Forgotten Love: A BWWM Pregnancy Billionaire Love Story

by Cher Etan

  “Where are we gonna live after this?” Frances asked. “Will we stay here?”

  “No. I think the best place for us is probably New York. You ready for the big time?” he asked caressing her thigh lazily.

  Frances shrugged, “I suppose I can write from anywhere.” She was already a contributor for an online magazine and had gotten started on her first novel, based on her experience living on the streets.

  “Good. Then it's settled,” Allen said leaning in to kiss her. she kissed him back and the fire that consumed them every single time their lips touched took over and he was leaning her back into the mattress and climbing on top of her.

  “Frannie, my love,” he said into the flesh of her neck as he teased it with his tongue.

  “Yes,” she breathed back, arching her head backward to give him better access and spreading her legs under him so he could get inside her again. She was quite sore from the marathon sex they’d been having but it didn’t even occur to her to refuse him. He pushed slowly into her; he had to have been sore too, and then they were moving together, enjoying being so close, so in tune, so in sync with each other that it wasn’t even about the sex anymore. It was simply another way for them to be one, a single entity united in love.

  *****

  New York was a different experience for both of them. It was their first time living in such a huge city and distractions were endless. Allen’s job was extroverted, it involved meetings with people and invitations to functions and benefits. Frances was very introverted on the other hand, all she wanted to do was write and be with Allen. They were used to this rhythm though. When Frances came to live with him he was the popular high school kid, and she was the freak who kept to herself and read books. But at the time, they weren’t a couple and Allen had been able to go out and have a good time and come back to tell Frances all about it. Now, he pushed her to come with him, he wanted her with him when he went to the functions and benefits and dinners. Frances was not opposed, she wanted to be with him too; but she needed to create a space that was hers, where she was able to write. They compromised; she would accompany him to his functions on the weekends and during the week, he would leave her alone to write. It worked as a compromise until Frances’ book came out, and it did well. So well in fact, that she began to get a spot light of her own; she had even less time to devote to Allen because she had her own functions and dinners to attend. Her own galas where she was expected. It was a definite strain on the relationship to have them both pulled in different directions. Frances knew that new compromises would have to be struck, but Allen was opposed to change. He liked the old arrangement, this new one sucked ass.

  “Allen we need to talk about this like two adult people,” Frances tried once again on the one night they were both home.

  “What is there to talk about Frances, you have your shiny new life and you don’t need me anymore,” he replied.

  “That’s bullshit and you know it. Why can’t you just be reasonable for once?” she asked irritably.

  “Oh, I’m unreasonable? Really?” he yelled stalking off to get a drink.

  “Look, Allen, I don’t have time for your immature sulks right now so I’m just gonna go and get some work done,” Frances said heading toward her office.

  “Oh, I’m too much of a baby for you, am I now? Now that you don’t need me anymore is that it? Fine, I’m leaving,” Allen said slamming down his drink and snatching up his car keys.

  “You’re leaving? Where are you going Allen?” she asked changing direction to follow him. He’d had more than one drink already, he wasn’t in any condition to drive.

  He stopped to glare at her. “I have options you know. You’re not the only girl in the world,” he bit out.

  Frances stared at him. “What does that mean?” she asked in a low voice.

  “Figure it out darlin,” he snarled, opening the door and stepping out.

  “You want to leave me over some bullshit like this? Okay then, go! Leave!” Frances began pushing Allen until his legs were outside the door. Then she collapsed on the floor and cried until she had no more tears. She didn’t expect that he would try to come back. He was about as mad as she was. It wasn’t her fault; she was trying her best. She couldn’t help the fact that her book had suddenly blown up; that she was now as busy as he was. It wasn’t her fault they didn’t get to spend as much time as they used to together.

  It wasn’t.

  Frances got up, snatched the keys to her jeep and went after him.

  Chapter 4

  Ambulance sirens, police cars and a crowd of curious onlookers greeted Allen when he turned the car into their street. It looked like there had been some sort of car accident and someone or someones were hurt pretty badly. The police were directing traffic past the wreckage, looked like a white car and a green jeep had-

  Allen braked so suddenly, he hit his head on the steering wheel. Thankfully there was no car behind him but the cop was already walking toward him waving his arm to indicate he should keep driving. Allen alighted his vehicle and walked toward the wreckage, heart beating wildly.

  “Sir! Sir! I’m going to have to ask you to get back into your car and-“ the cop had reached him and was trying to push him back.

  “That’s my wife’s car,” Allen heard himself say from a great distance away. The cop abruptly stopped trying to push him.

  *****

  The other driver was in critical condition; his blood alcohol level was way above the legal limit when he fell asleep at the wheel and careened into Frances reversing out of their driveway. He’d hit the jeep on the right side, where Frances was in the driver’s seat and the only thing that had saved her from certain death was that her jeep was much higher than his sports car so he’d hit her low. Still, the damage done was quite enough and Frances lay in a coma, unmoving and unresponsive. The doctors wouldn’t let Allen sit with her; something about germs and rest; he wasn’t really in the right mind to understand what they were saying. He paced the corridor anxiously, waiting for word on what was happening.

