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In the rearview mirror, I catch my own determined expression.Monster.
Yeah, maybe I am a monster. Or maybe I’m just a man so consumed by love and adoration that I had no choice but to give up and let it rule. I’m not in control anymore. My heart is.
And it is pumping solely for my bride.
4
Madlen
I don’t know who I am. I know basic things, how the world functions and stuff like that but the memories of my life are erased. I should be terrified but I’m not as long as he’s here. If it hadn’t been for him I would have been panicking by now but his presence it so reassuring, his gaze so calm and secure and it feels like he’s the kind who knows exactly what to say and when to say it.
He must be some kind of magician with words because as soon as he called me beloved, it felt like he knew how to worship me to my very core. How did I get so lucky to end up with someone like him? What if my husband to be had been a horrible man? He could have been devious and cunning but I feel nothing but warmth as I lean against Maker’s shoulder. His arm is around my hip, tugging me as close as possible without me practically sitting in his lap.
Whenever he looks down at me, I feel a flutter in my belly and I become so painfully aware of my heart that it’s scary. When the cab stops, Maker pays the cabbie then carries me out of the car and he doesn’t put me down until I vehemently protest and even then he stays so close his face is almost in my hair.
“Watch your step,” he rasps, “I wouldn’t want you to fall and hurt your head again.”
“Maybe if I do, I’ll regain my memory,” I say, attempting to joke but he doesn’t seem amused and he leads me up to his house. It’s two stories high and built in dark stone with a flat roof and square windows. Masculine and stern. A little bit like Maker himself.
Unlocking the door, he gently ushers me inside and I’m curious to find out more about myself. He has told me that we live together even though we’re not wedded yet but I’m a little surprised at just how unfamiliar everything seems. I have zero muscle memory which disappoints me but then I catch a couple of pairs of shoes lined up against the wall and let out a surprised squeak. They’re gorgeous, all of them and must have cost a fortune.
“Are these mine?” I ask as if I don’t already know the answer and he watches me with intent. Of course they’re mine. As far as I know, no other woman lives here. When he nods, I pick up a pair, noticing to my surprise that they all seem new. Maybe I don’t use them very often and I look down at the torn boots I’m wearing and grimace inwardly. My boots are going to have to go because I can’t look like a ragdoll next to Maker who is nothing but pristine perfection.
Walking further down the hallway, I notice a photo of me in a diamond gilded frame, standing on a boardwalk with the moonlight in the back. There’s a couple of more photos of me, a big one over the fireplace in the living room and there’s some candelabras in front of it and a vase with colorful flowers. It almost looks a little bit like an altar and I feel a slight shiver for some reason.
As I turn to discover the rest of the house, I go dizzy and my knees cave. Maker catches me, letting out a low curse and his eyes swim with worry.
“What’s wrong, beloved?” he asks. “Are you faint?” When I nod, he adds with another curse. “I’m an idiot. I’m getting you a doctor.”
“Aren’t you going the wrong way?” I whisper as he carries me up the staircase but he shakes his head.
“I don’t want you anywhere near a hospital.”
My brows knot. “Why not?”
His mouth thins and he doesn’t reply. Walking into a large and bright room, he sets me down on a fluffy bed with white sheets and a thankful smile crosses my face as I lean against the pillows.
“Do you mind drawing the curtains?” I say. “My temples are pounding.”
A look of pure agony crosses his face, almost taking my breath away at the pain. “You’re worrying me,” he rasps, drawing the curtains just like I asked and I feel a bit better when the light isn’t quite so strong. “Better?”
I nod and he takes out his phone from his pocket and dials a number as my lids flutter but Maker has told me I shouldn’t fall asleep and I distract myself by looking around the room. More photos of me on Maker’s side of the bed. A lot more.
“I’ve called my house doctor,” he says and I look up. “Are you okay with a checkup? I’ll be with you the whole time.”
“If you think it’s necessary then I won’t argue.”
His features soften and he truly is something else, refined but somehow so rough around the edges that it gives me tingles. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s the kind of man who knows exactly how to make a girl melt.
He fusses though. Fusses over me like I’m coated in gold and he’s the monster guarding his treasure. Or maybe monster is the wrong word because he’s too good looking and too pure hearted for a monster. Pacing back and forth with his hands in pockets he keeps asking me if I’m alright but when I tell him I’m overheating in my clothes he gets some tension around his mouth.
“Keep them on for now,” he says and that tension around his mouth hardens when the doorbell rings. “Don’t go anywhere.”
A choked laugh crosses my lips because I’m getting super tired and am pretty much immobile. When Maker walks into the room again, he’s accompanied by the doctor. He seems to be around Maker’s age but is shorter than him and has a professional smile on his face.
“Amnesia you say?” he asks Maker who nods.
“I believe that yes,” he replies and when the doctor moves so does Maker and I get a little tense when I notice the way Maker is watching him. He looks like he’s ready to attack if needed and snaps at the doctor to be careful when he pulls at my lid to examine my eyes.
