Carides's Forgotten Wife (3 page)

“I’m fine,” he returned.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Pain is a very determined thing,” he remarked, continuing to stand there frozen as he waited for the lingering effects to recede. “It doesn’t like to stay at the site of the injury.”

“I’ve never been seriously injured. So I don’t really have any experience with that.”

“I... I don’t know if I ever have been before. But either way I don’t remember it. So it feels remarkably like the first time.”

That made him wonder what other things might feel like the first time, and judging by the suddenly healthy color in his wife’s face, she was wondering the same thing.

Of course, with his ribs being what they were, that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.

It was a strange thought, the idea of going to bed with someone he didn’t know. Except, he
did
know her. But he might be different with her now. He might not be able to be the lover she deserved, or the one she wanted.

“Can you keep going? Or do you need for me to figure out a way to fix you a room downstairs?”

“I’m fine,” he said, welcoming the interruption of his thoughts.

Finally, they reach the top of the stairs and he continued to follow her down the long corridor that led to his bedroom. Though
bedroom
was a bit humble of a word for what was in actuality an entire suite of rooms.

There was a home office, an extremely large bathroom, a sitting area and a room that actually contained a bed. “Do you have something similar?”

She nodded in affirmation. “Yes.”

“We really are quite a bit like a royal couple.” It made no sense to him, and it also felt wrong. He felt...captivated by Rose. Drawn to her. He couldn’t imagine agreeing to separate bedrooms.

But perhaps things were different when his head was full of other things. Right now, it was only filled with pain, and her.

She was preferable to the pain, no contest.

She tilted her head to the side. “I find it very strange. The things you know and the things you don’t.”

“So do I. In all honesty, I would rather forget my surface knowledge of world customs and reclaim what I know about myself. But no one has consulted me on this.”

“I understand. I should leave you to rest.”

He was exhausted. Which seemed ridiculous considering he had spent most of the flight sleeping. He felt like this was definitely out of the ordinary. Being this tired. Also, being this sober.

He definitely had some strong impressions about what felt normal and what didn’t. But he still wasn’t entirely certain he could believe them.

“It would probably be for the best,” he said.

“I’m going to confirm arrangements with the doctor I have coming in to check on you. The nurse, as well.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

“You have a head injury. And while we’re reasonably certain you aren’t going to die in the night, this is definitely out of the ordinary.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “All right then,” he conceded.

“I’ll wake you up when it’s time for dinner.” And then she turned and walked out briskly. And it was only then that it struck him that she never made any moves toward touching him physically. No small gestures of comfort. She hadn’t even behaved as though she was tempted to lean in and kiss him before walking out.

But he supposed he would have to unravel the mysteries of his own mind before he set out to unravel the mysteries of his marriage.

CHAPTER THREE

R
OSE
FELT
LIKE
she was losing her mind. Which, really wouldn’t do since Leon had so clearly lost his.

“That isn’t fair. He hasn’t lost his mind, he’s lost his memory,” she said, scolding herself as she paced the empty study.

The past two days had been the most trying of her entire life. And all things considered, that was saying something. She had endured an awful lot in her life. From her mother dying when she was a young girl to the loss of her father when she was only twenty-one. Continually feeling as though she didn’t fit in with her peers, because she was too quiet, too mousy to be of interest to anyone. Because she would rather spend her time in dusty libraries than at wild parties. Because if she was going to shop for anything it would probably be stationery or books rather than the latest fashions.

She had spent the past two years married to a man who hadn’t touched her outside of their wedding day.

Yes, it was safe to say that Rose Tanner had not had it easy.

Still, watching a man like Leon go through something like this, seeing him so reduced... It was... It was awful. She wished very much that she didn’t care quite so intensely. Even when she was angry with him, even when she talked herself into believing that she hated him, it didn’t change the fact that he was the most vibrant, powerful, incredible man she had ever met.

Seeing him injured. Seeing him unsure. Seeing him as mortal... It was as though the last remaining safety net in her life had been pulled away. She had already lost her other pillars. Her mother. Her father. And now, she was losing Leon, too.

Sure, he hadn’t exactly been a fantastic emotional support in the past few years, but he had been steady. Predictable, at least.

He could have died a couple of days ago, and he might never again be the man that he had been. Acknowledging that was devastating in a way she could never have anticipated.

“Get it together.”

Her stern admonishment echoed off the walls, and she bit back the rising hysteria that was threatening to burst out of her.

She should do something. Go out to the garden and tend to the roses. Finish cataloging her father’s extensive library. Instead, she sat on a dark green settee in front of the fireplace and allowed a wave of misery to wash over her.

She wanted so very much to be done with this. To be done with all of this sitting still and waiting for something better to become of her life, for something better to become of her marriage.