  “You should go home Mr. St. James, if anything changes, we’ll call you,” the nurse said kindly to him. He just glared at her and continued to pace. She sighed deeply and walked away, leaving him to his agitation. He realized there was no-one he could call; no-one to lean on. It was just the two of them. And now Frances was lying in a coma.

  *****

  It was five days and six nights before her eyes fluttered open and she looked around in puzzlement as if wondering where she was. Allen stood up and came to her side, they’d allowed him in the room on the condition that he wore the scrubs and the mask and he’d complied without demur. So all that was visible to her were his piercing gray eyes.

  “You’re awake,” he mumbled through the cloth covering his mouth. The relief in his words was palpable though.

  “I’m awake,” she repeated in a hoarse voice. “Water?”

  He turned quickly to the side table, pouring her a glass from the jug that sat there. He refilled it every three hours on this very off chance, that she would wake up wanting water. He’d seen it in many movies. He picked up a bendy straw and inserted it in the glass and held it to her lips so she could drink. She took a long pull and swallowed; the latter action seemed to be painful for her, and then took another sip.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “No problem. I should get the doctor,” he said happily. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  “I won’t,” she said as he bounced out of the room.

  The doctors and nurses came hurrying in with Allen at the rear, they took her vital signs and tested her reflexes, looked in her eyes and asked her how she was feeling.

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  “Do you remember what happened?” they asked her.

  She stared from one to the other, looking for some clue and then down at herself. “I guess…I was in some sort of…accident?”

  The doctor frowned coming forward to shine a light into her eyes again, �
��What’s your name?”

  “Frances Hilton,” she replied at once.

  “Good,” the doctor said with a smile. “And what year is this Frances?”

  Frances stared at him and then at all the other people in the room, lastly her eyes fell on Allen. “Umm, not 2005?” she said.

  The excitement in the room dampened considerably.

  The doctor’s smile disappeared, “What is the last thing you remember Frances?”

  Frances hesitated; she really didn’t want to say. But everyone was looking at her expectantly.

  “I…” she began and then stopped.

  “Don’t be scared Frances, just tell us the truth,” he said.

  Frances looked down. “I work for a bookie named Karl; he sent me to collect from a client but the guy attacked me and tried to…” Frances swallowed hard. “I escaped,” she finished.

  “That must have been before we met,” Allen said.

  Frances looked up at him. “Who are you?” she asked. All the color drained from Allen’s face.

  *****

  The doctors said it would pass; that retrograde amnesia was fairly common with the injuries she’d suffered. There was nothing to worry about; she would remember. Allen was not so sure; somehow it felt like rejection to him. Why would her amnesia only cover the period where they’d known each other? When he went to see her, she looked at him warily like he was some dangerous stranger. She had asked for her baseball bat the last time he’d been but that weapon had been discarded long ago. He’d given her his pocket knife instead and she’d looked at it in surprise and suspicion before fixing him with a wondering glance. Then she’d slipped it under her pillow with quiet thanks. He hated it. He wanted to scream and rail at her but he couldn’t because she was ill. She couldn’t help herself. Allen told himself so every day; he still couldn’t help feeling like it was some sick revenge for the last thing he’d said to her before he left the apartment that day. He would take it back if he could, she had to know that. But he couldn’t even discuss it with her since she didn’t remember shit. Allen wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

  “Where do I live?” she asked him when he went to visit the next day.

  “With me!” he cried. “You live with me.”

  “Oh,” she said seemingly surprised. “So we’re…”

  “Together. Yeah,” he finished for her.

  “Oh,” she said again looking down. Her delicate honey complexion was glowing with embarrassment, “I’m sorry I don’t remember you.”

  “Yeah I got that,” Allen couldn’t quite keep the resentment out of his tone.

  There was a small silence.

  “The doctors said I could go home tomorrow, that’s why I asked,” she said softly.

  “Uh huh? They didn’t tell me,” Allen said.

  “Well…that’s what they said.”

  “That’s good then. Do you need anything in particular; a wheelchair or whatever?” he asked.

  Frances smiled wryly. “My head is broken, not my body,” she said reminding Allen so poignantly of his Frances that he almost burst into tears.

  “What?” she asked curiously on seeing his expression.

  Allen shook his head, “Nothing. I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

  “Yeah,” Frances replied non-committally. “About that…you do know we won’t be er…” she asked uncomfortably.

  “No, yeah, I got that with the whole ‘you don’t remember me’ thing,” he said, sounding a tad bitter.

  “I’m sorry,” she said sounding irritable herself.

  Allen shook his head. “It's not your fault. I’ll…be going. Gotta tidy up and what not,” he said with a sheepish smile. Frances nodded wondering what he was really going to do. Maybe he’d had some other woman stashed in their house that he had to go get rid of.

