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Carides's Forgotten Wife
Maisey Yates
Once forbidden, now for bedding!Greek billionaire Leon Carides has it all: wealth, power, notoriety, even a wife – though he’s never touched his convenient, innocent, bride. Then an accident rids this damaged, debauched playboy of his memories…Leon remembers nothing, except his wife’s sparkling blue eyes. Now, the desire he feels for Rose overrides the gaps in his past, making her impossible to resist! But when his sins catch up with him, can Rose forgive the mistakes of the man he once was? Or will Leon lose more than just his memory?


He’s awake.
A rush of relief ran through her that she didn’t want to analyse.
Leon’s eyes opened, and he began to look around the room. “You aren’t a nurse?”
“No,” she said, her heart thundering hard. “I’m Rose.”
He was probably still disoriented. After all, this was Italy, and she was supposed to be at home in Connecticut. She was probably the last person he expected to see.
“Rose?”
“Yes,” she said, starting to feel a little more alarmed.
“I flew to Italy because of your accident.”
“We are in Italy?” He only sounded more confused.
“Yes,” she said. “Where did you think we were?”
He frowned, his dark eyebrows locking together.
“I don’t know.”
“You were in Italy. Seeing to some business.” And probably pleasure, knowing him, but she wasn’t going to add that. “You were leaving a party and a car drifted into your lane and hit you head-on.”
“That is what I feel like,” he said, his voice rough.
“As though I were hit head-on. Though I feel more like I was hit directly by the car. With nothing to buffer it.”
“With how fast you drive, I imagine you might as well have been.”
He frowned. “We know each other?”
She frowned. “Of course we do. I’m your wife.”
MAISEY YATES is a USA TODAY bestselling author of more than thirty romance novels. She has a coffee habit she has no interest in kicking, and a slight Pinterest addiction. She lives with her husband and children in the Pacific Northwest. When Maisey isn’t writing she can be found singing in the grocery store, shopping for shoes online and probably not doing dishes. Check out her website: maiseyyates.com (http://maiseyyates.com).

Carides’s Forgotten Wife
Maisey Yates


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Megan Crane/Caitlin Crews.
For all the times we've sat around talking about how wonderful it is to write these stories, and everything else.
You make my writing and my life more sparkly.
Contents
COVER (#ud8a2518d-5b2d-5802-80ca-f716c19bb1ef)
INTRODUCTION (#uc40e7868-f306-582c-8241-40f0db33770e)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u6958195f-4bb9-51d2-8d4b-00d956aeb76b)
TITLE PAGE (#u1afee8b3-e65d-589c-ba4c-af39038178cc)
DEDICATION (#u64e5c1e8-068b-5301-bc50-ebc9c2bffffd)
PROLOGUE (#uabfc8b03-b641-5921-99b2-bed0c0e4a887)
CHAPTER ONE (#uf6c21170-e96a-5947-a524-ea6b96048bbc)
CHAPTER TWO (#udef11c3e-5b61-5000-9ff7-737f773bc808)
CHAPTER THREE (#u0d6b0cd9-9f70-5b0a-b6bb-fd4e823c2978)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u29a56ce0-fb01-52f7-b9d7-fedc523004d3)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)
COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#ulink_00bef7a4-786b-5643-817d-30189179e4e7)
ANOTHER BORING PARTY in a long succession of boring parties. That was Leon’s predominant thought as he pulled away from the ostentatious hotel and out onto the narrow Italian streets.
The highlight of his evening had been the most disappointing portion, as well. Being rebuffed by Rocco Amari’s fiancée. She had been beautiful. Exotic. With her long dark hair and honey-colored skin. Yes, she would have made a wonderful companion for his bed tonight. Sadly, she seemed to be very committed to Rocco. And he to her.
To each his own, he supposed. Frankly, Leon did not see the appeal in monogamy.
Life was a glorious buffet of debauchery. Why on earth would he seek to limit that?
Though he had walked away empty-handed, he had thoroughly enjoyed enraging his business rival. He could not deny that.
The other man was possessive in a way that Leon could see no point in being. But then, he had never had feelings so intense for a woman.
He turned onto a road that began to lead out of the city, heading toward the villa he was staying in during his time in Italy. It was a nice place. Rustic, well-appointed. He preferred places like that to a penthouse in the middle of a busy business district. A fact that was, perhaps, at odds with other aspects of his personality. But then, being a contradiction had never bothered him.
He owned several estates worldwide, though none were as important to him as his estate in Connecticut.
The thought of that house, of that place, turned his thoughts to his wife.
He would rather not think of Rose just now.
For some reason when he thought of her after just attempting to bring another woman into his bed, he felt a tug of unaccustomed guilt. For the past two years, Rose had often made him feel guilty.
There was no real reason, of course. They were married, it was true, but in name only. He allowed her to do as she liked, and he carried on as he liked.
Still, it was easy to picture those wide, luminous blue eyes and feel...
His focus snapped back to the road, to a pair of headlights heading in his direction.
There was no time to correct. No time to react at all. There was nothing but the impact.
And a clear image of Rose’s blue eyes.
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_8e2f1ffb-6e44-5cb6-9b20-faefa7729582)
“HE IS STABLE for the moment,” Dr. Castellano said.
Rose looked down at her husband, lying in his hospital bed, broken, bandages wrapped around his upper arm, down over his shoulder and across his chest. His lip was swollen, a cut looking angry and painful at the center, a dark bruise bleeding color on his cheekbone.
He looked... Well, he looked not at all like Leon Carides. Leon Carides was larger-than-life, a man so full of power and charisma he was undeniable. A man who commanded respect with his every movement, his every breath. A man who stopped women in their tracks and demanded their full attention and admiration.
A man she had been on the verge of divorcing. But you could hardly hand a man divorce papers while he was lying in bed with severe injuries.
“It’s a miracle he survived,” the doctor continued.
“Yes,” she said, her voice hollow. As hollow as the rest of her. “A miracle.”
Some small part of her—one that she immediately set out to squash—thought it would have been much more convenient for him to have died there on the side of the road. Then she wouldn’t have to face any of this. Wouldn’t have to deal with the state of their union. Or rather, the lack of union.
But she banished it. Quickly. She couldn’t stand being married to him anymore, but that didn’t mean she wanted him dead.
She swallowed hard. “Well, thank heaven for miracles. Large and small.”
“Yes.”
“Has he been awake at all?”
“No,” the doctor said, his voice heavy. “He has not been conscious since we brought him in. The impact was intense, and his head injury is...serious. He shows brain activity, so we do have some hope. But you know, the longer someone stays unconscious...”
“Of course.”
It had taken her about twenty hours to get to Italy from Connecticut, and Leon had been unconscious for all that time. But there were all kinds of stories of people waking up miraculously after years. Surely he still had hope after a mere few hours.
“If you have any other questions, don’t hesitate to get in touch. A nurse will be by in the next fifteen minutes. But if you have need of anything, just text this number.” The doctor handed her a card with a phone number on it. She imagined this was what it was like to get special treatment at the hospital. Of course Leon would get special treatment. He was a billionaire, one of the most successful businessmen in the world. Wealthy, and powerful. Which meant that these sorts of things—as difficult as they were—would always be easier for people like him.
