Will smiled and it pleased her. She wasn’t sure if she’d seen him smile since she came to, but it was enough of a tease that now she wanted to hear him laugh. She wondered if he had a deep, throaty laugh. The suited man looking at her oozed a confidence and sexuality that even a sterile hospital couldn’t dampen. Certainly his laugh would be as sexy as he was.
“I bet.” He glanced down, looking slightly uncomfortable.
She never knew what to say to him. She was constantly being visited by friends and family, all of whom she’d swear she’d never seen in her whole life, but none of those chats were as awkward as talking to Will. She’d hoped it would get easier, but it just didn’t. The nicer she was to him, the more resistant he seemed, almost like he didn’t expect her to be civil.
“I have something for you.”
She perked up in her bed, his sudden announcement unexpected. “Really?”
Her room had been flooded with gifts early on. It seemed like every flower and balloon in Manhattan had found its way to Cynthia’s hospital room. Since then, the occasional arrangement came in from family or even strangers who heard about her story on the news. Being one of three survivors of a plane crash was quite newsworthy.
Will reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. “The airline called earlier this week. They’ve been sifting through the wreckage, trying to identify what they can, and they found this. They traced the laser-etched serial number on the diamond back to me.”
He opened up the box to reveal an enormous diamond ring. Part of her wanted to believe it was a well-made costume piece, but after what she’d seen of her family and their large, plentiful and authentic jewelry, she knew it was breathtakingly real.
“It’s beautiful.”
Will frowned. Apparently that was the wrong response. “It’s your engagement ring.”
She almost laughed, but then she noticed the serious look on his face. Owning a ring like that seemed preposterous. “Mine?” She watched as Will gently slipped the ring onto her left ring finger. It was a little snug, but with that arm broken and surgically pinned, her fingers were swollen. She looked down to admire the ring and was pleased to find there was a vague familiarity about it. “I do feel like I’ve seen this ring before,” she said. The doctors had encouraged her to speak up anytime something resonated with her.
“That’s good. It’s one of a kind, so if it feels familiar, you’ve seen it before. I took it to be cleaned, had the setting checked to make sure nothing was loose, but I wanted to bring it back to you today. I’m not surprised you lost it in the accident. All that dieting for the wedding had made it too loose.”
“And now it’s too small and I look like I’m the loser of a boxing match,” she said with a pout that sent a dull pain across her cheek. It didn’t hurt as much as her pride. She had no idea what her wedding dress looked like, but she was certain that if she’d thought she looked better in it thin, the swelling wouldn’t help.
“Don’t worry, there’s still plenty of time. It’s only October. May is a long way off, and you’ll be fully recovered by then.”
“May at the Plaza.” She wasn’t sure why, but she knew that much.
“It’s slowly coming back,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite go to his eyes. Standing, he slipped the ring box back into his pocket. “I’m having dinner with Alex tonight, so I’d better get going.”
She remembered Alex from his visit the week before. He was Will’s friend from school and quite the flirt. Even looking like she did, he told her she was beautiful and how he’d steal her away if she wasn’t Will’s fiancée. It was crap, but she appreciated the effort. “You two have fun. I believe we’re having rubber chicken and rice tonight.”
At that, Will chuckled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He reached out to pat her hand reassuringly.
The moment he touched her, she felt a familiar shiver run down her spine. Every single overworked nerve ending in her body lit up with awareness instead of pain. Her chest tightened, her hand involuntarily gripping his to maintain the connection it craved.
His touches, however brief or fleeting, were better than any morphine drip. Just the brush of his fingers against her skin made her feel alive and tingly in a way totally inappropriate for someone in her present condition. It had been that way since the first time he’d pressed a soft kiss against the back of her hand. She might not know him by sight, but her body certainly recognized her lover. The pleasurable current cut through everything—the pain, the medication, the confusion.
If only she reacted that way to a man who liked her. The thought was like a pin that popped the momentary bubble that protected her from everything else in her life that was going wrong.
Will looked at his hand, then at her with a curiosity that made her wonder if he were feeling the same thing. She noticed then that his eyes were a light blue-gray. They were soft and welcoming for a moment, an inner heat thawing his indifference, and then a beep from the phone at his hip distracted him and he pulled away. With every inch that grew between them, the ache of emptiness in her gut grew stronger.
“Good night, Cynthia,” he said, slipping through the door.
With him gone, the suite once again became as cold and sterile as any other hospital room and she felt more alone than ever.
* * *
Alex sat sipping his drink on the other side of the table. He’d been quiet through the first two courses. Will always appreciated his friend’s ability to enjoy silence and not force a conversation to fill space. He understood that Will had a lot on his mind, and letting him get through a glass of Scotch would make the discussion easier.
He’d asked Alex to join him for dinner because he needed to talk to someone who would be honest. Most people just told him what he wanted to hear. Alex was one of the few people he knew with more money than he had and who wasn’t inclined to blow smoke up his ass. He was a notorious playboy and typically not the first person Will went to for romantic advice, but he knew Alex wouldn’t pull any punches when he asked for his opinion on what he should do about Cynthia.
