I turn to her and say under my breath, “Is he really my husband?”
Louisa looks a little surprised. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. If he’s not your husband, I’ll take him for myself.” She jokes as a means of reassurance, but it does little to settle my nerves.
“It’s just that … I can’t remember him at all. I’ll get flashes of things, old events. I see faces, and I’m getting back a couple of names, but none of them are Roman. It’s like… It’s like he’s been absent or something. Not really there. And I have no idea why.”
Am I really safe with him?
I’ve been getting glimpses of the past. It’s never anything significant—a birthday party from years ago with a weird lack of guests, me sitting behind an office desk for hours on end, a cold and empty apartment; at least it’s something. The more that comes back to me, the more and more I get the sense I wasn’t a very happy person. I obviously don’t have the full picture yet, but from what I’ve seen, I feel miserable and a little angry.
And then I cut forward to yesterday when everything’s a lot clearer.
Roman by my bedside, talking to Roman, feeling at ease around him despite how freaked out I should be. Since the second I woke up, he’s been looking out for me. He’s been nothing but kind and understanding and patient.
But I’d be lying if I said something wasn’t off about him. Even though he treats me gently and appears to care a great deal, he’s also very stiff and rigid. It doesn’t make sense that someone seemingly so warm would be so distant whenever I try to hold his hand, or whenever he gives me a hug. Maybe that’s just the way he is? But then I can’t really explain the way he speaks to me, always a little hesitant like he’s thinking about his words before saying them. I tell myself it’s because Roman’s just careful about what he says.
Louisa nods. “I understand that you’re apprehensive, but I promise you’ll remember him. The doctor says you’ve been making great progress. It’s only a matter of time. And trust me. I’ve met many patients over the years, and I can tell this man loves you.”
I swallow, my throat unbearably dry. It’s not like I really have a choice. I can’t stay at the hospital, and Roman’s already made arrangements to extend our stay at the hotel, The Ritz Carlton of all things. I’ve never been to such a fancy place. In a way, I’m kind of excited to see if it’s really worth the hype.
I sign all of the documents Louisa needs just in time to see Roman approaching out of the corner of my eye. He’s still dressed in the same day-old clothes, and his hair’s a bit messy from sleep, but he’s still undeniably handsome. A couple nurses happen to turn their heads as he passes by, but he pays them no notice.
He hands me my purse and even drapes his jacket over my shoulders. I’m about to tell him that we’re in the Caymans and I probably won’t need it to stay warm, but it’s a nice relief against the chilly hospital AC. The jacket smells faintly like his cologne, spicy and earthy.
“There’s a taxi waiting for us outside,” he says. “It’ll take us back to the hotel.”
I smile at him. “Thank you, Roman.”
He smiles back, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Of course. No problem.”
~
I don’t know if it’s customary to be greeted by a huge crowd at the Ritz. I’m fairly certain the entire hotel staff is gathered in the main lobby to greet us as we enter through the rotating doors. One of the concierge’s—Alessandro, judging by his name tag—rushes over to meet us, a nervous smile on his face.
“Miss Pace, welcome back,” he says, a little jittery. “How are you feeling? Your husband called and informed us about what happened.”
I’m a little uncomfortable with how close he gets. I’m starting to believe I’m not the kind of person who appreciates having strangers in my personal bubble. It’s only when I feel Roman’s hand on the center of my back, touch gentle and hand warm, that I’m able to lean into him and relax slightly.
“I’m … I’m better, thank you.”
“That’s good. We’re very glad to hear it. Please let us know if there’s anything at all that we can help you with.”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you.”
“We’ve extended your stay for an additional week, as per Mister Howard’s request. Please relax and enjoy your time here.”
“I can show you up to your room,” Alessandro continues. “We’ve moved you into the executive suite. We thought you’d be more comfortable there. Why don’t we stop by the front desk, and I’ll get your keys?”
After taking care of things at the reception desk, Roman and I are shown to our rooms. It’s a corner suite on the top floor of the hotel with a gorgeous ocean-front view. I’ve never seen anything so lavish. At least, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so lavish.
The one wall consists entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows that let in an abundance of natural light, painting the black-leather sofa and matching armchairs around a dark stained coffee table in the living room in a soft golden glow. There are ornate porcelain vases filled to the brim with fresh cut flowers everywhere, filling the room with a light, sweet scent.
The bathroom boasts a steam shower and a grand bathtub, complimentary soaps, bubble bath, shampoos, and conditioners sitting in a pretty hand-woven basket on the marble counter. There’s even a white minifridge tucked beneath the bathroom sink full of little chocolates and small bottles of liquor. What purpose they serve, I’m not too sure. Maybe it’ll come in handy when I’m feeling peckish while taking a soak.
The bed is what impresses me most. It looks like a cloud, soft and divine. There’s a mountain of pillows stacked in neat little rows against the headboard, and the duvet looks fluffy and warm. A small carry-on suitcase sits at the foot of the bed, a red tag wrapped around its handle. I inspect the tag and see it actually belongs to me. My name’s handwritten onto the contact card stuffed inside, all capital letters in black ink.