She held the card close to her chest. “Thank you.”
The doctor left, closing the door behind him. Leaving her standing there in the room with nothing but the sounds of machines surrounding her.
Panic started to rise in her chest as she continued to look at Leon’s still form. He wasn’t supposed to look like this. He wasn’t supposed to be breakable.
Leon Carides had always been more of a god to her than a man. The sort of man she had built up into fantasy as a young girl. He was ten years older than her. And he had been her father’s most trusted and prized protégé from the time Rose was eight years old. She could hardly remember a period of time when Leon hadn’t been involved in her life.
Carefree. Easy with a smile. Always so kind. He had seen her. Truly. And had made her feel like she mattered.
Of course, all that changed when they got married.
But she wasn’t going to think about their wedding now.
She didn’t want to think about anything. She wanted to close her eyes and be back in the rose garden at her family estate. Wanted to be surrounded by the soft, fragrant summer breeze, held in it as though it was a pair of arms, protecting her from all of this. But that was just a daydream. Everything here was too stark, too white, too antiseptic to be a dream.
It was crushingly real, an assault on her senses.
She wondered if there had been anyone else in the car with him. If there were, they hadn’t said. She also wondered if he had been drinking. Again, no one had said.
Another perk of wealth. People wanted to protect you so they might benefit later. But the why didn’t matter, as long as the protection happened.
Leon groaned and her focus was wrenched back to the hospital bed. He shifted, moving his hand, and the lines to the IV and the cord link to the pulse monitor on his finger tugged hard.
“Be careful,” she said, keeping her voice soft. “You’re plugged into...” She looked around at all the equipment, all the bags of saline and antibiotics and whatever else was being pumped into his veins. “Well, you’re plugged into everything. Don’t...unplug anything.”
She didn’t know if he heard her. Didn’t know if he understood. But then, he shifted, groaning again.
“Are you in pain?”
“I am pain,” he said, his voice rough, tortured.
Relief flooded her, washing over her in a wave that left her dizzy. She hadn’t realized just how affected she was until this moment. Just how terrified she was.
Just how much she cared.
This feeling was so at odds with that small, cold moment where she had wished he could go away completely.
Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the two were more tightly connected than it first appeared.
Because as long as he was here, she would always feel too much. And if he were gone, at least the loss of him wouldn’t be a choice she had to make.
“You probably need more pain medication.”
Though looking at him, at the purple bruises marring his typically handsome features, she doubted that there was pain medication strong enough to make it all go away.
“Then get me some,” he said, his voice hard.
Issuing commands already, which was very much in his character. Leon was never at a loss. Even when her father had died and she’d been lost in a haze of grief, he had stepped forward and taken care of everything.
He hadn’t comforted her the way a husband should comfort a wife. He had never been a husband to her at all, not in the truest sense. But he’d still made sure she was taken care of. Had ensured that the funeral, the legalities of the will and everything else were executed to perfection.
It was why, in spite of everything, it had seemed right to stay for the past two years. And it was also why, though it meant losing everything, she’d decided she had to leave him, no matter the cost.
But leaving him now...that didn’t seem right. He hadn’t been a true husband, but he hadn’t abandoned her when she’d needed him, either. How could she do any less?
“I will have to call a nurse.” She picked her phone up and sent off a brief text to the doctor: He’s awake.
Just typing the words sent a rush of relief through her that she didn’t want to analyze.
His eyes opened, and he began to look around the room. “You aren’t a nurse?”
“No,” she said, her heart thundering hard. “I’m Rose.”
He was probably still disoriented. After all, this was Italy, and she was supposed to be at home in Connecticut. She was probably the last person he expected to see.
“Rose?”
“Yes,” she said, starting to feel a little bit more alarmed. “I flew to Italy because of your accident.”
“We are in Italy?” He only sounded more confused.
“Yes,” she said. “Where did you think you were?”
He frowned, his dark eyebrows locking together. “I don’t know.”
“You were in Italy. Seeing to some business.” And probably pleasure, knowing him, but she wasn’t going to add that. “You were leaving a party and a car drifted into your lane and hit you head-on.”
“That is what I feel like,” he said, his voice rough. “As though I were hit head-on. Though I feel more like I was hit directly by the car. With nothing to buffer it.”
“With how fast you drive I imagine you might as well have been.”
He frowned. “We know each other.”
She frowned. “Of course we do. I’m your wife.”
* * *
I’m your wife.
Those words echoed in his head, but he couldn’t make any sense of them. He didn’t remember having a wife. But then, he didn’t remember being in Italy. He wasn’t entirely certain he remembered...anything. His name. Who he was. What he was. He couldn’t remember any of it.
“You are my wife,” he said, waiting for the feeling of blackness, the open space around this moment that seemed to take up his entire consciousness.
There was nothing. There was only her standing before him. This hospital room, this bright spot of the present, with nothing before or after it.
If he kept her talking, perhaps she could fill the rest in. Perhaps he could flood those dark places with light.
“Yes,” she said. “We got married two years ago.”
“Did we?” He tried to force the image of a wedding into his mind. He did know what a wedding looked like. Curious that he knew that and not his own name. But he did. And still, he could not imagine this woman in a wedding gown. She had light-colored hair—some might call it mousy—hanging limp around her shoulders. Her figure was slight, her eyes too blue, too wide for her face.
Blue eyes.
A flash of an image hit him hard. Too bright. Too clear. Her eyes. He had been thinking about her eyes just before... But that was all he could remember.
“Yes,” he said, “you are my wife.” He thought he would test out the words. He knew they were true. He couldn’t remember, but he still knew they were true.
“Oh, good. You were starting to scare me,” she said, her voice shaking.
“I’m lying here broken. And I’m only just now starting to scare you?” he asked.
“Well, the part where you weren’t remembering me was a little bit extra scary.”
“You are my wife,” he repeated. “And I am...”
The silence filled every empty place in the room. Heavy and accusing.
“You don’t remember,” she said, horror dawning in her voice. “You don’t remember me. You don’t remember you.”
He closed his eyes, pain bursting behind his legs as he shook his head. “I must. Because the alternative is crazy.”
“Is it?”
“I think it is.” He opened his eyes and looked at her again. “I remember you,” he said. “I remember your eyes.”
Something in her expression changed. Softened. Her pale pink lips parted, and a bit of color returned to her cheeks. Right now she almost looked pretty. He supposed his initial impression of her wasn’t terribly fair. Since he was lying in a hospital bed and since she had probably been given the shock of her life when she had been told her husband had been in a very serious car accident.
She had said she’d flown to Italy. He didn’t know from where. But she had traveled to see him. It was no wonder she looked pale, and drawn. And a bit plain.
“You remember my eyes?” she asked.
“It’s the only thing,” he said. “That makes sense, doesn’t it?” Because she was his wife. Why couldn’t he remember his wife?
“I had better get the doctor.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t remember anything. How can you be fine?”
“I’m not going to die,” he said.
“Ten minutes ago the doctor was in here telling me you might never wake up. So forgive me if I feel a little bit cautious.”
“I’m awake. I can only assume the memories will follow.”
She nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said. “You would think.”