What a mess their relationship had become. To think that a few short weeks ago, he didn’t believe it could get any worse. It was like daring God to strike him…
“So, how’s Cynthia faring?” Alex finally asked once their entrées arrived, forcing Will out of his own head.
“Better. She’s healing up nicely but still doesn’t remember anything.”
“Including the fight?”
“Especially the fight.” Will sighed.
Before Cynthia had left for Chicago, Will had confronted her with evidence of an affair and broke off the engagement. She’d insisted they could talk things through once she got back, but he wasn’t interested. He was done with her. He’d been on the phone with his real estate agent when the call came in that Cynthia’s plane had crashed. When she woke up with no memory, he wasn’t sure what to do. Continuing with his plan to leave seemed cruel at that point. He needed to see her through her recovery, but he would leave as planned when she was back on her feet.
At least that was the original idea. Since then…the situation had gotten confusing. This was why Alex was here. He could help him sort things out before he made it worse.
“Have you told her yet? Or should I say again?”
“No, I haven’t. I think once she’s discharged, we’ll talk. We’re rarely alone at the hospital, and I don’t want her parents getting involved.”
“I take it she isn’t back to being the frigid shrew we all know and love?”
Will shook his head. Part of him wished she was. Then he could walk away without a pang of guilt after her recovery. But she was an entirely different woman since the accident. He’d had a hard time adjusting to the changes in her, always waiting for Cynthia to start barking orders or criticize the hospital staff. But she never did. He made a point of visiting her every day, but despite how hard he fought it, Will found he enjoyed the visits more and more. “It’s like she’s be
en abducted by aliens and replaced with a pod person.”
“I have to admit she was quite pleasant when I came by the other day.” Alex put a bit of filet mignon in his mouth.
“Yeah, I know. Every time I visit her, I just sit back and watch in disbelief as she asks people how they are and thanks everyone for visiting or bringing her things. She’s sweet, thoughtful, funny…and absolutely nothing like the woman who left for Chicago.”
Alex leaned in, his brow furrowed. “You’re smiling when you talk about her. Things really have changed. You like her,” he accused.
“What is this, prep school again? Yes, she is a more pleasant person and I enjoy being around her in a way I never have before. But the doctors say her amnesia is probably temporary. In the blink of an eye, she could be back to normal. I refuse to get reinvested only to end up where I started.”
“Probably temporary can mean possibly permanent. Maybe she’ll stay this way.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Will said with a shake of his head. It was just like Alex to encourage him to make a risky move. “She may not remember what she did, but I do. I can never trust her again, and that means we’re through.”
“Or this could be your second chance. If she really is a different person, treat her like one. Don’t hold a past she doesn’t even remember against her. You could miss out on something great.”
His friend turned his attention back to his steak, leaving Will alone with his thoughts. Alex said the words he’d been afraid to let himself even think. Being with Cynthia was like meeting a woman for the first time. He found himself rushing from the office to visit her or thinking about how she was while he needed to concentrate on the front page flash for the Observer. And today…he’d felt an undeniable sizzle of awareness when they’d touched. He’d never had that intense a reaction to her before. He didn’t know if it was the fright of nearly losing her for good or her personality change, but there was a part of him that wanted to take Alex’s advice.
Of course, Alex didn’t keep a woman long enough for the relationship to sour. It might not seem like it now, but the old Cynthia was still lurking inside her. That woman was miserable and unfaithful and stomped on his feelings with her expensive stiletto heels. Will had broken it off with her, and he had no doubt she’d be back before long. He wasn’t going to lose his heart, freedom or any more years of his life to this relationship.
The doctors said she could probably go home soon. He was certain Pauline and George would want her back at their estate, but Will was going to insist she return to their penthouse so he could care for her. Having her at home was the natural choice. It was closer to the doctor, and being around her own things would be good for her.
And if it jogged her memory and she went back to normal? It would save him the trouble of breaking up with her a second time.
* * *
“Would you like to trade seats?”
The words floated in her brain, her dreams mixing reality and fantasy with a dash of pain medication to really confuse things.
“My name is Cynthia Dempsey.”
The words made her frown even in her sleep. Cynthia Dempsey. She wished they would stop calling her that. But she also didn’t know what she’d rather have people call her. If she wasn’t Cynthia Dempsey, shouldn’t she know who she really was?
And she did. The name was on the tip of her tongue.
The boom of an engine bursting into flames dashed the name from her mind. Then there was only the horrible, sickening feeling of falling from the sky.
“No!”
She shot up in bed, hurting about a half dozen parts of her body in the process. Her heart was racing, her breath quick in her throat. The nearby bed monitor started beeping, and before she could gather her composure, one of the night shift nurses came in.
“How are we, Miss Dempsey?”
“Stop calling me that,” she snapped, the confusion of sleep removing the buffer that edited what she shouldn’t say.
“Okay…Cynthia. Are you all right?”
