“Then I’m glad I can be of service.” He frowned, though, uneasy in the shadow of the big house. Something seemed off about Francesca’s manner…or maybe it was the place that seemed off. He tilted his head, focusing on the fountain. Was it that?
“I guess I could simply sit out here.” Oblivious to his sharpening attention, Francesca walked over to the bubbling fountain, a wide basin with a cluster of leaping stone fish in its center surging through a spray of water. “I didn’t realize how big this garden was.”
“The fountain isn’t right,” he muttered, too low for Francesca to catch since the bubbling water was so loud. He shook off the troubling thought and stepped toward her.
“There’s another garden closer to the sea, if you’d like to see it,” he said. “Fountains, flowers, trees—and a view.” He nodded at the house. “Not that this isn’t an impressive view.”
“It is rather looming, isn’t it? But these flowers are enough to take my mind off everything but their fragrance.” Francesca laughed and more of Ryker’s unease cleared away. Everything was catching him at odd angles on the island—like he should be recalling more and he simply couldn’t. Or he almost thought he did, then it slipped away. Francesca pointed out a particular flower growing in a bright purple cluster. “I think those are my favorites,” she said.
“Borage,” Ryker said without hesitation, and she repeated the word as if to commit it to memory. “And you choose well. It generally grows wild but—”
A bolt of pain seared through him, practically splitting his temple, and he staggered forward a step.
“Ryker! Are you okay?”
At once, Fran’s cool hands were on him, one at his temple where his own hand gripped his head, the other braced on his arm. This close, he could smell the scent of lavender on her, adding to the sense of peacefulness she seemed to weave around him. His headache abated as easily as it started, and he sagged in relief, then offered her a rueful grimace.
“Sorry about that. I had the most powerful image of something important, attached to those flowers, but…” he shook his head. “It’s gone now.”
Francesca pulled her hands away, but not in a manner that implied she was shy or embarrassed. More that he no longer had a need for her soft, soothing touch, and so she removed it. He didn’t necessarily agree with that assessment, but since Francesca remained beside him he wasn’t going to argue the point.
They strolled out of the garden, down one of the carefully tended cobblestone paths that seemed to run riot over the whole property. The silence between them felt natural, as if he’d known her before, and suddenly that thought struck him sharply—but without any pain.
“I didn’t…know you, did I?” he asked. “Before?”
“Oh! No, you didn’t,” Francesca said, her smile doing little to ease the spike of disappointment that flared through him. But he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. There was no attendant flare of pain when he regarded the American, and he sensed there would be, had he known her well. Before the incident with the borage, the only searing pain he’d felt was the first time he’d met Stefan. Then again, he suspected that man gave everyone a headache.
“What do you know about me then?” he asked Francesca. “Other than I’m stranded on this island?”
Her manner was easy and unaffected. “Nicki said you’d been in an accident quite a while ago—a plane crash,” she said. “That you lost your memory then, and they’d recently found you. But that’s all I know.”
“Some friends I have, it would seem,” Ryker nodded. “To send a diplomat and an American to find me. It makes you wonder how little was going on in the country, eh?”
“I get the feeling that the royal family would do as much for any Garronois citizen they thought they could help,” Francesca said. “I mean, I’m sure there are plenty of people they can’t help, but your situation was one where they could. So they did.”
If he’d intended to draw her out, he wasn’t successful. Then again…maybe there was truly nothing surprising about his rescue.
“Perhaps,” he shrugged. “But the time for helping is at an end. I’d like to find my family.” He shook his head, imagining how strange that must sound to her. “To be walking around—healthy, as whole as I can be, and knowing that someone out there is waiting and wondering what happened to me…that doesn’t sit well. It’s not honorable.”
Francesca nodded, but she didn’t dismiss his concerns. When she glanced his way, her eyes were steady and kind. “I think Stefan wants to be able to give your family as much information as possible about how healthy you are. You’ve lost your memory, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone for good,” she said. “If there’s a way to nudge it back into place while you’re under a doctor’s care, then so much the better.”
Ryker grimaced. “They’ve done no end of nudging, but it’s led to nothing so far.” That wasn’t true, of course. But he’d had his guard up every time he’d gone before the panel of doctors who seemed to be watching him every time he turned around. He supposed they were probably watching him now.
Nevertheless, having Francesca here improved his mood considerably. The wind coming up over the promontory caught at her hair, pulling it from its pins, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her manner was easy as they climbed the stone staircase to the terraced garden, her delight unfeigned as she took in the manicured gardens, the bright flowers vibrant against the brilliant sky and crashing Aegean far below. “This is incredible!” she shouted.
“Windy too.” He laughed back at her, his heart suddenly lighter than it had felt in over a year. For this moment he was no longer a stranger without a family, a home, or a place in the world. Instead he was simply a man standing on a mountaintop with a pretty girl, surrounded by flowers and sunshine and sea.
“Oh!” she gasped as a particularly strong gust of wind battered them, and he pointed to a low copse of trees. She nodded, her hands to her hair as she made a run for it. He kept pace with her until they’d reached the trees, then let her take a few steps ahead, her laughter warming him in a way that made him realize he’d been cold for far too long.
Get a grip on yourself, he ordered, but the command fell on deaf ears, especially as the American faced him again, her expression as full of light and life as the Aegean itself.
“Francesca,” he whispered, stepping toward her.
3
Warning bells weren’t merely ringing in Fran’s ears, they were klaxon-blaring for a three-alarm fire. How had Ari gone from disarming candor and grins to the intensity that now set his face into almost a scowl?
And why didn’t she knowanythingabout this man she was supposed to buddy-up with for an indeterminate amount of time, other than his name and position? She’d known more about her PTSD study participants, and they’d never looked at her like this!