A heavy knock on the door punctuated the silence.
* * *
Rose walked quickly out of her husband’s hospital room, her head spinning.
He didn’t remember anything. Leon didn’t remember anything.
Dr. Castellano stood in the hallway looking at her, his expression grim. “How is he, Mrs. Carides?”
“Ms. Tanner,” she corrected. More out of habit than anything else. “I never took my husband’s name.”
She’d never taken him to her bed—why would she take his last name?
“Ms. Tanner,” he repeated. “Tell me what seems to be going on.”
“He doesn’t remember.” She was starting to shake now, all of the shock, all of the terror catching up with her. “He doesn’t remember me. He doesn’t remember himself.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. And I didn’t know... I didn’t know what to tell him. I didn’t know if it was like waking a sleepwalker, or if I should tell him.”
“Well, we will need to tell him who he is. But I’m going to need to consult a specialist. A psychologist. I don’t often deal with cases of amnesia.”
“This is not a soap opera. My husband doesn’t have amnesia.”
“He sustained very serious head trauma. It is not so far-fetched.”
“Yes it is,” she said, feeling desperate. “It is extremely far-fetched.”
“I know you’re worried, but take heart. He is stable. He is awake. Very likely his memories will return. And soon, I would think.”
“Do you have statistical evidence to support that?”
“As I said... I do not often deal in cases of amnesia. Very often a person will lose a portion of their memories following a traumatic head injury. Usually just sections. It’s uncommon to lose everything, but not impossible.”
“He’s lost everything,” she said.
“He’s likely to regain it.”
“These other people. These people who have lost portions of their memory that you’ve treated. How often do they regain them?”
“Sometimes they don’t,” he said, a heavy admission that seemed pulled from him.
“He may never remember,” she said, feeling dazed. Feeling her life, her future, slipping out of her hands. “Anything.”
“I would not focus on that possibility.” Dr. Castellano took a breath. “We will monitor him here for as long as we can. I would imagine that he will do much better recovering at home, monitored by local physicians.”
She nodded. That was one thing she and Leon had in common. His business often kept him abroad, which for her nerves was for the best. But they both loved the Tanner House in Connecticut. It was her favorite thing she had left of her family. The old, almost palatial home, the sprawling green lawns and a private rose garden that her mother had planted in honor of her only child. It was her refuge.
She had always had the feeling it was the same for Leon.
Though they tended to keep to their own wings of the house. At the very least, he never brought women there. He had allowed her to keep it as her own. Had made it a kind of sanctuary for them both.
It was also a condition of their marriage. When her father had hastily commanded the union when his illness took a turn for the worse, the house and his company had been a pivotal point. If—before five years was up—he divorced her, he lost the company and the house. If she left him before the five-year term finished, she lost the house and everything in it that wasn’t her personal possession.
Which meant losing her retreat. And the work she’d been doing archiving the Tanner family history, which stretched all the way back to the Mayflower.
So only everything, really.
And she’d been ready to do it, willing to do it because she had to stop waiting for Leon to decide he wanted to be her husband in every possible way.
Except now here they were.
“Yes,” she said, feeling determined in this at least. “He will want to be moved to Connecticut as quickly as possible.”
“Then as soon as it is safe to move him, we will do so. I imagine he has private physicians that can care for his needs.”
She thought of the doctors and nurses that had cared for her father toward the end of his life. “I have a great many wonderful contacts. I only regret that I have yet more work to give them.”
“Of course. But so long as he is stable we should be able to move him to Connecticut soon.”
She looked back toward the room, her heart pounding. “Okay. We will do that as quickly as possible.”
Going back to Connecticut with Leon was not asking Leon for a divorce. It was not moving toward having separate lives. It was not finally ridding herself of the man who had haunted and obsessed her for most of her life.
But he needed her.
Why does that matter so much?
The image came, as it always did, of herself sitting in the rose garden on the grounds of her family home. She was wearing a frothy, ridiculous gown, tears streaming down her face. Her prom date had stood her up. Probably because going with her in the first place was only a joke.
She looked up, and Leon was there. He was wearing a suit, very likely because he had been planning on going out that night after meeting with her father. She swallowed hard, looking up to his handsome face. Dying a little bit inside when she realized he was witnessing her lowest moment.
“What’s wrong, agape?”
“Nothing. Just... My prom plans didn’t exactly work out.”
He reached down, taking her hand in his, and lifted her off the ground.
She couldn’t remember Leon touching her before. His hand was so warm, his touch so intense it sent a shock of electricity through her.
“If someone has hurt you, give me his name, and I will ensure he is unrecognizable when I’m through with him.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t need you or my father coming to my defense. I think that would only be worse.”
He curled his fingers around her hand. “Would it?”
Her heart was pounding so hard now she could hardly hear anything over it. “Yes.”
“Then if you will not let me do physical harm to the one who has hurt you, perhaps you will allow me to dance with you.”
She was powerless to do anything but nod. He pulled her against his body, sweeping her into an easy dance step. She had never been very good at it. One of the many things she had never quite mastered. But he didn’t seem to mind. And in his arms she didn’t feel clumsy. In his arms, she felt like she could fly.
“It is not you, Rose.”
“What isn’t?” she asked, her words harsh, strangled.
“It’s this age. It is difficult. But people like you, people who are too soft, too rare for this sort of assimilation required in order to fit in at high school, will go on to excel. You will go much further than they ever will. This is only temporary. You will spend the rest of your life living brighter. Living more beautifully than they could possibly imagine.”
His words had meant so much to her. Words she had held close to her chest. Words she had clung to when she had walked down the aisle toward him, thinking that perhaps this was what he had meant. That this would be the bright, beautiful living he had promised two years earlier.
Their marriage had been anything but bright. Far from soaring, she’d spent the past two years feeling as though her wings had been clipped. She had a difficult time reconciling the man he’d been then with the man she had married.
Still, that memory was so large, so beautiful in her mind, even with everything that had passed between them since, that she could not deny he deserved her help.
And once he was better, once he was nursed fully back to health, then she would take steps to moving on with her life.
“Just tell me what I need to do,” she said.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_6f166ec2-1790-5930-9608-aa7670ecf371)
HE STILL COULDN’T remember his name when he was wheeled out of the hospital in a wheelchair and physically moved into a van designed to accommodate his limitations. But he did know that all of this ate at his pride. He did not like to need the assistance of others. He did not like to be at a disadvantage. And yet here he was, completely dependent, his pride in shreds.
Strange how he had no memories and yet he still knew these things. Bone-deep.
He knew his name. He knew his name because it had been spoken around him, over his head, as his wife and various medical professionals made decisions for him. But that was different than knowing his name. Than recognizing it. He was unable to remember who he was, but he wasn’t stupid. Still, that seemed to constitute a compromise that he could not be trusted to make his own decisions.
The drive to the airport was long, and painful, every dip in the road aggravating some injury or another. He was lucky to have less broken than he did. But he was still far too sore to walk on his own. He had a couple of broken ribs, but other than that it was mainly deep contusions. So he had been told. He knew his extensive list of injuries. Had done his very best to memorize them, just so there was something in his brain he knew. Something he knew about himself.
But it was a rather depressing list of facts, he had to admit.
