying the tactics of Alexander the Great.

As she speaks, I can’t help but marvel at her. So much of what’s inside this woman’s head astounds me, and more so that all of this time, I sought my father’s advice when I had her intelligence within reach. Tobias has been stressing to Dom, Sean, and me that Delphine’s wisdom knows no bounds and that all three of us could benefit from her, but thus far, I’m still the only one paying attention.

The fact that she is so fucking smart, not to mention capable, and daily chooses to drink that value away, abusing herself by the bottle, both saddens and frustrates me. In those times, I remember my place and never push her too hard.

“Mindset and stamina are key, private,” she continues, as the soft skin of her arm brushes my bicep before a light, musky scent fills my nose. It’s rich but not too overpowering, and I find myself inhaling it again when she brushes against me to point out part of an old sketch. That slight brush has my spine tightening with awareness—one I’ve done my best to ignore for months.