“The Ella Whittaker who lives two doors down,” Alex said, grinning.
“God, you’ve got to get your memory back soon, or you’re going to scour the Colony asking for autographs.”
For several minutes he did not speak, and Cassie could feel the quiet settle around them. She wanted to say something to Alex, anything, but she didn’t know what sorts of things they talked about.
As she turned toward the violet line of the horizon, Alex’s voice curled over her, light as silk. “Iwasgoing to tell you aboutUCLA.
God, I never would havemetyou if you weren’t working there, so I owe them a lot. I really didn’t do it deliberately. I just forgot.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. His eyes were the sloe-black of smoke. “Forgive me?”
He’s acting. The thought rushed through Cassie’s mind so violently she pulled her hand free and turned away, shaking.How do I know whenhe’s acting?
“Cassie?”
She blinked at him, held in his gaze, and by bits and degrees she softened. She couldn’t think aboutUCLA, about who was wrong and who was right, not just now. He was hypnotizing her; she knew this as well as she knew that she had been made for him, as well as she knew that any doubts she had about Alex would mirror her own faulty judgment.
Cassie began to hear and feel the unexpected: a tangle of sweet Mexican violins, a wet wind from an everglade, the song of one hundred hearts beating. She thought to run, some instinct telling her this was the beginning of the end, but she could no sooner move than turn back time. The world as she knew it was falling away, and the only place left for her to go was toward Alex.
“Forgive me?” he repeated.
Cassie heard the sound of her own voice, heard the words she couldn’t remember thinking. “Of course,” she said. “Don’t I always?”
A wave rolled over Cassie’s ankles, frigid and authentic. The magic broke, and then it was just the two of them, she and Alex, and that was starting to seem all right. “I came prepared with a bribe,” Alex said. “I made it myself.” He was smiling at her, and she smiled back hesitantly, thinking,He understands. He knows he has me in the palm of his hand. He pulled up the front of his shirt to reveal a neatly wrapped square package tucked into the waist of his jeans. “Here.”
Cassie reached for the tinfoil, trying not to look at the smooth, sculptured muscles of his chest. She unwrapped it. “You made me Rice Krispies Marshmallow Treats? Are they my favorite?”
“No,” Alex laughed. “In fact, you hate marshmallows, but it’s the only thing I know how to cook and I thought forsureyou’d remember that and take pity on me.” He tugged it out of her hand and took a bite. “I grew up on these,” he said, his mouth full.
Cassie turned to him, her eyes gleaming. “Alex,” she said. “Where did I grow up?”Maine. She knew even before he spoke the word what the answer would be. “And who was Connor?”
Alex’s eyes widened, so she could see the ring of gold around thePicture Perfect
45edge of his irises. “Your best friend. How do you—did you remember all this?”
She grinned, excited. “I was dreaming the whole time I was asleep,”
she said. “I remembered a lot of things. Moosehead Lake, and Connor, and . . . and my mother. Do we ever go there? Do I talk to my parents a lot?”
Alex swallowed. “Your mom’s dead, and, well, when I first met you, you told me the reason you went to college in California was to get as far away from Maine as you possibly could.”
Cassie nodded, as if she had expected this. She wondered how much Alex knew about her parents. She wondered if she’d ever been brave enough to tell him. “Where are your parents?”
Alex rolled away from her, turning to face the ocean. She watched his profile set, and she had a sudden memory—this was the way he looked minutes before he filmed a scene, when his own personality drained away and was replaced by the character he was playing. “They’re in New Orleans,” Alex said. “We don’t see much of them, either.” He rubbed his palm against the back of his neck and closed his eyes. Cassie wondered what he was seeing, what made him curl into himself. To her surprise, a sharp ache stung her chest, and she knew right away she had felt it so that he wouldn’t have to. When Alex looked up at her, old ghosts still shifted in his eyes. “You really don’t remember me, do you?” he said quietly.
He was inches away but she could feel the line of heat between them as if they were touching. Cassie put her arms around him, shivering as she took in more of his pain. “No,” she said. “I don’t.”
THEY MADE POPCORN IN THE MICROWAVE FOR DINNER AND watched a Monty Python rerun on TV. They played War with a deck of cards they found buried in the broom closet. With a pillowcase draped on his head for a wimple, Alex performed Lady Macbeth’s “Out, damned spot!” speech, curtsying low when Cassie laughed and clapped.
Her eyes were shining when he jumped down from the cleared coffee table he’d used as a stage. She did not know Alex, but she liked him.
Surely that was more than most marriages survived on.
Alex pulled her to her feet. “Tired?”
Cassie nodded, letting him slip his arm around her waist. As they walked down the stairs to the bedroom, she wondered what the sleeping arrangements would be. They were married, so he could sleep anywhere he pleased; but she’d really only had one day to get reacquainted with him, and she supposed he might chivalrously offer to stay in a guest bedroom for the night. She wondered if she wanted him to.
At the door to the master bedroom, Alex stopped walking. Cassie stepped away from him, her arms pressed to her sides. She could not bring herself to look at Alex, whose questions, even in the silence, seemed to fill the hallway.
He tipped her chin up and kissed her gently. “Good night,” he said, and then he turned toward a guest room a few doors down.