Still, they were the only facts he had.
According to his doctor, there were basics that he would be told. But there were some things that were best allowed to return organically.
He hated that, too. Hated that he wasn’t just dependent on others for physical care. But that he was dependent on them for knowledge.
Every single person in the exam room earlier today knew more about him than he did. His wife knew whole volumes more than he did, undoubtedly.
He looked at her profile, her stoic expression as she looked out the window, watching the scenery go by.
“I know you very well,” he said. He hoped that by saying it it would make it so.
He must. He must know what she looked like beneath her clothes. He had touched her. Kissed her. Countless times, he would imagine. Because they were young—reasonably so—and in love, he presumed.
“I’m not entirely certain of that,” she said.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She blinked, looking startled. “Of course you do.”
The startled expression, he realized, was her correcting herself. Realizing she had done something wrong.
“Now you are being dishonest with me,” he said.
“I’m not. I’m just doing my best to follow the doctor’s orders. I’m not sure what I’m allowed to say and what I’m not allowed to say.”
“I don’t know that it’s detrimental either way.”
“I don’t want to put memories into your head that aren’t there.”
“Nothing is there at the moment. I’m a blank slate. I imagine I could very easily become victimized by you.”
Color flooded her cheeks. Angry color, he guessed. “I’m not going to do anything to you.” She turned away from him, her gaze fixed out the window again.
“So you say. But I am at your mercy.”
“Oh, and I am so very terrifying.”
“You could be. For all I know, this could be an elaborate ruse. I appear to be a very rich man.”
“How would you know?”
“I had a very nice private room, and an awful lot of attention from doctors.”
“Perhaps it is because you are a special case,” she said, her voice so brittle it reminded him of crystal.
“Oh, I have no doubt of that. There are certain things that I seem to know. That I feel, down deep in my bones. Other things you have told me, such as my name, I simply have to believe. But my importance, the fact that I am a special case, that I know.”
“Amazing,” she said, her tone arch. “Apparently nothing can beat your ego out of you, Leon. That is an amazing feat, I will bow to that.”
“So I am an egotist in addition to being special? I must be very charming to live with.”
She blinked slowly. “You often travel for work. I typically remain in Connecticut. I suppose we find we get on best that way.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Nothing unremarkable about that. I doubt very many people are suited to cohabitation.”
“Another thing you’re very confident about?”
“Yes. I am confident.” He knew that. He felt that. He turned his focus to his wife. “This has been very trying for you,” he said, trying his best to eliminate some of the waxen quality in her face. He did not like seeing her like this. Which was strange, considering he couldn’t remember what she was like on a daily basis. Still, he knew he did not like her being in distress.
“Nobody wants to hear that their husband may never regain his memory.”
“I can imagine. No man wants to hear he may never regain his memory.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry. This has nothing to do with how difficult it is for me. You’re the one who’s injured.”
“That isn’t true at all. Of course it matters if this is difficult for you. We are one flesh, are we not, agape?” He leaned in slightly, her light floral scent teasing his nose and stimulating...nothing. At least nothing in terms of memory. He was a man, after all, so it did stir something in his gut, low and deep. She was enticing, if not traditionally beautiful. “And if we are one flesh,” he continued, “then what affects me also affects you.”
She shifted, delicate color blooming in her cheeks. “I suppose that is true.”
They were silent the rest of the ride to the airport, silent until he was wheeled onto a plane. A private plane. He had no memory of this, either, so he imagined not remembering her scent wasn’t any more remarkable.
Once they were settled in the opulent surroundings, he leaned back in his chair. “This is mine?”
Rose nodded. “At least I hope so. I would hate to abscond with the wrong private plane.”
“Then we really would make headlines.”
“And of course we don’t want that,” she said, her tone firm.
“Do we not? I would like a Scotch.”
“Certainly not,” she said, frowning. “You’ve had enough pain pills to knock out a large mammal.”
“I am a large mammal. And I am not unconscious.”
“A larger one. Adding alcohol to the mix is a bad idea.” She sat down in the chair across from him. “We do not want it getting out in the press that you are having issues with your memory. I have called a couple of media outlets and let them know you are recovering nicely from what was a traumatic injury. But that you will be back to normal in no time.”
“Efficient of you. Do you work in my company with me?”
She shook her head. “No. But I spent many years helping my father with various details. Particularly after my mother passed away. So I’m well familiar.”
“Am I involved in the same business as your father was?”
Her expression became guarded. “I don’t think we should talk about business. In fact, I know we shouldn’t. That is something I discussed with your doctor.”
“How very nice of you to leave me out of it.”
“It’s for your health and well-being,” she said, her words stiff.
“As though I am a child and not a grown man.”
“You may well know less than a child does, Leon.”
“I know a great many things,” he countered. “I do not need to be sheltered.”
“You’re also not in any condition to go to work. Which means you don’t need to be troubled with the details of business.”
“As I said earlier, I am at your mercy.” His head was pounding, and he really could kill someone for a Scotch. He could not be entirely certain, but he felt as though he did not often go this long without having a drink. He found the experience unsettling. Or perhaps, he was simply unsettled because his entire mind was a vacant field, with nothing stretching as far as he could see.
“I don’t intend to let you atrophy on me now, Leon. We have a bit too much of a history for that.” Of course they did. They were married after all. “You should sleep. When you wake up we’ll be in Connecticut. And it’s entirely possible everything will seem a bit clearer.”
* * *
When the town car pulled up to the Tanner house Leon expected...something. A rush of familiarity, a feeling that he might latch on to. Rose had said this place was very important to him. In fact, she had acted as though his being here would be key to his recovery, and he realized as they advanced on the large, palatial home that he had been expecting something of a miracle when it came into view.
There was no such miracle.
It was a beautiful home, comprised of brick, with ivy climbing up the sides, making it appear as though the earth was attempting to reclaim the space for its own. There were no other houses out here. There was nothing but a large building off to the side he assumed was quarters for the staff, or at least had been at one time. Otherwise, there were large sprawling lawns in a vibrant green, backed by thick dark woods that gave the impression this house was in another time and space entirely from the rest of the world.
It was a beautiful home. But none of the magic he had been hoping for was present.
“This is it,” Rose said, her tone small, as though she had already sensed his disappointment.
How was it that she could know him so well, even as he now didn’t know himself? It was as though she could see inside of him, see into things that he could not. She had done so on the flight, and then again once they had landed. Of course, none of it seemed to matter, as her sixth sense mostly involved realizing that he was craving alcohol, and then denying him the satisfaction.
“Yes,” he said. “So it is.”
“You don’t remember it.” She sounded crestfallen.
“No,” he said, surveying the bricks and mortar yet again. Waiting for a feeling of homecoming to overtake him. Waiting for anything beyond this fuzzy, blank confusion.
“You have been coming here often for as long as I can remember,” Rose said. “Ever since you first started working with my father. When you became his protégé.”
“Is that how we met?”
She nodded wordlessly, the gesture slightly stilted. “You would always sit with him in his study, but I can’t enlighten you as to the content of those meetings. I was not included. Which stands to reason since I was a child.”