She wanted Tanner house. Of course she did. But she knew Leon wanted it, too. Ultimately, she had been willing to walk away from both if need be.

But she couldn’t walk away from him now. She needed to see him well. And then with a clear conscience she could go. She could get on with her life.

And if he doesn’t remember anything ever?

For one brief moment the temptation to lie to him overtook her. To tell him that the two of them were madly in love. To tell him that he had married her because he couldn’t keep his hands off of her, not because he wanted to inherit her father’s business empire and the home that had become close to his heart.

Yes, for one moment she was tempted. She wouldn’t be human if she wasn’t. She had spent so many years fantasizing about what it would be like to have Leon want her. To have him look at her and see her as a woman.

She couldn’t do it. It would be... Well, it would be disgusting, but more than that it would be the furthest thing from what she really wanted. She didn’t want Leon to be her prisoner. That was basically what he was already.

Actually, you’re his.

She couldn’t really argue with that. She had agreed to marry him, and then she had basically been installed in this house and left to rattle around the vacant halls. Meanwhile, he had continued to live life as though he were a single man.

The entire world knew they were married. The entire world also knew that he was an incorrigible playboy. And nobody knew that she had been trapped in an agreement to stay married to him for five years in order to make his ownership of her father’s company permanent, and for her to end up with the home in the event of a divorce.

That was the prenuptial agreement, dictated by her father before his death.

But she wasn’t waiting anymore. He could have the company. He could have the house. She just wanted to be free.

She had come to the point where she’d known she had two choices. To sit down and talk to him on one of the rare occasions he came home, and let him know how badly she wanted to give their marriage a chance. To tell him how she felt. Or, to ask for a divorce.

She’d opted for a divorce. Because there was no good way for the other conversation to end. She would lay her heart out there for him to see, risk everything and get rejected.

She’d decided she’d rather skip a few steps.

“Is it nearly dinnertime?”

She turned toward the sound of the gruff, sleepy voice and her heart nearly evaporated, right along with her good intentions. He was wearing nothing more than a pair of black, low-slung pants. His chest was bare, and she ought to be concerned about his wounds. About the bandage over his shoulder, the dark purple bruises streaked along his torso. Instead, her eyes chose mostly to fixate on his muscles.

On his perfectly defined chest, on the muscles in his abs that were rippling with each indrawn breath.

“I think so,” she said, well aware that she sounded a little bit like she was the one who had been hit over the head.

“I’m starving,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame. He was holding a gray T-shirt in his hand, but made no move to put it on. “This is the first time I’ve been hungry since the accident. It’s quite nice. I don’t suppose you’ll allow me to have a drink yet?”

“Still medicated, Leon.”

“I’m starting to think that I would sacrifice pain medication for a drink.” He frowned. “Do I drink a lot?”

She tried to think of Leon’s habits. She wasn’t overly familiar with them, since they didn’t spend all that much time together. But, come to think of it, he was rarely without a drink in his hand.

“A bit,” she said, cautiously. “Though I’m not quite sure what you’re getting at.”

“I have been craving a drink ever since I woke up. I don’t know if it’s simply because I’m in a situation of extreme stress or if I potentially have a bit of a dependency.”

“You go out a lot,” she said. “And why don’t you put your shirt on?”

She sounded a little more desperate than she would have liked, but if he found it out of the ordinary, he didn’t show it.

She wasn’t supposed to pile a lot of information on him. She really was supposed to wait until he questioned things. But she was finding it difficult. Part of her wanted to dump the truth on him and then leave him in the hands of a doctor or nurse.

But he had been there for her the night of prom. He had also been there for her when her father had died. And this was what her father would want for her to do. Because he’d cared about Leon. Leon had always been the son her father had never had. Oftentimes she had felt like she was competing for affection, though she knew her father had loved her, too.

Her father wouldn’t want Leon abandoned right now.

And so she would stay.

And she would do her very best not to upset him.

“I can’t,” he said, standing there still, the shirt clutched tightly in his hand.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I’m having trouble getting the shirt on. My ribs are too sore.” He held his hand out slightly, the shirt still clutched in his fist. “Can you help me?”

All of the air rushed from her lungs, her heart beating a steady rhythm in her ears. “I—” She was supposed to be his wife. There should be nothing remarkable about the request. There was nothing remarkable about it either way. He was an injured man and he needed help. He didn’t need her to be weird.

She cleared her throat and crossed the space between them, hesitating for a moment before she reached out and took hold of the shirt. Their fingers brushed as he relinquished it to her, and a shiver ran down her spine.

She needed to get a grip.

“When you say I go out a lot, you mean that I go to parties?”

She nodded, swallowing hard, her throat suddenly dry. “Yes.” She held the shirt so it was facing the right direction and gathered the material up. “You need to...duck your head or bend as much as you can.”

