“Because she’s my wife. I vowed to her—committed and promised her—”
“Not her, AJ. Someone else. You promised some other Merryn who no longer exists. She doesn’t even remember you now. Till death do you part—there has been a death, AJ. In every way that matters.”
“No. She’s still in there, Nigel.” The fire is hot. Why did he light a fire? “She’s still the same impetuous, spirited, song-filled woman who danced about my kitchen—”
“And what ofhervows? If they’re so binding, why did she go and marry another man?”
“My vows are not dependent on anything she does, Nigel. They’re made on my word alone. I have to find her.” AJ stands, but Nigel’s firm grip pulls him down again.
“I believe you’re overlooking one very important fact, my friend.” He waits until AJ meets his gaze. “While you’ve busied yourself chasing her, all these months of planning and wooing, what is she chasing? Not you. She’s been after something else—someoneelse—since she’s returned to Cornwall.”
“I promised to love her forever. No end date.”
“Of course you have. But, Ansel, what if loving her means letting her go?”
Letting. Her. Go.
Three clear slashes through his soul.
“You cannot force her to love you, mate. And I’ve yet to see her chasing you at all.”
Head in his hands, AJ sinks down and feels his heart pound against the table. “What if she’s hurt, though? She’s alone somewhere. I should—”
“She’s perfectly well, holed up at the flat in Gloucester. I saw her myself.”
“Youwhat?”
“I didn’t tell her much, don’t worry. But I’m also wondering…why haven’t you? Told her anything, that is? It’s clear there’s a great deal she still doesn’t remember.”
“You should have seen her back in Cheltenham. She was so…skittish. Jumpy. Any mention of the past, and she backpedaled immediately.”
“And in all the time you’ve been traveling together through Cornwall, you couldn’t find a spare moment to tell her that she has a past and you know what it is? That you arealreadyher husband?”
“We had a plan.”
“And who iswe?”
“Myself and Lady St. Laurent—her late employer. She told me about this specialist out Oxford way, and I saw him, too. He told me that her memories…well, they’re up there somewhere, only her brain doesn’t know how to access them. Something closed off the path. Her mind seems to be protecting her from what she doesn’t want to know. What she cannot handle.”
“Which is why you haven’t told her the rest yet.”
“She’s endured a lot. Imagine waking up one day with everything erased. Every blessed thing you knew.”
“Sounds like me before I’ve gotten out of bed.”
“Yes, well, that’s her all day and all night long, too. For years. She had to live that way, and she became fragile. Brittle. Any tiny upset might have broken her, so I had to be careful, allow her to rediscover the memories for herself, one by one. To remember me—rememberus.”
“And you thought you’d do thatwhilemarried to her. Again.”
“How else was I supposed to protect her? She was about to lose everything—her home, her position, her connections. I’d been racking my brain to invent some solution, then she handed it to me herself. The marriage washer idea.I merely took her up on it.”
“Because you were hopeful. Like a pathetic puppy, you were hopeful it meant she was actually in love with you again.”
“Is that so terrible?” He bangs his palm on the table, rattling the cups.
Nigel shrinks back. “No, I suppose not.”
Life seldom goes to plan. Marriage will eventually prove to be inconvenient in some seasons, or even downright painful for a time. But love has slipped through the cracks anyway, because it’s the authentic sort which is impossible to truly repress, even if one wishes to.