“They must have moved your things from your old room,” Roman says. He stands at the doorway, leaning against the entrance without taking a step further.
I smirk at him. “What are you doing?”
“What?”
“Are you going to come in, or not?”
Roman moseys on in as I stare at the combination lock that’s keeping my suitcase closed. I frown, struggling and failing to come up with the three digits necessary to unlock it.
“You don’t happen to know my password, do you?” I ask.
Roman shakes his head. “Sorry, no.”
“Why did I pack so light if we were going on our honeymoon? Even if I do get it open, this probably has enough clothes for a couple of days.”
Roman clears his throat again and shrugs. “You mentioned something about buying a bunch of novelty T-shirts.”
“Did I?”
“I can take you shopping later. Maybe we can go for a walk?”
“Thanks. Some fresh air sounds nice.”
“Are you, uh … hungry? Tired? Can I get you anything?”
I like how sweet Roman is. I shake my head slowly. “I think I might take a shower. I’m feeling kind of gross from the hospital.”
“Right. That’s understandable. I can pop downstairs and see if I can find you something more comfortable to wear.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Roman nods. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
After I hear the front door to the suite close, I step into the bathroom. The hotel’s supplied a pair of incredibly soft white cotton bathrobes and luxuriously plush towels. I decide to take advantage of the shower, stepping into the hot spray of water. The pressure’s fantastic, streams of water flowing over my head and shoulders from the rain showerhead attached to the ceiling.
The heat soaks into my muscles and bones, washing away the sticky feeling that’s been bogging me down. The rush of water past my ears is nice, calming. The sweet scents of honey-infused shampoo fills my nostrils, leaving my head warm and fuzzy. I can’t help but stare down
at my naked body as I wash, finding old scars on my knees, a few on my shins, and even one across the first knuckle of my thumb.
They all look accidental, from scrapes and cuts I don’t remember. Maybe I got the ones on my legs from falling off a bicycle. Maybe I got the one on my thumb from a letter opener. I can’t tell. There are stories behind every faded line, but I don’t know their secrets.
I notice other details, little things that give me just a hint of what I was like before the accident. My nails are all short and jagged, likely from nervous biting. My hair grows thinner near my temples, which leads me to wonder if it’s genetic, or if I was the kind of person to wear my hair so tight and perfect that it caused stress to my hairline. It’s hardly noticeable with my hair down, though.
As I finish my shower and towel off, I allow my mind to wander. I wish getting my memories back were easier. Maybe there’s a way to kickstart my brain, like looking at old photos or videos. It could be the hint I need to fill in the blanks.
I throw on a bathrobe and tie the soft belt around my waist before exiting the bathroom. I leave just in time to see Roman re-enter with what looks to be an over-sized white tee with a graphic print of a sandy beach and palms trees, as well as a pair of bright red shorts. He freezes like a deer in headlights when he sees me, darting his eyes to the carpeted floor to avoid my gaze.
“Um, oh, hi,” he mumbles. He holds the clothes out. “These are for you. I hope they fit.”
“Don’t you know my size?”
“The selection wasn’t very wide. I had to make do, is what I mean.”
A soft giggle bubbles past my lips. It’s kind of adorable how bashful Roman is. He looks kind of intimidating from afar, but now that I’m getting to know him, I’m really getting to know how gentle and considerate he really is.
“Thank you, Roman.”
“You really don’t need to keep thanking me.”
I take the clothes from him, our fingers brushing ever so lightly as I do. Roman stiffens, like he’s surprised.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Of course. Why?”
“You just seem a little tense.”
“I guess I’m… I just want to make sure you’re feeling better.”
“I’m sorry.”
He frowns. “What for?”
I gesture vaguely around me. “Everything, it’s… I’m sure it’s been really stressful for you too. Everyone’s been so concerned about me, but what about you?”
Roman smiles. Really smiles. I don’t think I’ve seen him look like this since I first woke up. It’s dazzling just how handsome he is, a breathtaking display. He takes my hand and gives it a comforting squeeze.
“I’m okay as long as you’re okay, Charlie. Get dressed, and we can order room service.”
“I like how you think.”
Roman turns to pluck one of the hard-cover menus from off the living room coffee table, plopping down on the couch behind him. I return to the bathroom and slip into my fresh clothes. I’m weirdly amused by the gold lettering on the back of the shorts that reads: Surf’s up, beaches.
“Hey, Roman?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you happen to know where my phone is?”
“Uh, no. Why?”
I leave the bathroom in my new ensemble while towel drying my hair. “I got to thinking while I was in the shower. Maybe there are some pictures and stuff I can look at. Thought it could jog my memory. But I can’t seem to find the thing in my purse. Seems odd that I didn’t bring one.”
Roman simply shrugs. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen it. Maybe we dropped it in all the commotion after the accident?”
I frown. “That’s too bad.”
“I can contact the front desk later and see if it was left behind.”
I circle around the couch and sit next to him, leaning against his arm to sneak a peek at the menu.
“Okay,” I say. “No point in worrying about it, I guess.”
Roman lets out an audible sigh, but I have no idea why.
CHAPTER SIX
Roman
If I stress out any harder, I think my brain’s going to explode.
