Page 40 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

“You mean the apartment you lived in before we got married?” He stopped short. “You told me you sold that place.”

I blinked.

I did?

I shrugged, unable to hide the relief in my voice. “Guess I didn’t.”

At least past me had some sense.

He looked utterly lost, the color draining from his face as he tried to process what I’d just said. “No. You’re not doing that. You’re coming home. With me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You need someone to take care of you, Alessia.” His jaw flexed, the last of his restraint beginning to crack. “You can’t just walk out of here and pretend you don’t need help.”

“Felicity will be there,” I reminded him.

He shook his head immediately. “Felicity has her own life. She can’t be there twenty-four hours a day. She can’t drop everything whenever you need something. She isn’t me.”

“You’re right.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, far too early.

“She’s someone I actually know.” I let the words settle before adding, “And trust.”

The relief vanished.

His jaw tightened, the muscle in his cheek jumping as his eyes dropped for a fleeting second before returning to mine. “You can’t just leave,” he said finally, reaching for whatever argument he had left. “I have a say in this.”

Then came the trump card.

“I am your husband.”

This man had exactly one favorite sentence, and he was determined to use it until I either remembered our marriage or developed an allergy to the word husband.

“That reminds me.” I tilted my head. “Did you know I’m a firm believer in destiny? In fate. In signs. All those little cosmic breadcrumbs the universe leaves behind.”

His forehead creased, caught off guard by the sudden change in direction. He opened his mouth to respond, but I lifted a hand to stop him.

“I’m a very big believer. And after being trapped in this room for two weeks, I’ve had plenty of time to think.” I lifted my fingers, counting through my conclusions one by one. “So here’s what I’ve come up with.”

I raised one finger.

“I’ve lost almost three years of my life.”

A second finger followed.

“I have a husband.” I paused, holding his gaze. “A husband who doesn’t love me.”

His reaction was immediate. Pain flashed across his eyes, unmistakable and unguarded, but I refused to let it derail me.

A third finger joined the others.

“I’ve been neglecting my work. We had a fight bad enough that you thought I’d actually pretend to have amnesia just to punish you.” A hollow laugh slipped from me, bitter enough to sting on the way out. “And somehow, even after all of that, I still wasn’t leaving you.”

Because I was in love with you.

Love could make you overlook almost anything.