He wondered then how old she was. If she was much younger than him. She did seem young. But then, he had very little reference point for that since he wasn’t entirely certain how old he was.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“I don’t think that’s relevant. Anyway, it isn’t polite to ask a lady her age. Is that something you’ve forgotten?”
“No. Survival skills made sure that was instilled deep inside of me still. However, it seems relevant. If I was here having business meetings and you were a child then clearly there is an age gap between us.”
“Something of one,” she said, her tone airy, distant. “But it isn’t important. Why don’t we go inside and I can show you to your room.”
Her words didn’t strike him as odd until they were wandering through the grand foyer of the home, surrounded by enough marble and fine art to make any museum curator jealous.
“To my room?” he asked.
“Yes,” she returned.
“We do not share a room?”
She cleared her throat, fidgeting slightly. “Well, for the purposes of your recovery it would be extremely impractical,” she said, neatly sidestepping the question. That was something he noticed she did with frequency.
“You did not make it sound like there would be any changes in our living arrangements when you talked about showing me to my room.”
“You’re making assumptions.”
“I am. Enlighten me as to the situation, Rose. My head hurts and I find that I am in a foul temper.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “This is a very traditional house. With an obscene amount of rooms, as I’m sure you guessed. It’s very much existing in its own time. And, I suppose you could say our living arrangement exists in the same time. We both like our space.”
“Are you saying we live like some outmoded royal couple?”
“Yes. As I said, you are often away. For business. That means I often live on my own. So I elected to retain my own space, and that suited you just fine.”
The answer seemed wrong to him. The arrangement seemed wrong to him. Which was strange, because he knew the man he was. The man who possessed all of the memories, all of the past experiences, had clearly found it the right way to conduct his marriage. Who was he to argue with that superior version of himself in full possession of all of the facts?
Still, he wanted to. Because his wife had come to his side immediately when he had been injured. Because her blue eyes were the only thing he truly remembered.
“Will you be able to make it up the stairs?” she asked, looking at him with concern in her expression.
“None of my limbs are broken.”
“Your ribs are.”
He shifted, wincing. “Only a couple.”
“Tell me if this is too taxing.” She began to lead the way up the broad, curved staircase. The steps were carpeted in a rich dark red, the banisters made of oak, polished to a high-gloss sheen. Money, history and tradition oozed from the pores of this place. And he had a strange sense that he did not belong. That somehow all of this was not his birthright, in any sense of the word.
He looked at Rose, her delicate fingertips skimming along the banister, her long, elegant neck held straight, her nose tilted up slightly. She was a bit plain, it was true, but she was aristocratic. There was no denying it. She was fine-boned, and refined, each and every inch of her.
He had the feeling that her skin was like silk. Smooth, perfect and far too luxurious for any mere mortal man to aspire to.
Somehow, he had her. Somehow, he had this house.
And he could make none of it feel real. Everything seemed to exist on its own plane. As if it were a strange dream he’d had once long ago.
A dream he couldn’t quite remember.
He paused, a sharp pain shooting up his side, somehow going straight up his neck and through his jaw, rendering him motionless. As if sensing his discomfort, Rose turned. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he returned.
“You don’t look fine.”
“Pain is a very determined thing,” he remarked, continuing to stand there frozen as he waited for the lingering effects to recede. “It doesn’t like to stay at the site of the injury.”
“I’ve never been seriously injured. So I don’t really have any experience with that.”
“I... I don’t know if I ever have been before. But either way I don’t remember it. So it feels remarkably like the first time.”
That made him wonder what other things might feel like the first time, and judging by the suddenly healthy color in his wife’s face, she was wondering the same thing.
Of course, with his ribs being what they were, that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.
It was a strange thought, the idea of going to bed with someone he didn’t know. Except, he did know her. But he might be different with her now. He might not be able to be the lover she deserved, or the one she wanted.
“Can you keep going? Or do you need for me to figure out a way to fix you a room downstairs?”
“I’m fine,” he said, welcoming the interruption of his thoughts.
Finally, they reach the top of the stairs and he continued to follow her down the long corridor that led to his bedroom. Though bedroom was a bit humble of a word for what was in actuality an entire suite of rooms.
There was a home office, an extremely large bathroom, a sitting area and a room that actually contained a bed. “Do you have something similar?”
She nodded in affirmation. “Yes.”
“We really are quite a bit like a royal couple.” It made no sense to him, and it also felt wrong. He felt...captivated by Rose. Drawn to her. He couldn’t imagine agreeing to separate bedrooms.
But perhaps things were different when his head was full of other things. Right now, it was only filled with pain, and her.
She was preferable to the pain, no contest.
She tilted her head to the side. “I find it very strange. The things you know and the things you don’t.”
“So do I. In all honesty, I would rather forget my surface knowledge of world customs and reclaim what I know about myself. But no one has consulted me on this.”
“I understand. I should leave you to rest.”
He was exhausted. Which seemed ridiculous considering he had spent most of the flight sleeping. He felt like this was definitely out of the ordinary. Being this tired. Also, being this sober.
He definitely had some strong impressions about what felt normal and what didn’t. But he still wasn’t entirely certain he could believe them.
“It would probably be for the best,” he said.
“I’m going to confirm arrangements with the doctor I have coming in to check on you. The nurse, as well.”
“I’m not an invalid.”
“You have a head injury. And while we’re reasonably certain you aren’t going to die in the night, this is definitely out of the ordinary.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “All right then,” he conceded.
“I’ll wake you up when it’s time for dinner.” And then she turned and walked out briskly. And it was only then that it struck him that she never made any moves toward touching him physically. No small gestures of comfort. She hadn’t even behaved as though she was tempted to lean in and kiss him before walking out.
But he supposed he would have to unravel the mysteries of his own mind before he set out to unravel the mysteries of his marriage.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_261ac0d2-f0a7-5bfa-8579-53d4b17fc6ce)
ROSE FELT LIKE she was losing her mind. Which, really wouldn’t do since Leon had so clearly lost his.
“That isn’t fair. He hasn’t lost his mind, he’s lost his memory,” she said, scolding herself as she paced the empty study.
The past two days had been the most trying of her entire life. And all things considered, that was saying something. She had endured an awful lot in her life. From her mother dying when she was a young girl to the loss of her father when she was only twenty-one. Continually feeling as though she didn’t fit in with her peers, because she was too quiet, too mousy to be of interest to anyone. Because she would rather spend her time in dusty libraries than at wild parties. Because if she was going to shop for anything it would probably be stationery or books rather than the latest fashions.
She had spent the past two years married to a man who hadn’t touched her outside of their wedding day.
Yes, it was safe to say that Rose Tanner had not had it easy.
Still, watching a man like Leon go through something like this, seeing him so reduced... It was... It was awful. She wished very much that she didn’t care quite so intensely. Even when she was angry with him, even when she talked herself into believing that she hated him, it didn’t change the fact that he was the most vibrant, powerful, incredible man she had ever met.
Seeing him injured. Seeing him unsure. Seeing him as mortal... It was as though the last remaining safety net in her life had been pulled away. She had already lost her other pillars. Her mother. Her father. And now, she was losing Leon, too.
Sure, he hadn’t exactly been a fantastic emotional support in the past few years, but he had been steady. Predictable, at least.