She saw it was her favorite nurse, Gwen, when she reached over and turned on the small light above her bed. Gwen was a tiny Southern girl with naturally curly ash-blond hair and a positive but no-nonsense attitude about life. She could also draw blood without pain, so that instantly put her at the top of Cynthia’s list.
“Yes.” She wiped her sleepy eyes with her good hand. “I just had a bad dream. I’m sorry for snarling at you like that.”
“Don’t you worry your pretty li’l head about it,” Gwen said, her thick Tennessee accent curling her words. She turned off the alarm and checked her IV fluids. “A lot of trauma patients have nightmares. Do you want something to help you sleep?”
“No, I’m tired of…not feeling like myself. Although I’m beginning to wonder if that has anything to do with the medication.”
Gwen sat at the edge of the bed and patted her knee. “You had some pretty severe head trauma, honey. It’s possible you might never feel exactly like you used to. Or that you won’t know when you do. Just make the most of how and what you feel like, now.”
Cynthia decided to take advantage of the only person she could really talk to about this. Will wouldn’t understand. It would just upset Pauline. Her mother spent every afternoon with her at the hospital, showing her pictures, telling stories and trying to unlock her memory. Saying she didn’t feel like herself would just be an insult to Pauline’s hard work.
“It feels all wrong. The people. The way they treat me. I mean, look at this.” She slipped her arm out of the sling and extended her pale pink cast to show off her engagement ring.
“That’s lovely,” Gwen said politely, although her dark brown eyes had grown twice their size upon seeing the massive diamond.
“Don’t. We both know this could feed a third-world country for a year.”
“Probably,” she conceded.
“This doesn’t feel like me. I don’t feel like some snobby uptown girl that went to private school and got everything she ever wanted. I feel like a fish out of water, and I shouldn’t. If this is my life, why do I feel so out of touch with it? How can I be who I am when I don’t know who I was?”
“Honey, this is a little deep for a three o’clock in the morning conversation. But here’s some unsolicited advice from a Tennessee fish in Manhattan waters. I’d stop worrying about who you were and just be yourself. You’ll go crazy trying to figure out what you should do and how you should act.”
“How do I do that?”
“For a start, stop fighting it. When you walk out of this room to start your new life, embrace being Cynthia Dempsey. Then, just do what you feel. If the new Cynthia would rather go to a Knicks game than the symphony, that’s okay. If you’ve lost your taste for caviar and expensive wine, eat a cheeseburger and drink a beer. Only you know who you want to be now. Don’t let anyone change that.”
“Thank you, Gwen.” She leaned forward and embraced the nurse who felt like her only real friend in her new life. “I’m being discharged tomorrow. Will is taking me back to our apartment. I have no idea what’s in store for me there, but when I’m in the mood for burgers and beer, can I call you?”
Gwen smiled wide. “Absolutely.” She wrote her cell phone number in the small notebook Cynthia had been using to keep notes. “And don’t worry,” she added. “I can’t imagine any future with Will Taylor in it being bad.”
Cynthia nodded and returned her reassuring grin. She just hoped Gwen was right.
Two
Will watched Cynthia walk through their apartment as if she were taking a tour of the Met. He had to admit the place felt like a museum sometimes with all the glass, marble and leather. It wasn’t what he would’ve chosen, but everything served its designated function, so he didn’t really care.
She examined each room, admiring the artwork, running her fingers over the fabrics and seeming visibly pleased with what she saw. She should like it, he mused. She and her god-awful decorator picked it all out.
&n
bsp; Cynthia moved slowly, the stiffness of her muscles slowing her down. The doctors had changed the cast on her arm to a brace so she could remove it to shower for the last few weeks until it was fully healed. All the bandages and stitches were gone now and only the faintest of discoloration was visible on her face and body. If not for the slight limp and the brace, you might never know what kind of trauma she’d undergone.
Pauline had a hairstylist come to the hospital to do her hair before she was discharged. The hospital staff had to trim a good bit of the length off as it was singed from the fire, but the stylist turned their chop work into a chic, straight style that fell right at her shoulders. It was an attractive change, and he found himself admiring it as the town car brought them home. Her face looked so much better, and the hairstyle accented it nicely. A new style for the new woman in his life.
There was a thought that would bring him nothing but trouble.
Will turned and found Cynthia staring at the large engagement portrait they had hanging in the living room. Damn. He’d gone through the apartment and put away all her pictures as Pauline had asked, but he had to miss the giant one on the wall. As far as he knew, she hadn’t seen any pictures of herself from before the accident. But now that she had, he expected her to have Dr. Takashi on the phone in an instant, threatening him with malpractice. Personally, he thought the doctor had done a great job even if she didn’t look exactly the same.
But nothing happened. She stood silently studying it for a moment, and then she continued to the back of the apartment. The chime of his phone distracted him with an email from work, and he heard her shout from down the hall as he read it.
“This bathroom is huge! Is this mine?”
“Does it have a sunken whirlpool tub?”
“No.”
“Then no,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s just the guest bath. Ours is off the master bedroom.” And not three weeks before the crash, she’d complained that their bathroom was too small. He’d asked if she was throwing a cocktail party in there, and she’d scowled.
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