“We were in a car accident. A pretty horrific one, so it’s good you don’t remember it. That’s our silver lining to this whole thing.” He drew in a heavy breath, perhaps considering his next words. “There was a significant bleed in your brain, and they had to keep you in a medically induced coma for a week. The day they discharged me and you were still under was the worst day of my life.”
“When was that?” I had been so focused on his words I hadn’t been aware of his subtle approach.
“Five weeks ago.” He took my hand, a foreign gesture from a stranger which made me uncomfortable. “You were doing really well. There was still a lot you couldn’t remember from before the accident, but you were making new memories. The doctor warned me you might have a relapse as the swelling went down. We’ve got an appointment with him later today to remove the staples.”
Staples. That was what my fingers had found buried in the gash on my head.
It was embarrassing to ask it. “Who are you?”
“I’m Ryan Juric, your fiancé.” He squeezed my hand and held it up for me to see. The enormous diamond engagement ring on my left hand was stunning.
“That reaction never gets old,” he said. “We’ve put it off until your recovery is... farther along.”
I shivered, although something in my head whispered it wasn’t from the breeze.
“What were you doing out here?”
My gaze flicked over to the edge of the balcony.
“I don’t know.” My voice trembled. “I don’t really know anything.”
“Your name is Laurel Hayward.” He gauged my reaction. “Not ringing any bells this time either, huh?”
I pressed my lips together and shook my head.
“Hey. It’s okay. You’re lucky to be alive. Really, we both are. I know this is scary, but be patient. It’ll come back. It doesn’t seem like it, but you’re going to be okay.”
Nothing feltokayright now.
My focus moved away from him and drifted to our surroundings. The large stone balcony was level with the treetops that dotted the steep cliff. Attached to the balcony, a house—large and impressive, and something odd I couldn’t place.
“We live here?”
“Yes. You want a tour?”
Maybe something inside would be familiar.
“This way.” He motioned toward the French doors.
The house was warm, but my feet remained blocks of ice. The focal point of the large bedroom was a king-sized four-poster bed. The silver duvet was pushed to one side as if it had been thrown off. One nightstand held a clock and glass of water. The other was bare.
What seized my attention most was the oversized canvas mounted above the headboard. It was a black-and-white, candid-style photo of him and a pretty brunette, smiling at each other while seated in a field of tall grass. The photographer had been successful in capturing a private moment between the two. It was intimate and stunning.
I didn’t have to ask who the girl was. A large mirror over the six-drawer dresser on the other side of the room reflected a robe-clad version of the girl in the picture.
“I’m too skinny,” I said as I corrected my posture.
“You haven’t had much of an appetite. Your doctors said it’s the pain medication.” He grabbed the corner of the duvet and tugged it into place. “Are you hungry?”
“No. Not really.”
“This is the primary bedroom.” He looked at me expectantly. Like maybe this was supposed to be our room, but it wasn’t.
I didn’t know what to say. “It’s nice.”
“Yeah. I’m not completely sold on this comforter, but it’s a good compromise. You wanted lavender.” He half-smiled as he recalled the memory. I stared vacantly at the bed, then upward at the picture again.
“The bathroom’s this way.”
