Forgotten Inheritance (Inherit Love Book 6)

by McKenna James

  He takes a deep breath and chews on the inside of his cheek as he says, “You might have said Phoenix House was a waste of time. And a waste of money.”

  I pull away, slumping into the backrest of my chair as the air burns through my lungs. “Oh,” is all I can manage, appalled at myself. “I’m sorry,” I whisper sadly. “That’s… Shit.”

  Roman shakes his head and leans forward, trying to reach for my hand again. “Don’t worry about it, Charlie. It’s in the past. I shouldn’t have told you; now you’re upset.”

  “Why would I say such a thing? That’s terrible.”

  He gives me a sympathetic look, capturing my gaze. “We were having an argument. You said it in the heat of the moment,” he argues. “Don’t be upset, Charlie. It was a long time ago, and I’m over it.”

  “Still, that’s… What kind of a person was I? How could you like someone who’d say that about your work?”

  Roman threads his fingers with mine and keeps his gaze centered on me. “You were, and are, the best person I know. One offhanded comment doesn’t define you, Charlie. I love you because you work hard, and you hold yourself to high standards, and nothing discourages you. Being with you makes me want to be better. So don’t be upset, okay? I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No, I’m … I’m glad I’ve at least got you.”

  He strokes his thumb over mine, sending a delightful chill through me. There’s nothing but kindness behind his green eyes like forests, but it’s tinged with something sad, almost heartbroken. I chalk it up to my memory loss. I’d be miserable too if my significant other couldn’t remember our shared past.

  I can’t imagine what he’s going through.

  “I’m here,” he reassures. “I’m here for you no matter what, Charlie.”

  “Thank you,” I say, feeling content for the first time since waking up in the hospital.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Roman

  The old Charlie hated the beach. Uncle Charles owned two summer homes, one in Miami and the other in Los Angeles. Our youthful summers were often spent on private beaches, and Charlie made it clear how she despised every second.

  There’s sand in my hair, she used to whine. It’s getting in my mouth! No, I don’t want to build a sandcastle with you, Roman.

  The new Charlie seems hypnotized by the sea. After dinner, we decided to take a bit of a detour on our way back to the hotel. The boardwalk is still pretty crowded, but tourists and exhausted beach goers are beginning to dissipate—all of them sunkissed and weary. I’m not going to lie, I’m pretty bushed myself. It’s been a while since I’ve spent an entire day out in the sun. Back in Chicago, I never had to worry about the potential of heat stroke.

  Charlie and I walk down the sandy path, hand in hand. It surprises me how normal it feels. Any awkwardness or anxiety I feared would loom over us doesn’t come. It’s just her, me, and the soft rush of waves reaching and then retreating at the waterline.

  White foam hisses against wet sand, washing over little crustaceans and leaving empty shells. A warm breeze sweeps off the ocean and whistles past us, combing through Charlie’s long locks. The setting sun paints the sky in vibrant orange, red, gold, and pink, the colors bouncing off the ocean’s surface to highlight Charlie’s skin.

  She’s gorgeous. I can’t take my eyes off her. I’m here in the Cayman Islands, a place I’ll likely never get the chance to visit again with beautiful surroundings, and yet all I can see is her.

  And I honestly don’t mind.

  I’ve never seen Charlie so relaxed before. Back in Chicago, everything was go, go, go. Charlie was always dressed to the nines, wearing her six-inch stiletto heels like weapons. While Uncle Charles was still alive, he insisted on gathering together once a month for a family dinner. She always sat so far away from me, turned at an angle so I didn’t have an opening to even interact with her. And even if I could, Charlie was practically glued to that stupid phone of hers, answering important text messages and sending off emails.

  To see her slip her flip-flops off and feel the sand beneath her toes feels like a dream. Her signature scowl has disappeared entirely, wiped from her mind and replaced with a dazzling smile. I can’t help but think Charlie belongs here, surrounded on all sides by a landscape just nearly as radiant as her. I’m genuinely worried that if we return to the heartless hustle of the city, she’ll revert back to who she was—someone hiding her misery beneath the flash of success.

