“Good, I’ll let Plavko know.”
Then he dropped his towel.
Oh, God.I spun away, shocked.
“We’ll be married in two days,” he reminded.
“I know that.” It came out broken.
“Then turn around.”
I couldn’t. He stepped up against me, dipping his head so his breath was hot on my neck. His tongue traced a line there, up to my ear, and I lurched forward, turning halfway to glance at him. There was that feeling of déjà vu I’d been looking for, but it was horrifying.
His face was dangerous and predatory, forcing me backward and away from him. Away from the pair of eyes I hadn’t seen before.
Once Ryan left for his business trip, there was a countdown clock in my head, ticking down to zero, toward something I found terrifying.
Our wedding? His return? Or both?
I dressed in a pair of black leggings and a black tank top and made my way to the dance studio where the box of ballet shoes had remained. I still couldn’t bring myself to try them out. Instead, I pushed PLAY on the sound system, and classical music filled the space.
I’d been foolish enough to think there was a chance that if I came down here all my memories of dance would come pouring back. But my head stayed as empty as the room.
I pulled the pointe shoes out of the box and found a small canister beneath. It was some sort of blister relief balm, andwhen I unscrewed the cap, a strong medicine scent invaded my nose.
That smell.
I knew it better than anything. Without thought, I slipped my foot into a shoe, crossed the ribbons, and wound them around an ankle, tucking the knot to the inside. I did the other, moving with confidence.I remember this.
The next two hours in the studio were a blur. Ryan had asked me not to push myself too hard, but it was impossible not to. I was a sweaty, exhilarated mess when the phone he’d left me rang.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m horribly out of shape, that’s what’s wrong,” I muttered. In the background, someone spoke German, and he responded in kind. “Where are you?”
“Berlin. We just landed.” He’d given me so few details about his business or this trip, it felt like he was being secretive on purpose.
“How many languages do you speak?”
“I don’t know, five? That’s counting French, which I try not to use because I sound awful.” I pictured him on the other end of the call wearing a displeased look at how out of breath I’d become. “You’re not overdoing it, are you?”
“Nope,” I lied.
“I’m calling because Dr. Vorbusch asked to move today’s appointment to one.”
I glanced at the phone’s screen and annoyance heated inside me. “That’s in thirty minutes.”
“Sorry, darling.” Since he was a thousand miles away, I let my disdain play out across my face. This term of endearment felt off. Wrong. Like it had been forced and not earned.
My hair was wet from my shower when Plavko ushered the doctor into the library and vanished right after. I wondered whathe did all day without his boss around—but then Dr. Vorbusch asked me about my progress, and I was more focused on that than my bodyguard.
She was angry when I told her about the balcony and what I believed I had been doing on the wrong side of the railing days earlier.
“I want my memories back,” I said, trying to defend myself.
“And in that process, you lost them all. Do you understand you caused your setback?”
Shit, she was right. My gaze dropped to my lap in shame.