  *****

  Allen went running in Central Park. He needed to clear his head and decide what was the best way forward. For one thing, they had not been doing well before her accident, and now she couldn’t even remember him. Was it some kind of sign that they should call it quits? And what if Frances wasn’t interested in being with him anymore? Like…ever? It wasn’t like they had much in common beyond their shared history. He was all about people and she lived inside her head. She was all book smart and long talks about abstract concepts while he was all about sports and music and parties. It didn’t bode well for their future together if she didn’t remember why they even got together in the first place. It was a cluster fuck any way he looked at it and he didn’t know if he wanted to stick around for the blow back. Still, she had nowhere else to go for now, and nobody else to turn to; so he guessed he would just have to do.

  *****

  She was impressed by the size of their house. She knew he was rich because she had a private room in the hospital and the staff treated her special. She knew it wasn’t her because there was no way she’d gone from Karl’s collector to a multimillionaire in such a short time. She’d looked at herself in the mirror and she didn’t look any older than 25. She didn’t ask what the date was though, or the year. It was too much to think about, missing all those years of her life. It was like waking up after being roofied in a strange bed, with no idea if you were there voluntarily or without consent. Of course if someone had roofied her, it was unlikely that she was there voluntarily. But no one had roofied her; she’d been in an accident, hit her head, and lost her memory. Clearly, that Allen guy cared enough for her to hang out at the hospital while she was out cold, and he’d been to see her every day since. There was just something about him…she didn’t know what but she guessed he was mad at her for some reason. Or mad at something. Or maybe that was just his character. How would she know?

  “It's nice here,” she said.

  “Yeah, well you decorated most of it so it makes sense that you would like it.”

  “I did? Wow, I have good taste,” she said looking around.

  Allen laughed. “I guess you do. So about bedrooms…we have three plus the master. Do you want to keep it or you wanna move out?” he asked.

  “I want to do what’s the least disruptive thing,” she said looking at him.

  “The least disruptive thing would be to maintain the status quo but that’s off the table so…” Allen said.

  Frances sighed. She wanted to tell him he was being an immature asshole but she didn’t know him well enough to say such a thing; or rather, apparently she did but she didn’t remember. She wondered how they’d gotten together. He was clearly very Will Smith while she was more Tupac Shakur. What the hell did they even have in common?

  “Okay then, I’ll move to one of the guest rooms for now. How about that?” she proposed.

  Allen shrugged but said nothing, just looked at her from beneath his eyelashes and walked down the hall to what she assumed was the master. She followed him, looking around their room. The bed was neatly made, with an off white duvet; a gray sheet peeking out from under it. The pillows were gaily patterned with red roses on a white background. The whole thing was very cozy and she could imagine burrowing in there with a guy on cold nights, just enjoying being warm. She could remember clearly all the cold winter nights she’d shivered through in her bunker. Clearly those days were far behind her but in her current state, they were pretty immediate.

  “This is a pretty room,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he agreed.

  “Lemme guess, I decorated it too?” she asked.

  Allen smiled, “We both did.”

  Frances took a deep breath, “I have a proposal,” she said.

  “Uh huh?” Allen seemed very aloof.

  “I was thinking about what the doctor said about doing things that might be familiar to jog my memory. So maybe I ought to stay in here…with you,” she said, unable to stop the color from suffusing her cheeks.

  Allen’s face brightened, “I’m okay with that.”

  “But no sex or nothin,” Frances hastened to add.

  Allen put his han
ds up to show how harmless he was, “Of course, yeah.”

  Frances breathed in deeply, “Great. That’s good. So what’s next on the agenda? I’m kinda hungry.”

  Allen laughed, “Yeah okay, this way to the kitchen. I think I can rustle up some sandwiches before dinner.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Why don’t you…relax, maybe look around and get your bearings while I get that sandwich?” he suggested.

  “Good idea,” Frances agreed, taking a step toward the bed. She wanted to see if it was as soft as it looked. Knowing her, if she’d had a chance, she’d have chosen the softest bed in existence. She sat down on it, all her expectations coming to fruition as it enveloped her in luxurious softness.

  “Aaahh,” she sighed in contentment, flopping back on the bed and spreading her arms out. The bed was huge, even if she slept with Allen, there was enough space that they didn’t have to even touch each other if they didn’t want to. Frances closed her eyes, luxuriating in comfort.

  “You fell asleep,” a voice startled her awake. She sat up quickly, scrambling around for her baseball bat before she remembered where she was.

  “It's okay, you’re fine,” Allen said standing in the doorway holding a plate. Frances just stared at him, trying to shake the instinctive panic that still curled her fingers around a non-existent weapon. He walked toward her, holding the plate of sandwiches out like an offering.

  “Here’s your food,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she whispered hoarsely and moved from the bed to the chair to eat her sandwich. She didn’t want to get crumbs on the perfect bed. She ate in silence while Allen sat on the bed and watched her. It was awkward but she couldn’t think of anything to say and apparently he couldn’t be bothered. She finished her meal and then looked up at him and smiled.

  “So,” she said. “Tell me about me.”

  Allen smiled. “Aren’t you supposed to wait for your memory to return naturally?”

  Frances shrugged. “Maybe, but I’d like to hear the highlights anyway. Especially the dirty laundry. For example, why are we together?”