He could have died a couple of days ago, and he might never again be the man that he had been. Acknowledging that was devastating in a way she could never have anticipated.
“Get it together.”
Her stern admonishment echoed off the walls, and she bit back the rising hysteria that was threatening to burst out of her.
She should do something. Go out to the garden and tend to the roses. Finish cataloging her father’s extensive library. Instead, she sat on a dark green settee in front of the fireplace and allowed a wave of misery to wash over her.
She wanted so very much to be done with this. To be done with all of this sitting still and waiting for something better to become of her life, for something better to become of her marriage.
She wanted Tanner house. Of course she did. But she knew Leon wanted it, too. Ultimately, she had been willing to walk away from both if need be.
But she couldn’t walk away from him now. She needed to see him well. And then with a clear conscience she could go. She could get on with her life.
And if he doesn’t remember anything ever?
For one brief moment the temptation to lie to him overtook her. To tell him that the two of them were madly in love. To tell him that he had married her because he couldn’t keep his hands off of her, not because he wanted to inherit her father’s business empire and the home that had become close to his heart.
Yes, for one moment she was tempted. She wouldn’t be human if she wasn’t. She had spent so many years fantasizing about what it would be like to have Leon want her. To have him look at her and see her as a woman.
She couldn’t do it. It would be... Well, it would be disgusting, but more than that it would be the furthest thing from what she really wanted. She didn’t want Leon to be her prisoner. That was basically what he was already.
Actually, you’re his.
She couldn’t really argue with that. She had agreed to marry him, and then she had basically been installed in this house and left to rattle around the vacant halls. Meanwhile, he had continued to live life as though he were a single man.
The entire world knew they were married. The entire world also knew that he was an incorrigible playboy. And nobody knew that she had been trapped in an agreement to stay married to him for five years in order to make his ownership of her father’s company permanent, and for her to end up with the home in the event of a divorce.
That was the prenuptial agreement, dictated by her father before his death.
But she wasn’t waiting anymore. He could have the company. He could have the house. She just wanted to be free.
She had come to the point where she’d known she had two choices. To sit down and talk to him on one of the rare occasions he came home, and let him know how badly she wanted to give their marriage a chance. To tell him how she felt. Or, to ask for a divorce.
She’d opted for a divorce. Because there was no good way for the other conversation to end. She would lay her heart out there for him to see, risk everything and get rejected.
She’d decided she’d rather skip a few steps.
“Is it nearly dinnertime?”
She turned toward the sound of the gruff, sleepy voice and her heart nearly evaporated, right along with her good intentions. He was wearing nothing more than a pair of black, low-slung pants. His chest was bare, and she ought to be concerned about his wounds. About the bandage over his shoulder, the dark purple bruises streaked along his torso. Instead, her eyes chose mostly to fixate on his muscles.
On his perfectly defined chest, on the muscles in his abs that were rippling with each indrawn breath.
“I think so,” she said, well aware that she sounded a little bit like she was the one who had been hit over the head.
“I’m starving,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame. He was holding a gray T-shirt in his hand, but made no move to put it on. “This is the first time I’ve been hungry since the accident. It’s quite nice. I don’t suppose you’ll allow me to have a drink yet?”
“Still medicated, Leon.”
“I’m starting to think that I would sacrifice pain medication for a drink.” He frowned. “Do I drink a lot?”
She tried to think of Leon’s habits. She wasn’t overly familiar with them, since they didn’t spend all that much time together. But, come to think of it, he was rarely without a drink in his hand.
“A bit,” she said, cautiously. “Though I’m not quite sure what you’re getting at.”
“I have been craving a drink ever since I woke up. I don’t know if it’s simply because I’m in a situation of extreme stress or if I potentially have a bit of a dependency.”
“You go out a lot,” she said. “And why don’t you put your shirt on?”
She sounded a little more desperate than she would have liked, but if he found it out of the ordinary, he didn’t show it.
She wasn’t supposed to pile a lot of information on him. She really was supposed to wait until he questioned things. But she was finding it difficult. Part of her wanted to dump the truth on him and then leave him in the hands of a doctor or nurse.
But he had been there for her the night of prom. He had also been there for her when her father had died. And this was what her father would want for her to do. Because he’d cared about Leon. Leon had always been the son her father had never had. Oftentimes she had felt like she was competing for affection, though she knew her father had loved her, too.
Her father wouldn’t want Leon abandoned right now.
And so she would stay.
And she would do her very best not to upset him.
“I can’t,” he said, standing there still, the shirt clutched tightly in his hand.
“What do you mean you can’t?”
“I’m having trouble getting the shirt on. My ribs are too sore.” He held his hand out slightly, the shirt still clutched in his fist. “Can you help me?”
All of the air rushed from her lungs, her heart beating a steady rhythm in her ears. “I—” She was supposed to be his wife. There should be nothing remarkable about the request. There was nothing remarkable about it either way. He was an injured man and he needed help. He didn’t need her to be weird.
She cleared her throat and crossed the space between them, hesitating for a moment before she reached out and took hold of the shirt. Their fingers brushed as he relinquished it to her, and a shiver ran down her spine.
She needed to get a grip.
“When you say I go out a lot, you mean that I go to parties?”
She nodded, swallowing hard, her throat suddenly dry. “Yes.” She held the shirt so it was facing the right direction and gathered the material up. “You need to...duck your head or bend as much as you can.”
He bent slightly and she pushed the shirt over his head, dragging it down to his shoulders, his skin scorching hers as her knuckles brushed against his collarbone.
“And you?” he asked.
She looked up at him, her eyes clashing with his. He was so close. So close that it would be easy to stretch up on her toes and close the space between them. She’d only kissed him once. At their wedding in front of a church full of people.
What would happen if she did it again?
She blinked, trying to shake off the drugged feeling that was stealing over her. “Lift your arm as much as you can,” she murmured.
He complied, his fingers grazing his bicep as he slipped into the shirt. “Do you go out with me?” he pressed.
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She wasn’t supposed to be dumping information on him, and beyond that, she didn’t really want to. “I prefer to stay at home.”
She pulled the shirt down the rest of the way over his torso, her knuckles brushing against the crisp hair and hard muscle as she did, a hollow sensation carving itself into the pit of her stomach.
It brought to mind all manner of things she’d scarcely allowed herself to fantasize about. Possibilities she’d only just now let go, as she’d accepted the fact her marriage had to end.
And now this. This unique and particular torture that brought her closer to her fantasy than ever before, and further away at the same time.
She took a step away from him, hoping to catch her breath.
He frowned, straightening. “I go out without you?”
He looked just as sexy with the shirt on. Tight and fitted over his muscular frame. She blinked and looked away.
“Sometimes.” She looked up at the clock and saw that it was nearing six, which meant that dinner would be ready. She felt absolutely rescued by that. Maybe when they had a whole table between them she’d be able to breathe again. “I think it’s time for us to go and eat,” she said. “I’ll show you the way to the dining room.”
“You have a full staff here?” he asked, as they made their way through the house.
“Yes. I have kept everyone on since my father died. I didn’t see the point in changing anything.” She cleared her throat. “More than that, I guess I have desperately tried to keep everything the same.”