  Out here, she’s free.

  “You okay?” she asks me, looking over her shoulder. Charlie dips her toes in the ocean, giggling to herself as the water tickles her feet.

  “I’m fine,” I reply.

  “Tired?”

  “Yeah. I’m just thinking.”

  “About?”

  You. I’m thinking about you and how happy you seem. How I don’t want that to change.

  I’m thinking about how this is all probably going to blow up in my face.

  When you find out the truth, you’re going to hate me.

  I don’t want you to hate me.

  “Charlie? There’s something I need to tell you.”

  She turns and walks back to me, easily slipping her hand in mine. She takes a look at our hands and notices something. “If we’re married, why don’t we have wedding rings?”

  I don’t think it’s possible for my heart to sink any further. It’s been lodged in my stomach since we left the hospital together, since Charlie kissed me goodnight. I need to come clean. This is my chance, my out. I can tell Charlie the truth and walk away with a clear conscience.

  “Charlie, I’m not–”

  I can’t get the words out. They get caught in my throat, blocking off my windpipe so I’m left to choke on air.

  “What is it?”

  I can’t do it.

  “We don’t have wedding rings because you said you wanted matching tattoos,” I lie.

  I hate myself.

  Charlie raises her eyebrows and smiles. “I actually like the sound of that.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah! Why blow a couple grand on an engagement ring and wedding bands when we can have something much more personal? Do you think we can look up a local tattoo parlor and do it tomorrow?”

  I breathe a sigh of relief that she actually bought it. Old Charlie will definitely throttle me if she ever comes back. But new Charlie is excited and optimistic and all things wonderful. I just can’t say no to her.

  “Sure,” I reply. “That sounds great.”

  “Is that what you wanted to tell me?” she asks. It’s like the universe is giving me a second chance, another opening to get everything off my chest.

  I don’t know why I don’t take it.

  “I just wanted to say how beautiful you look tonight.”

  “Oh, thank you. You’re not too bad yourself.”

  Charlie laughs, light and bubbly. It’s a hypnotic sound that draws me in, attracts my eyes to her full lips. I think I could stay here and stare at her for the rest of time. There’s always something new to discover. I adore the curl of her lashes, the way her nose crinkles when she giggles. I adore how soft and cloud-like her hair is when it’s not pulled back into a sleek bun. The urge to kiss every freckle I see on her cheeks has me leaning forward, but I don’t dare close the gap between us.

  It’d be easy to lean in the rest of the way and press my lips to hers. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since she kissed me last night. I got a taste, and I crave more.

  But how could I? How could I do such a thing and betray Charlie’s trust? She isn’t in her right mind, and I refuse to do anything that might make her uncomfortable. I swear to God, I’m not that kind of guy.

  Charlie watches me. She watches with an intensity I’ve experienced a handful of times before. Old Charlie was good at reading people, easily able to call people out on their bullshit. It’s what made her such a ruthless and perfect CEO. When we were battling things out in court, Charlie would stare me down while Mister Malo
ney picked apart my arguments like they were made of paper. She’d intimidate me from across the room while her cutthroat lawyer finished the job.

  Except now, she’s not hostile in the slightest. She stares at me, lips slightly parted, probably reading my body language like I’m an open book. Charlie observes my mouth in turn, nibbling on her bottom lip while appearing deep in thought. There’s maybe an inch or two left between us, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to move a muscle.

  I clear my throat. “We should, uh… We should go. It’s getting dark.”

  “Roman?”

  “Yes, Charlie?”

  She presses her hand flat against my chest before taking hold of my shirt, bunching up the fabric between her fingers for purchase. Charlie gives the slightest of tugs, a silent command for me to either dip down or stop moving entirely. She presses up on her toes and tilts her chin up so that our lips align and slide together.

  A perfect fit.

