That was until my gaze shifted lower to my neck and collarbone, and I couldn't hold in the horrified gasp in my mouth.
Ragged, puckered, red, untreated skin on my collarbone and neck contrasted with my smooth skin as the pale color stood out in the overall image. The doctors refused to do anything about it in my already weakened state, because they feared complications. They had promised that in a year with me properly healed, we could fix all the ‘imperfections,’ as they called them. My fingers trailed the damaged skin, which was as soft as rose petals to the touch.
“She is… different,” Mom whispered, studying me carefully.
“As if another person. Similar, but someone else,” Father said, furiously sipping his coffee.
Casting my eyes down, I admitted there was truth in their words as the photo of Angelica before the accident was right in front of me. The picture was of Oliver and me after our engagement. He held me in his arms, while I displayed my beautiful diamond ring to the camera. The woman there had the same high cheekbones, black hair, and hazel eyes, but we looked more like fraternal twins than the same person.
“The injuries were severe. We tried to match her appearance to what you showed me… and this is the best result. Sometimes, it’s almost 100 percent accurate, but sometimes, there are important differences,” Kit said carefully, all the while measuring my reaction to the news.
“I see.”
Oliver and Ciara stayed quiet, but I could see the devastation in their gazes. Clearly, they weren't happy with not finding that woman from the pictures in the hospital bed.
And suddenly, all this became too much for me. Why were they all here during my important moment?
Removing the blanket swiftly, I placed my feet onto the white carpet, curling my toes into it for a second, and then dashed toward the bathroom. I managed to lock the door before anyone had the time to reach me. Resting my head against the wooden door, I closed my eyes, breathing heavily.
Knocking furiously, Ciara and Oliver tried their best to reason with me, but it was pointless. “Angelica, please let us in.” Shaking my head, even though they couldn't see it, I furiously wiped at the tears sliding down my cheeks and immediately hissed in pain as my rough palms touched sensitive skin. “Baby, you are beautiful,” Oliver whispered, as if his words were supposed to make it better. Ignoring their pleading, I walked to the sink, resting my palms on the cold porcelain as I willed myself to look at my reflection in the mirror.
“Come on,cara,” Ciara shouted, frustration evident in her voice.
One would think I was depressed to find all the imperfections on my body or not having myold face, so to speak, back.
However, the truth that really devastated me was that even watching myself like this didn't bring up any memories.
Nothing.
Blank fucking canvas.
Shouldn't it have awakened some kind of trigger? I didn't know that much about other victims like me with temporary memory loss, but I had been in this place three months with no results. Could temporary be measured in years?
And why, God, why had having this face felt like having more of my identity back as it did with the cross resting on my collarbone?
On the Way to Rome, Italy
June 2017
The clacking of ice cubes inside the glass drew my attention from studying the white-as-cotton clouds through the window on the private plane, and I turned toward the source of the sound.
White cotton clouds? Why would I use such a description? It sounded oddly familiar.
Ciara paused right in the middle of putting one more ice cube into her martini and shrugged guiltily. “Sorry,cara. Didn't mean to disturb you.” Tugging on the woolen blanket, I covered my frozen knees as I curled my legs under me on the seat. Such a relief to remove those heels.
“You didn’t.”
Rolling her eyes, she settled on the seat next to me. “Vito must really love you. He never gave his plane to anyone in thefamiliabefore.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “He isn't so bad after all.”
Deciding not to continue the subject of our uncle, because the man frightened me, and his weekly visits to me in the hospital did nothing to change my mind about him, I said, “True. Are we going to Florence?”
Ciara breathed inside the straw, creating bubbles in her drink, and snorted.
“Ciara!”
She huffed in annoyance, giving me a dirty look. “Chill, sis. Where else? After all, you guys have a wedding in a few months.” Her voice halted on those last words, and she cleared her throat as if something was stuck there.
Everything inside me froze as panic surged in, leaving me cold and with goose bumps in its wake. “Wedding?”
