The Cursed Heart: Born of Destiny, #2

By H. M. Gooden

"Be careful what you are willing to trade away for dreams. Nothing is worth losing yourself for, no matter what."

When Robin loses the role she wanted in the school play to her biggest rival, her dreams are crushed.

Until an old family heirloom arrives unexpectedly in the mail. 

Suddenly, she hears music in her dreams and her biggest rival may find they are the one in danger.

What is Robin willing to trade to get her deepest desire?

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. M. Gooden
• Release date: May 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781989156209

H. M. Gooden

H. M. Gooden has always loved the world of books, but over the last few years a new story has begged to be told, and as a result, this series was born. In between dealing with children and work, the majority of the actual writing happens between four and six am and involves multiple cups of coffee for inspiration. You can always find me on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Bookbub and Goodreads. I always love to hear from readers!

Book preview

Chapter 1

Gently closing the door, I was done for the night. Capital D, done. I’d been working as hard as humanly possible over the last few months to prepare, but even that hadn’t eased my nerves. No matter how much I practiced, the niggling fear of completely bombing the audition to McGill plagued me. I’d woken up at least once a week for the last several months with nightmares.

It wasn't about my marks though; it was the numbers. Without knowing how many other singers were in the running for the limited first year spots, I couldn’t begin to estimate my odds of success. Which was why I was here, every Friday night I could get a room, singing the same pieces on what was beginning to feel like an eternal repeat.

How could grade twelve almost be over?

The feeling I was running out of time dogged my heels. I headed to the main entrance, walking down the silent and dimly lit corridors of the McGill School of Music. The tail end of a familiar voice singing an aria I’d been practicing ten minutes earlier caught my attention.

I grimaced. No matter how many times I compared myself to her, her version sounded better. Damn it! I checked my coat buttons and tried to straighten my unruly hair. Just as I finished, she glided out of the practice room to my right.

My nemesis was a perfect ice blond from my class. She looked up, seemingly startled to see anyone, and gave me a perfunctory smile. Oh. Hello, Robin. Practicing?

She swung her immaculately cut bob, causing it to fall into a neat waterfall. As if it would dare step out of line. I pushed a strand of my own frizzy, dirty-blond hair behind my ear. At least mine was restrained in a pony-tail tonight, which kept it mostly under control. But compared to Melissa, I felt as dowdy as always.

Yup. You?

Melissa shrugged. You know how it is. I want to make sure I do a good job at the concert.

Shoving back a stab of jealousy at her innocent reminder, I tried to smile politely. She was singing a role in the school play that I had tried out for. To make matters worse, I was now her understudy, which meant I had to practice the same songs in case she wasn’t able to perform. And, while I wanted to hate her, I couldn’t deny she was the best person for the part.

Oh God— what if she was auditioning for McGill, too?

There’s no way they would pick me over her. Great. I wish I could be half as perfect as her. Hardly noticing I’d fallen into step with her, I was startled out of my thoughts when she said goodbye.

I'll see you around school next week. She bounced down the steps with a wave, heading to the car waiting beside the curb. At that time of night, parking wasn’t an issue unless there was a concert.

Yeah, see you around.

I watched as the car drove off, wondering what it was about Melissa that set my teeth on edge. Was it because she appeared so polished? Maybe I was too self-conscious, but I always felt she was looking down on me for being too loud, or because my hair was too messy.

No matter how many times I told myself it was my imagination, I wasn’t quite able to believe it. She’d never done or said anything to suggest she thought I was a lesser being. She wasn’t mean or a gossip. As I turned up the hill toward my house on Van Horne, I admitted the truth to myself, even if I’d never admit it out loud to anyone else.

I was a raging, green-eyed, jealous beast.

Ever since I’d met Melissa, I’d wanted to be more like her. She was so effortless in everything she did. Her marks were good, her voice was amazing, and she had the large group of friends I’d always dreamed of having.

I had a tendency to fade into the background in a crowd, unless, of course, I managed to say the completely wrong thing, usually when the music died and everyone else was quiet. Maybe if my voice was less distinctive, I wouldn't feel like so much of a spaz.

Or maybe it was just the way I was, and I needed to get used to it.

The long walk on the late spring night gave me a chance to mull over my insecurities. By the time I walked in the door, I’d pretty much come to terms with my Melissa issues. Well, accepted them for the night, at least.

Dad, I'm home.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just after ten, and the house was dim except the foyer, and a faint light emanating from the French glass doors into the study. I smiled, not really sure why I bothered announcing myself anymore.

If my dad wasn't asleep in his bedroom, I could find him in the study pretty much any hour of day or night. I dropped my bag onto the sofa on my way through, making sure take my shoes off to avoid tracking in the perpetual spring slush onto the hardwood floor.

As expected, he was there with his head bent over his desk. The old-fashioned, Tiffany lamp made his head glow a warm brown. My hair was a shade or two lighter than his and opinions on the exact color ranged from boring light brown or dirty blond. I’d decided to call mine blonde for now, but my hair had been steadily darkening through the years, and I was certain I’d end up with the same hair color as him unless I decided to start experimenting.

So far, I’d held off. Dad wasn’t keen on artificial coloring, and his argument made sense. In vocal auditions, more traditional hairstyles were looked on favorably, especially if I wanted to be an opera singer. Maybe next year, after I was accepted into the Department of Music, but for now, I stuck to trims sans color when I did get a cut. I rarely saw female opera singers of note with short hair, let alone anything approaching avant-garde.

When Dad didn't look up, I cleared my throat. He turned, his glasses nestled on top of his head like a headband, and smiled. Oh. Hello, Robin. How was practice?

I shrugged. Walking into the room, I leaned over to give him a hug. He dropped a kiss on my hair, ruffling it lightly. When I pulled back, I frowned at the messy stack of papers in front of him.

What happened here? Your desk looks like it was attacked by a paper monster.

His eyebrows furrowed as he regarded the mess with something akin to surprise. His face relaxed as he chuckled. What’s that? Oh, yes. It’s something new I'm working on. I read an article recently in a history journal and was cross-referencing.

He shook his head and I watched his eyes become unfocused again. I was losing him back into his work and tried to rein him back in. That's great, Dad. Um, did you have supper?

He blinked, squinting as if trying to remember. I rolled my eyes. He was technically an English professor at McGill, but was obsessed with old manuscripts from Northern Europe. I couldn’t count how many times he’d skipped a meal when he was in the middle of researching something.

"That's generally a no if you have