  It’s alarming how quickly I lose myself in her taste. I circle her waist with my arms and hold her tight, all without meaning to. My body reacts, driven by the need to have her. Charlie’s a lot smaller than I imagined, light enough that I can pick her up if I want to. But I don’t. I’m paralyzed by the shock of it all. Charlie’s kissing me, sighing happily against my lips. I should be over the moon, but I’m not. If anything, I feel like I’m drowning in her sweet scent, unable to make out which way is up.

  She leaves my mind spinning, the feel of her tongue teasing my lips apart sending fire through my veins. This is all I ever wanted. Charlie is all I ever wanted. But now that we’re here, locked in each other’s embrace and kissing beneath the setting sun, I feel like an absolute piece of shit. This isn’t right. In her head, I’m sure it’s romantic as hell.

  In mine, I know I don’t deserve her.

  Charlie pulls away, wearing a bashful smile. The sun paints her face gold, her blue eyes glimmering so bright it puts the ocean next to us to shame.

  “Let’s go back to the hotel,” she says. “You look hungry. Isn’t there a restaurant downstairs next to the lobby?”

  I nod. “There is.”

  She giggles and takes my hand, leading the way. “Come on. I need to get you somewhere cool. You look like your head’s about to explode.”

  I scream internally.

  You have no idea.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Charlie

  Roman and I return to the hotel suite first to change before dinner. The hotel’s restaurant, El Paradiso, is an incredibly upscale establishment, which makes sense considering where we are. I don’t have anything particularly fancy to wear, so I hope that my red dress will be acceptable. Sitting in front of the room’s vanity desk, I comb my hair and attempt to make it look half-way presentable.

  Roman’s in the shower taking a rinse. All I can hear through the closed bathroom door is the rush of water. He’s been kind of quiet ever since our kiss on the beach, and I wonder if I’ve somehow overstepped. It doesn’t quite make sense, especially considering I’m his wife. Maybe he feels uncomfortable because I don’t remember him completely.

  To him, it could very well be our thousandth and I wouldn’t know it.

  Maybe that makes him sad.

  For what it’s worth, I can’t stop thinking about it. Roman’s a fantastic kisser. When he held me close, I felt safe and secure. I didn’t want to let go. My heart pounds loudly in my ear remembering it all over again. The exhilarating rush of his tongue sweeping over my own knocked the air out of my lungs, left me hungry for more. A giddiness builds in my chest at the memory, followed immediately by the slight burn of disappointment that our kiss had to come to an end.

  I can still smell Roman’s cologne, can still feel the heat of his body on my fingers. My curiosity’s piqued. I felt hard muscle and taut skin beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Now all I can concentrate on is the image of him shirtless. My hands tingle eagerly, yearning to explore.

  But then I remember how rigid Roman became when I kissed him.

  Maybe I shouldn’t push my luck.

  The hotel suite’s phone, which is tucked into the corner of the writing desk out in the hall, starts to ring. I make my way over and pick up, holding the receiver to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Charlie, thank God!” comes a woman’s voice. It’s shrill and nasally. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours!”

  “I’m sorry. May I ask who this is?”

  “It’s me. Molly.”

  Molly Thatcher.

  Her name comes to me out of nowhere. I can suddenly see her face, her knobby knees, the short pencil skirts I’m always telling her to stop wearing because it doesn’t look very professional. I can see her crazy, curly red hair and the space between her two front teeth. Feelings of frustration rise up the back of my neck, tensing my muscles as I remember yelling at her over and over again. She’s a competent personal assistant, but I remember she makes the stupidest mistakes at the most inopportune times.

  Why did you double book my meetings, Molly?

  Is this decaf? I said I wanted decaf.

  You gave me the wrong photocopies. Just give them to me, and I’ll do it myself.

  If you write in red ink on an official document again, I’ll fire you.

  I cringe. I don’t have the full story, but by the sounds of it, I’m a pretty harsh boss. Molly’s been working as my personal assistant for almost a year and a half now. Why hasn’t she quit? I would quit if I had a boss like me.

