Chapter 9
Zaira
Iwake in a state of confusion. Looking around the room, I realize I am in a bedroom but not a room familiar to me. Then, as the sleep descends from my mind, I remember. Funny thing, remembering. I remember I have amnesia and have lost my memory. And I know that makes absolutely no sense, but there it is.
I’m at Michael’s home, and this is the room he told me would be mine. I get out of bed and walk into the en suite bathroom. The bathroom is almost as big as the bedroom. Marble countertops surround the sinks, and a beautiful ceramic tile adorns the floor. I definitely don’t want to walk in here with heels on for fear I might crack the tiles.
I look at my reflection in the mirror.Is that me?I have no idea what I am supposed to look like, so I assume it must be me as it’s my brain housed in this body. I take advantage of the facial wash and moisturizers on the counter. I take the smeared makeup off my face, wash it, and moisturize. There is also an unopened toothbrush on the counter with a fresh tube of toothpaste. I definitely need to brush my teeth.
When I am done, I wipe my face, and when I walk out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, my stomach growls. Oh goodness, I’m famished. I realize I have not eaten a thing all day today. I go back in the bathroom and straighten my clothes and brush my hair. Once I feel I am presentable enough to leave this room to a house full of strangers—well, except for Michael—I walk back out of the bathroom and head straight for the bedroom door.
I’m startled when I open it to find Michael standing on the other side. “I was just about to knock,” he says.
“Oh, I was going to see if I could find you,” I reply.
“It’s a good thing I am here then. You’d probably get lost.” He chuckles. “How are you feeling?” he asks as he steps inside the room.
“My head hurts, but it’s much better than it was earlier.” I smile ’cause I am genuinely glad to see him. My stomach lowly grumbles. “I was wondering if perhaps I could have something to eat?”
“You must be starving,” he replies. “Of course. Actually, I was just coming to get you for dinner. Every Sunday, we have a family dinner, so if you don’t mind eating with the whole gang”—he holds his arm out for me to take—“then I’ll be glad to escort you to the dining room.”
Taking his arm, I smile at him and reply, “I don’t mind, and even if I did, I think my hunger would overrule it.”
“Well then, let’s get you fed.” As we walk toward the staircase, Michael asks, “Are you okay walking?”
I look up at him and am still in awe of how handsome he is. I like being with him, and I find that I crave his attention. “I’m good, I think. But, maybe you should just hold on to me as I might be a little unsteady going down stairs.”
“I got you,” he says, assuring me.
I find comfort in the fact that indeed he does have me. I feel safe in his care, and right now, it’s all that really matters.
“So after dinner, I thought I would show you around the house and then we could then talk. I know you must have a lot of questions.”
“I’d like that. Thank you, Michael,” I reply.
We get to the bottom of the stairs and turn left. We approach a great room on my right with a huge dining table. There are nine people sitting at it, and I find it odd that only two of them are women.
“Come,” Michael says, “Let me introduce you to everyone.” He walks me to the head of the table where a very handsome older gentleman sits. “This is my father, Domenic.”
“It’s so good to see you again, Zaira,” he says to me, and I notice he has kind eyes just like Michael. And it does not go unnoticed to me that he obviously knows who I am.
“And this beautiful woman is my mother, Francesca.” Michael gestures toward the woman sitting directly to Domenic’s right.
“It’s a pleasure, Zaira. You look like you are feeling better,” she says.
I nod. “Thank you. Thank you both for your hospitality.”
“It’s our pleasure, my dear,” Francesca replies.
Michael then continues with the introductions. Pointing to the left of his mother, he says, “That’s Gina, my kid sister. Seated next to Gina are Jude and Marco.”
I remember the name Jude from when we arrived. His was the voice that spoke to us while we were at the gate. Michael then points to the other side of the table, to his father’s right. I notice the first two seats are empty, and Michael is pointing at the man in the next seat.
“That is my little brother, Alex.” And then he points to Ricco who is sitting next to him. “You remember Ricco and Sainte from earlier today. And that,” he says, pointing to the older man next to Sainte, “is uncle Sal.”
Every man at this table is incredibly handsome in their own way.Do they only employ beautiful people?I think to myself. And Gina is a mini-Francesca, and they both are incredibly stunning. There are so many people to remember, but somehow, I feel like I have known them all my life. I guess that is a good thing. Hopefully going forward in my current state of mind, I will remember all their names.
Michael takes my hand and leads me toward the two empty seats. We sit down, and within minutes, servers come from the back of the room, bringing the food.