“We both love this house,” he said. “It’s something we share. At least, you have told me I love this house.”
“Yes, you do. And so do I. I was very happy here growing up. It is the only place I have memories of my mother. I remember hiding up at the top of the staircase and looking down, watching their massive holiday parties. My mother was always the most beautiful woman in the room. She looked so happy with my father. I wanted... I wanted more than anything to grow up and have that be my life.”
Her throat tightened and she found herself unexpectedly blinking back tears.
“Is that not our life?” he asked.
He sounded... He sounded hopeful. It was a very strange thing. Typically, Leon spoke with an air of practiced cynicism. He was not the sort of man who held out hope for much of anything. He was grounded. A realist. It was why she cherished the very few soft moments she had ever had with him. Because when he took the time to be caring she knew that he meant it.
But when it came to things like this, flights of fancy, romantic ideas about life and adulthood, she didn’t expect him to care at all. Much less be able to envision himself as part of it.
She found that she wanted to lie to him. Or, if not lie, be a bit creative with the truth.
“This house is ours. To do with it as we wish. You have been very busy since my father’s death. Fully establishing yourself as the head of the company, expanding. We have not yet had time to throw any large holiday parties.”
“But we intend to?”
“Yes,” she said. That really wasn’t strictly true. She imagined that he never intended to. And she’d been planning on leaving him before next Christmas anyway.
Though she had wished... She had hoped, once upon a time.
Recently, she had given up on it. She didn’t even imagine her own future in this house, much less a shared future. But there was no benefit in telling him that now.
When they walked into the dining room the table was already beautifully appointed. She had warned the staff to keep a low profile. The doctor had told her that it was best to keep things as low-key as possible for Leon while he recovered. It was easy to focus only on the amnesia, which was of course the thing that both of them were most aware of, and forget that he also possessed quite a few physical injuries.
“They made your favorite,” she said, sitting down in front of the steak and risotto that had been prepared for them. There was red wine at her seat. Water at Leon’s.
“This seems a bit cruel and unusual,” he said, eyeing her drink.
“I don’t need to drink it.”
“And that,” he said, his tone hard, “seems remarkably wasteful. You can drink wine. I cannot. One of us should.”
“Awfully giving of you.”
“I feel that I am generous.”
She couldn’t help herself. She laughed. “Do you?” She lifted her wine to her lips and took a sip, suddenly grateful for the extra fortification that it would provide.
“Yes. Are you contradicting me?”
“Of course not,” she said, looking down at her dinner. “You give to a great many charities.”
“There you have it,” he said, picking up his knife and fork. “Incontrovertible evidence that I am in fact generous.”
“Perhaps,” she said, slicing her steak slowly, “there is more than one type of generosity.”
His dark eyebrows shot upward. “Is that so?”
She lifted one shoulder. “Perhaps.”
“Do not speak in code. That is hardly less strenuous on my brain.”
“I am not supposed to bombard you. Much less with my opinions. Opinions are not fact. You need facts.”
“It is your opinion that I am not generous. At least not in every way.”
She let out a long breath, feeling frustrated with herself. Feeling frustrated with him. With the world. She wanted to get up out of her chair, throw her cloth napkin on the floor and run out onto one of the grand lawns. Then perhaps she might rend her garment for dramatic effect and shout at the unfeeling sky.
Of course, she would do none of that. She never did.
Instead, she looked up at him and spoke in an even, moderated tone. “Of course you are.”
“Now you are placating me.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Are you trying to start a fight?”
“Don’t be silly. We never fight.”
“How could you possibly know that?” she asked, a strange sensation settling in the pit of her stomach.
Of course, he wasn’t wrong. They had never fought. She had done nothing but idolize him for most of her life, and then she had married him. And in the two years since they had gotten married they’d had so little interaction they hadn’t been able to fight. And, frankly, probably wouldn’t have even if she had seen him every day.
He was indifferent to her, but he’d never been cruel. There had never been enough passion between them for there to be a fight.
“I just do,” he said.
“You are so arrogant. Even now.”
“Stingy and arrogant. That is your opinion of me. How is it that we never fight?”
“Perhaps because you are not often around,” she said, taking her first bite of steak and making a bit of a show about chewing it so that he would perhaps cease his endless questions.
* * *
Leon looked across the table at his wife. He did not know quite how to read the exchange that had just taken place between them. She was irritated with him, that much he was certain of. He wondered how often that was the case. He wondered if this was unusual, if the stress of the situation was simply overtaking her, or if she didn’t usually show him her irritation.
Or, more troubling, if he didn’t typically notice it.
She had made several comments now about him frequently being away. She made him sound as though he was an absentee husband at best. Her childhood dream centered around her home being filled with parties. Centered around her hosting these events with her husband, to recapture a part of her life that was clearly past.
Both of her parents were gone. She had made no mention of any siblings. He appeared to be all that she had left, and yet he had seen no evidence that he did very much at all to support her emotionally.
That bothered him. Regardless of whether or not it bothered the man he had been before the accident was irrelevant to him in the moment. She was caring for him. And she clearly felt uncared for in many ways.
He felt compelled to remedy that. If he had to sit around this manor and do nothing but heal for the next several weeks he might as well focus on healing his marriage as well as his body.
It was deeper than that, too. Deeper than just a desire to right a wrong from the past.
Rose was his only touchstone. She was the only person who knew him. The only person he really knew. She was his anchor in an angry sea. And without her, he would be swept away completely.
He needed to shore up the connection between them.
He had lost himself. He could remember nothing of who he was. And from the sounds of things, their connection was much more tentative than it should be.
She was all he had. He could not lose her.
There was only one solution. He had to seduce his wife.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_d6b59597-36ba-5b66-bd6c-0c85211f2af3)
IT HAD BEEN nearly a week since Leon’s return to the manor and he still hadn’t remembered anything. Rose was fighting against restlessness, hopelessness and the growing tenderness in her heart whenever she was around him.
As if that tenderness is anything new.
True. She had always felt...something for him. More than she should. He didn’t care for her like that. He never had. But she could never quite stamp out that...that hope. That need. For someone who had been confronted with so much loss she retained rather more than a normal amount of idealism.
There was some part of her that believed steadfastly in happy endings. And being rewarded for good behavior. That was probably why she had always done exactly as her father asked. Why she had done her best to wait for Leon to come around to the idea of being her husband.
And why she had never actually sat down and told him how she felt. Better to close the door herself than have him do it.
“Don’t start hoping again now. Once he remembers...everything will go back to the way it was.”
She lay down on her back on her favorite settee, staring at the ornate ceiling. Then she heard heavy footsteps on the marble floors. She sat up, clutching the book she had been reading to her chest.
“Rose?” Leon strode into the room, looking much more alert and able than he had only a few days ago. He had been resting quite a bit, and had taken several meals in his room since that first night here. It seemed to have paid off.
“Just reading,” she said.
“What are you reading?”
“Nora Roberts.”
“I don’t think I’ve read her. Maybe I have. I wouldn’t know.”
She laughed in spite of herself. “I doubt it.”
“It’s not the sort of thing I would usually read?”
“Unless it’s business-related literature you don’t strike me as the sort of man who reads.”