Uncle Charles always used to say never to jump into the deep end unless I knew how to swim. For the record, I’m an excellent swimmer. But there was nothing in the world that could have prepared me for this corner I’ve backed myself into. I’m this close to giving in and coming clean. Charlie needs to know the truth. The longer I drag this out, the more hurt and angrier she’ll be with me.
But how the hell am I supposed to do that? I can’t just say, ‘Hey, by the way, we’re not actually married. I made that up so I could take care of you at the hospital. You actually hate my guts and want nothing to do with me. I’ve been hiding your phone in my back pocket because I’m scared you’ll remember everything. Please don’t be pissed. I’m sorry I got a flash of your chest while you were in that bathrobe. I’m sorry I gave you short shorts that reveal your gorgeously long legs and I can’t stop staring.’
Yeah, no. That’s not going to work at all.
We sit across from each other at the table in the suite’s dining room. This place is so elaborate it’s borderline ridiculous. I feel guilty for a multitude of reasons. The first obviously being that I’m lying to Charlie, but also because I can’t afford to give the boys back home a life like this. There’s so much space here that it could probably house all the kids at Phoenix House. The food here is excellent too, and I just wish I could send some of it back to give them.
Charlie’s demolishing a cobb salad with grilled chicken while I make slow work of a hefty steak the size of my whole head. I don’t have much of an appetite—what with my pants being on fire and all—so I opt instead to watch her eat.
“Is it good?” I chuckle.
Charlie nods and smiles. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I just wish the happiness I feel to see her so happy didn’t also come with the numbing stabs of guilt to my heart.
“You want a bite?” she asks, lifting a fork loaded with bits of lettuce, half a cherry tomato, and shredded cheese.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“So, I have more questions, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. Ask away.”
“What do I do? For a job, I mean. Am I the career-type?”
I lean back in my chair and nod, a small grin gracing my lips. “Definitely. It’s actually one of the reasons why it took me so long to ask you out. You were pretty much married to your job.”
“Really? Who do I work for?”
“Nobody. You’re the boss.”
Charlie looks downright delighted. “Really?”
“You took over Bliss Media from Uncle Charles when he passed away. You’re the CEO.”
She swallows, eyes widening in surprise. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“I’ve never been much of a comedian, so no.”
“Should I… Shouldn’t I tell somebody, then? About my memory loss?”
“I’ll take care of everything for you,” I say hastily. “There’s no need to panic.”
“A CEO,” she echoes quietly to herself. “I can’t even remember how to do my job. How am I supposed to go back if I don’t remember my colleagues, or what I do on a day to day basis? What if–”
“Charlie,” I say as gentle as possible, “just stay calm, okay? I’ll explain you need some time off. That’s why we’re here, right?”
“Right,” she replies slowly, but she sounds mostly unconvinced. “We’re really supposed to be on our honeymoon. I feel bad that we’re focusing on my recovery instead.”
“Charlie, stop. You’re all that matters. I don’t want you to feel guilty or rushed. Take as much time as you need. I’ll be here.”
She looks appreciative. “Okay.”
After we eat dinner, we get dressed for bed. I help tuck Charlie in, fluffing a soft pillow and draping her over with the warm duvet. Her movements are still sluggish, which the doctor told me is perfect
ly normal. It’s just easier for me to help her out than see her struggle climbing into bed.
As I pick up a pillow and leave for the living room, Charlie stops me.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“The couch.”
Charlie furrows her brows. “There’s no need for that.”
“I just thought you’d be more comfortable. Your memories of me haven’t come back yet, so I imagine it’s like sleeping with a stranger next to you. The doctor told you to get lots of rest, so I don’t want to impede that.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s … it’s fine. You’re my husband. I don’t want to see you banished to the couch. That’s not fair.”
“I really don’t mind.”
Charlie picks at her fingernails, a light shade of pink dusting her cheeks. “I guess I just… I don’t want to be alone.”
My chest tightens. I can’t even imagine how truly isolated and afraid Charlie is without her memories. Without a concrete past to define her, I suppose it makes sense that she wants to keep me around. In a way, I’m flattered. She needs me. After all the lies I’ve told her, it’s the least I can do to at least be her rock.
I climb into bed slowly, doing my best to not seem like I’m freaking out. The last time Charlie and I slept in the same bed, she’d been seven and I’d been five. I’d just arrived at Charles’ home, and I was so young that the dark still scared me. Charlie sweetly offered to read me bedtime stories and stay up with me, swearing to ward off any monsters that may have been lurking in the closet. We’d been thick as thieves back then.
Right up until we weren’t.
People drift apart. It happens. And it didn’t exactly help that Charles put a lot of pressure on Charlie to excel. I didn’t understand his constant pushing at the time. It hadn’t been clear to Charlie or me that she’d one day be running a massive media company. We were just kids, trying to have fun and learn and enjoy life. But Uncle Charles kept pushing her, training her, demanding nothing less than perfection. I don’t know when exactly it happened, but Uncle Charles eventually stopped seeing Charlie as his niece and started treating her more like an investment.
Forgotten Inheritance (Inherit Love Book 6) Page 4