I burst out laughing, making a mess of my wound, which pulses.
“I swear to God, Vian,” she says in a no-nonsense voice.
“Tough crowd,” I groan, gazing at her. Incapable of taking my eyes off her, I debate whether she’s real or a figment of my imagination.
“Stop looking at me.”
“Missed you.”
Focused on my wound, she says, “You’re impossible.”
“What took you two days?” I ask again.
She inhales a lungful of air, disinfecting my wound. “Had to deal with something.”
“What could be more important than me?”
“Your arrogance knows no bounds.” She shakes her head at me, then stitches me up.
“If it’s another man, he won’t be here for long.”
“I slept with Conrad.”
The words hit me like a grenade rolling at my feet and exploding my damn world. I freeze into a statue, incapable of mustering a reaction.
Fuck the lockdown, I will end him and scatter his limbs around her fucking compound for her to find.
With murder on my mind, I shoot out of bed with her following close behind.
My finger hovers above the panel, about to type in the code, when my sanity returns, halting me.
“Come on, I was so close,” she blows out a frustrated breath and turns on her heel.
She played me. Fuck, she didn’t mean that. Relief hits instantly, and I can breathe again. I return to the bedroom and catch her dashing into the bathroom. She closes herself in, whichhas never been the case—a clear sign to stay out. Yeah, that won’t work. Not even a thousand doors could hold me back. I’d breach every single one.
I knock out of courtesy before entering. Who am I kidding? With her, even when I want to act gentlemanly, I fail.
She shrieks, sitting on the toilet. “Get out.”
“No.”
“I’m peeing.”
I lean back against the doorframe, hitching a shoulder. “Pee.”
It’s not like it’s the first time she does that. The intimacy she doesn’t remember. No, it was more important for her to remember me as the guilty one.
Once she’s done, she washes her hands and stares at me in the mirror. “So, what exactly is your master plan? Let me guess: you want me to listen to your side of the story.”
Sarcasm drips from her, and it feels like a fist punching me straight in the gut, knocking the breath from my lungs. “You think you know it already, don’t you? So why should I bother?”
She huffs, taking it personally. “I will get my memories back. I just haven’t found the time.”
“Fine. Let them tear you apart for a second time. I’ll do what I did the first time.”
“You fucking asshole,” she snaps and finds the first thing to attack me.
It’s the toilet roll she hurls at me.