He bent slightly and she pushed the shirt over his head, dragging it down to his shoulders, his skin scorching hers as her knuckles brushed against his collarbone.

“And you?” he asked.

She looked up at him, her eyes clashing with his. He was so close. So close that it would be easy to stretch up on her toes and close the space between them. She’d only kissed him once. At their wedding in front of a church full of people.

What would happen if she did it again?

She blinked, trying to shake off the drugged feeling that was stealing over her. “Lift your arm as much as you can,” she murmured.

He complied, his fingers grazing his bicep as he slipped into the shirt. “Do you go out with me?” he pressed.

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She wasn’t supposed to be dumping information on him, and beyond that, she didn’t really want to. “I prefer to stay at home.”

She pulled the shirt down the rest of the way over his torso, her knuckles brushing against the crisp hair and hard muscle as she did, a hollow sensation carving itself into the pit of her stomach.

It brought to mind all manner of things she’d scarcely allowed herself to fantasize about. Possibilities she’d only just now let go, as she’d accepted the fact her marriage had to end.

And now this. This unique and particular torture that brought her closer to her fantasy than ever before, and further away at the same time.

She took a step away from him, hoping to catch her breath.

He frowned, straightening. “I go out without you?”

He looked just as sexy with the shirt on. Tight and fitted over his muscular frame. She blinked and looked away.

“Sometimes.” She looked up at the clock and saw that it was nearing six, which meant that dinner would be ready. She felt absolutely rescued by that. Maybe when they had a whole table between them she’d be able to breathe again. “I think it’s time for us to go and eat,” she said. “I’ll show you the way to the dining room.”

“You have a full staff here?” he asked, as they made their way through the house.

“Yes. I have kept everyone on since my father died. I didn’t see the point in changing anything.” She cleared her throat. “More than that, I guess I have desperately tried to keep everything the same.”

“We both love this house,” he said. “It’s something we share. At least, you have told me I love this house.”

“Yes, you do. And so do I. I was very happy here growing up. It is the only place I have memories of my mother. I remember hiding up at the top of the staircase and looking down, watching their massive holiday parties. My mother was always the most beautiful woman in the room. She looked so happy with my father. I wanted... I wanted more than anything to grow up and have that be my life.”

Her throat tightened and she found herself unexpectedly blinking back tears.

“Is that not our life?” he asked.

He sounded... He sounded hopeful. It was a very strange thing. Typically, Leon spoke with an air of practiced cynicism. He was not the sort of man who held out hope for much of anything. He was grounded. A realist. It was why she cherished the very few soft moments she had ever had with him. Because when he took the time to be caring she knew that he meant it.

But when it came to things like this, flights of fancy, romantic ideas about life and adulthood, she didn’t expect him to care at all. Much less be able to envision himself as part of it.

She found that she wanted to lie to him. Or, if not lie, be a bit creative with the truth.

“This house is ours. To do with it as we wish. You have been very busy since my father’s death. Fully establishing yourself as the head of the company, expanding. We have not yet had time to throw any large holiday parties.”

“But we intend to?”

“Yes,” she said. That really wasn’t strictly true. She imagined that he never intended to. And she’d been planning on leaving him before next Christmas anyway.

Though she had wished... She had hoped, once upon a time.

Recently, she had given up on it. She didn’t even imagine her own future in this house, much less a shared future. But there was no benefit in telling him that now.

When they walked into the dining room the table was already beautifully appointed. She had warned the staff to keep a low profile. The doctor had told her that it was best to keep things as low-key as possible for Leon while he recovered. It was easy to focus only on the amnesia, which was of course the thing that both of them were most aware of, and forget that he also possessed quite a few physical injuries.

“They made your favorite,” she said, sitting down in front of the steak and risotto that had been prepared for them. There was red wine at her seat. Water at Leon’s.

“This seems a bit cruel and unusual,” he said, eyeing her drink.

“I don’t need to drink it.”

“And that,” he said, his tone hard, “seems remarkably wasteful. You can drink wine. I cannot. One of us should.”

“Awfully giving of you.”

“I feel that I am generous.”

She couldn’t help herself. She laughed. “Do you?” She lifted her wine to her lips and took a sip, suddenly grateful for the extra fortification that it would provide.

“Yes. Are you contradicting me?”

“Of course not,” she said, looking down at her dinner. “You give to a great many charities.”

“There you have it,” he said, picking up his knife and fork. “Incontrovertible evidence that I am in fact generous.”

“Perhaps,” she said, slicing her steak slowly, “there is more than one type of generosity.”

His dark eyebrows shot upward. “Is that so?”

She lifted one shoulder. “Perhaps.”