Page 27 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

“Felicity,” I said, watching “Dr.” Reed’s face closely, “how much did she pay you to pretend to be a doctor and pull this whole thing? Because that lab coat looks suspiciously cheap. I’m guessing she had to work with a limited budget.”

“I’m not pretending—this looks cheap?” He glanced down at his coat, offended.

I ignored the wounded expression and turned my attention to the silent man beside the bed.

“And you…” I murmured, finally giving him a proper inspection. My gaze traveled over his finely tailored suit, the severe lines of his face, and the dark eyes that hadn’t left me since I woke up. “She really went all out with this, didn’t she?”

He offered no reaction whatsoever.

“I’ll give her credit for the casting, though.” A half-smile tugged at my lips. “You definitely look the part. Strong jaw, expensive suit, brooding expression. You’ve got the whole ‘my wife’s in the hospital and I’m tragically devastated’ thing down.”

The “doctor” snorted.

I glanced at him.

He immediately looked away, pretending he hadn’t made a sound.

I turned back to my supposed husband.

“Still, you’re not really my type.” I gave him a thoughtful once-over. “Silent men have never done much for me. I prefer someone who can actually hold a conversation.”

His jaw clenched, a tiny muscle twitching in his cheek, but he said nothing.

I smiled sweetly. “But I suppose I can’t expect Felicity to find the perfect fake husband. She probably had to work with whoever was available.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Dr.” Reed smoothed down the front of his lab coat. “I understand why you’re confused, Miss Quinn, but I assure you, we aren’t lying to you.”

I stared at him. “Really? You expect me to believe that almost three years of my life have vanished, and this random-ass man—” I jabbed a finger in Cassian’s direction, “—is apparently my husband?”

A helpless laugh burst out of me before I could stop it.

There it was again.

That word.

Husband.

Every time it crossed my mind, I found myself wanting to laugh.

Reed watched me with the solemn patience of someone speaking to a difficult child. “Yes, Miss Quinn. That’s what I’m telling you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

His brows lifted slightly, but his tone remained calm. “I understand that this is difficult to process, but I’m not lying. I have absolutely no reason to fabricate any of this, especially while you’re recovering from a traumatic brain injury.”

“I just gave you a reason,” I reminded him cheerfully. “Felicity paid you.”

He turned toward Cassian. “Where is this Felicity?”

Cassian hadn’t taken his eyes off me. He shifted his weight and folded his arms, every inch of him radiating the kind of brooding seriousness that made my theory about the fake-husband casting feel even more convincing. “I texted her,” he replied. “She’s on her way.”

I nodded, satisfied. Once Felicity walked through that door, she could explain this entire elaborate setup and put an end to the increasingly ridiculous story everyone seemed determined to sell me.

“Why are you so certain I’m not your husband?” he asked at last, his gaze fixed on me.

A laugh escaped me. “Because just yesterday I told El that I was never, ever getting married.”