“You don’t think?”
“You’re usually very confident about who you are, and how you see yourself. What do you think?”
“I think that... I cannot imagine myself going to university. But that’s impossible. Being in the position that I’m in I must have gone.”
“You didn’t,” she said, imagining that it was all right to confirm this.
But you don’t think it’s okay to confirm that your marriage is not quite what it seems?
She gritted her teeth and banished that thought. One thing at a time. And anyway, she intended to have this discussion with him. She intended to end their marriage. But she doubted news of a divorce would be overly welcome to him right now. Especially not when they needed to keep his condition a secret. Especially not when he would have no one else looking out for him. No one else who knew him to help him through all of this.
“Then how... I know enough to know that that is not typically how the world works.” He rubbed his hand over his chin, his skin scraping against the whiskers there. The sound was...strangely erotic.
Rose had no experience with men. Not intimate experience. Beyond that single chaste kiss on their wedding day, and the strangely arousing experience of putting his T-shirt on him, she hadn’t really had any physical contact with a man. Why would she? She had been waiting for Leon. Fool that she was.
As a result, she imagined she was a bit more affected by everyday things than a woman with greater experience would be. Looking at the situation with a little bit of distance she felt sorry for herself. Poor, innocent Rose quivering over whiskers.
Too bad she had no distance in the situation. She had...longing that she could do nothing about, sadness that never seemed to go away, that permeated her entire being and settled a heaviness over her chest, and a deep fear that Leon would never remember anything. Coupled with an almost equally deep fear that he would remember everything and she would have to leave this house, leave him, and move forward with her goal of independence. Of letting go of her feelings for him.
“I’m fuzzy on the details, and I’m sorry about that,” she said, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks. “All I know is that you were working for my father, for his company. In a very low-level position. You were a teenager. You had not graduated from school. Instead, you left and went straight into the workforce. You did something at the company to catch my father’s eye, and from there he began to mentor you. He took a very personal interest in you, and he began to groom you to be his protégé.”
“My family wasn’t rich,” he said, a strange, hollow look taking over his eyes. “I know that. I’m from Greece. We were very poor. I came here by myself.”
It struck her then, how little she knew about him. She knew he was Greek, that much was obvious, but she didn’t know about his background, not really. She was struck then how little she knew him at all.
He had appeared in her life one day like a vapor and she had hero-worshipped him from that moment on.
That is, until she had fully realized that he would never quite conform to the fantasy she had built around him in her mind. She didn’t wonder why he had married her. The perks of the union were obvious. Her father had been dying, and he wanted to see her settled. He had offered the company and the estate as incentives to Leon, and had put a time frame on the union likely to make sure the two of them gave it an adequate enough try.
All of that made sense. But she suddenly realized that she was the one who didn’t make sense. What had she been hoping for? What on earth had she possibly thought would come from all of this? Who did she imagine he was? That was the problem. All of it was imaginary.
As she sat here in the library attempting to reconstruct who Leon was for his own sake, she realized just how much of the puzzle she was missing.
It made her feel... It made her feel small. Selfish. As if she had only ever seen him as an object of fantasy, who lived and breathed to serve her girlish dreams.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She blinked. “Yes. Do I not look all right?”
“You look as though you have been hit across the face with a mackerel.”
She tried to laugh. “Sorry. It’s just... I don’t actually know as much about you as I should. When confronted with the gaps in your memory I’m forced to examine the missing pieces of my knowledge.”
He frowned. “I suppose I bear some part of the blame in that. If not most of it.”
“I don’t think that’s true. I think in this case the fault is squarely mine.”
“I cannot help you with it now. I don’t have answers to any of the questions.”
“I don’t expect you to,” she said, feeling rather weak and pale.
“I do know a few things,” he said, squaring his shoulders, his eyes taking on a determined glitter. That made her feel more at ease. That reminded her of the Leon she had always known.
Sharp, determined, ever in command.
“That’s reassuring,” she said.
“I know that we are having dinner outside on the terrace tonight. And I know that it’s going to be Maine lobster. Which I know is your favorite.”
“How exactly do you know that? You didn’t know what your favorite was only a few days ago.”
It wasn’t really because of his memory loss that she found this strange. She wasn’t sure he had ever known her favorite foods.
“I am fully capable of making inquiries. Probably better than I was just a week ago. My entire life has become dependent on answers, and in part, the quality of my questions. I did my best to rustle up some members of the staff so that I could figure some things out about you.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” She felt slightly panicky. As though she was being given a gift that was entirely unearned.
“I know I didn’t. But you are my wife. Not only that, you have been taking care of me ever since the accident.”
“Not entirely. We’ve had a nurse on call. The doctor has been in constantly. I—”
“Just knowing you were here has been invaluable.” He smiled and she felt it all the way down, deep. It made her stomach tighten, made her heart flutter. Why was it always like this?
He extended his hand, his dark eyes meeting hers. She looked down at it as though it were a poisonous snake.
“I’m leading you to lobster. Not to your doom,” he said.
She hesitated, feeling very much like she didn’t deserve to touch him. Feeling very much like this was intended for a woman who didn’t exist. The devoted wife she wasn’t. The devoted wife she would be if Leon had any interest in being a husband in real life.
Or she was overthinking it. This was just dinner. This was only his hand.
She took a deep breath and wrapped her fingers around his. Lightning shot over the surface of her skin, crackling over her entire body, leaving her breathless, leaving her knees weak. She hadn’t touched him since the wedding. She hadn’t touched any man since then. She wasn’t entirely certain she had really touched anyone at all.
Her father was gone. And even when he’d been here, he’d been spare on physical affection. All of her close friends, the ones she’d made in her two years of university while starting her history degree, had moved away. None of them were spending their twenties rotting in their parents’ estates. They had all moved to Manhattan, London, exciting places. They were all pursuing careers, or higher education. Bigger goals than clinging to good memories. They were out making new memories. And until this moment, until his skin touched hers, she didn’t realize how incredibly lonely she had become.
She had no one to blame but herself.
And this is why you’re leaving.
She took a deep breath, trying to do her best to keep her reaction to him concealed. But then she made a terrible mistake. She looked up, her eyes meeting his, and what she saw there astonished her.
His eyes weren’t blank. They weren’t flat. They were... They were molten. The heat there a perfect reflection of the fire that was rioting through her core.
“Come on,” he said, his voice rough.
She could do nothing but follow him. Which was terribly telling. Not just of this moment, but of the past fifteen years or so.
And once they were outside, her breath caught in her throat, all of the sensations building in her chest, making it impossible for her to do anything but stand there and tremble. He was touching her. And right before them was a beautifully appointed table set for two, a candle at the center.
It was like something that had been torn from her fantasies. Her girlish fantasies. When loving him had simply meant aspirations of sweet romance, holding hands and making sophisticated conversation.
Back before she had realized that there was much more to the connection between men and women than candlelight and hand-holding.
“Is something wrong?”
She looked at him, at his fierce expression. There was an intensity behind his eyes that she couldn’t decode. All she knew was that she had waited most of her life to have him look at her like this. And for some reason he was looking at her this way now. She was... She was powerless to resist. Utterly and completely held captive by that look in his eyes.

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