  “Hi, Molly,” I say as evenly as I can. I’m not exactly sure how much information I want to give her. If I tell her about the accident and that I’ve lost my memories, I can only imagine the kind of havoc it will cause on the rest of my colleagues. If I really am the CEO of Bliss Media, then I don’t want to take any unnecessary action and give the company’s stockholders a fright. I’m not sure how and why I come to that conclusion, but I somehow know it’s the smartest course of action.

  “I know you said you were taking some time off for vacation,” Molly continues, talking at a mile a minute, “but I really need you to look over those acquisition documents. You told me before you left that they’re of the utmost importance in the company takeover. I’ve sent them to your inbox three times already.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve lost my phone, so I haven’t been able to check.”

  “You–” Molly cuts herself off. There’s a brief pause before she continues. “Are you feeling alright, Miss Pace?”

  My stomach does a flip. “Yes? Why?”

  “It’s just… You don’t usually apolog– You know what? Never mind. I would fax the documents to the hotel, but Mister Maloney tells me they’re confidential. Would you like me to arrange a shipment of a new phone to you?”

  “You can do that?”

  “Of course, Miss Pace. It’ll take a day or so to get it shipped, but at least you won’t be without.

  I take a deep breath and try to remain calm. I have no idea what Molly’s talking about, but judging by the panic in her tone, things are pretty serious. I want to help her, but I have no clue how. I only just remembered who she is. Figuring out the actual functions of my job might take a bit more time.

  “I’ll take care of things when I get back,” I say.

  “But Miss Pace, I–”

  “I’m sorry. I’d just really like the chance to enjoy my honeymoon.”

  “Wait, wha–”

  “Enjoy the rest of your day, Molly. I’ll be back soon; I promise.”

  “Miss Pace, please, wait–”

  I feel bad for hanging up on her, but I sincerely doubt I’ll be of much use to anyone without all of my memories intact. On one hand, I’m elated that my brain’s starting to fill in the gaps. But on the other, I’m not entirely comfortable with the image of myself. First I said harsh things about Roman and his amazing charity work? And now I realize I’ve treated Molly poorly at work?

  What kind of a person was I before the accident?


  I don’t know if I like her very much.

  The shower squeaks off and the bathroom door pulls open, a plume of steam escaping as it does. Roman steps out, already dressed in a pair of black dress pants.

  But he’s shirtless.

  Heat pools in my cheeks as I struggle to take my eyes off him. There’s a white towel draped over his strong shoulders, soaking up beads of moisture that drip from his damp hair. His chest and abs are defined. Dare I say it, glistening with water.

  “Everything alright?” he asks me.

  “Yeah, everything’s great. Really great.”

  Roman smirks. I’d be lying if I said it isn’t incredibly hot.

  I’m too flustered to come up with a witty response. “We, uh– Dinner. Downstairs. Reservations.”

  He chuckles. It’s deep and sinfully gruff. “I know, I know. Let me just throw on a shirt. I think I have a polo or something in my backpack.”

  “A backpack?” I echo, something akin to suspicion creeping up my spine. “Why’d you pack so light for our honeymoon? Why did I pack so light for our honeymoon?”

  Roman sets his jaw. “I’ve always been a poor planner,” he says smoothly. “I really thought a pair of shorts and a couple of shirts would be enough. I, uh… I wasn’t exactly planning to stay fully clothed the entirety of our honeymoon, if you know what I mean.”

  I swallow. “Oh. Oh, yeah. That makes total sense. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Come on. We’d better get going.”

  ~

  This is a land of caviar and golden champagne. The restaurant's pretty much empty, save for the old couple seated next to the window overlooking the ocean and the skeleton staff that keep hovering around our table to see if we need anything. Our waitress is a little overeager, friendly almost to the point of creepiness. She’s smiling, but there’s something inherently distressing about it.

  Roman leans in after she drops off our appetizers. “Is it just me, or does she look like she’s being kept hostage here?”

  I giggle. “I was literally thinking the same thing. Either that, or she sleeps with a coat hanger in her mouth.”