Page 67 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

“I got everything,” he announced, his voice hoarse from exertion but filled with unmistakable satisfaction. “Now you can’t accuse me of trying to starve you.”

He dropped into the chair across from my desk, a long, weary groan escaping as he slumped into it. Exhaustion had wrecked his appearance, but the smug triumph on his face remained completely intact.

My eyes moved from the bizarre assortment he had hauled in to his thoroughly ruined appearance.

“I’m full,” I informed him.

I expected him to finally snap. To lose his temper, raise his voice, throw the divorce papers across the room and tell me he was done. I expected anger. Accusations. Every ugly name he could think of.

Instead, silence answered me.

My fingers stopped over the keyboard. Slowly, I lifted my gaze.

He hadn’t moved. He sat there with an infuriating composure, his eyes fixed on mine. But there was no defeat in them. No anger, either.

There was understanding.

My eyes narrowed.

I didn’t like that look.

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile, amusement glinting in his eyes. “I know what you’re trying to do, Alessia.” He gave a small shake of his head, watching me with a calm that was becoming increasingly infuriating. “You’re trying to wear me down. Push me until I lose my patience, lose my temper, and finally decide I’ve had enough and walk away.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms against the desk, his gaze holding mine. “But I’m not leaving.” The amusement disappeared from his face, replaced by a resolve that refused to bend. “I told you I wouldn’t give up on us, and I meant every word.” His jaw clenched. “I know you. And I won’t let you push me out.”

His eyes sharpened, challenge settling into them. “So push me. Provoke me. Try every trick you have. Be as impossible as you want.” One corner of his mouth lifted again, almost daring me to try. “But you’re not getting rid of me, Alessia. You’re going to have to try a hell of a lot harder than that.”

I blinked once, then leaned back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest. “No,” I said softly. “You don’t know me. You knew a girl who cared for you. A girl who did things for you. A girl who stayed for you.” I tilted my head, watching his expression tighten. “I am not that girl. You have no idea who I am when I’m not in love with you, Cassian.”

Then, I gave him the sweetest, most innocent smile I could manage.

“Now, go get me some ice cream.”

Chapter 11

Ishould have stayed home.

My gaze swept across the grand ballroom, skimming over clusters of guests engaged in polished small talk.

Mr. Garcia’s 60th birthday was less a party and more a festival. Mrs. Garcia had, as always, gone above and beyond. It was another stunning event I could have orchestrated, but instead I stood on the sidelines, a mere guest, nursing a surprisingly excellent mocktail.

I need to get the caterer’s contact.

It seemed every influential person in the city was here.

Except for Felicity.

She was late. I checked my watch again. Still no sign of her.

My gaze swept across the room again and instantly collided with a familiar, brooding pair of brown eyes.

Mr. Garcia was standing beside him, talking animatedly, but Cassian’s attention was anchored to me. His eyes would flicker back to the older man out of politeness, only to snap back to mine a second later.

I narrowed my eyes in a silent warning. In response, he gave me a look of pure, desperate pleading. Rescue me.

Mrs. Garcia had invited us both, and despite my explicit instructions for him to stay away, Cassian had shown up. So, I’d simply handed him a problem.

All I’d had to say was that Cassian was deeply passionate about gardening, and Mr. Garcia had lit up like a kid at Christmas, and Cassian, too polite to crush an old man’s enthusiasm, had been trapped in a horticultural hell for the last thirty minutes.