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“What do you mean why? I care about you. I love you, Céline.”
Love?
I think my jaw just hit the floor. Metaphorically scooping it up, I stare at him, unable to fathom what he means by that. The calm I carried under my defiance of letting him in disappears with those four words, knowing my fear is being realized. How can he love me? He doesn’t even know me. He didn’t even know where I was or care that I was gone. He didn’t come for me, and more importantly, he didn’t file a report wanting to find me.
The most alarming thing is that he appears to believe that he genuinely loves me. It’s the most welcoming he’s been.
My heart starts to race as I question what I’m doing here. Is this worth it? Letting this man believe we have a chance? God, is that what he thinks? That I’m back to rekindle this relationship?
Will remembering who I am be worth the sacrifice of who I’ve become?
Getting the answers takes precedence over the temporary fear. “You say you love me, but you had no idea where I was or how long I’d be gone. Where did you think I was?” Asking questions that I should already know the answer to makes me sound ludicrous, but so is living with amnesia.
“What is going on with you?” he snaps. His disconcerting tone causes me to still. I push through my emotions, intent on getting what I came for—my past back. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Look at me like I’m your enemy. You know how that makes me feel.”
Guess this is a regular occurrence. And if I routinely do that, it begs the question of why I do it in the first place. The picture is filling out. Much to my dismay, it’s not in a positive light for him.
He signals to the door. “The time away was supposed to help—”
“Help what?”
“Help us.” Not the response I wanted. He rubs his hand over his face and sighs in frustration. “What were you doing all this time if you weren’t figuring out your damn life?”
Another surge of concerns clogs my chest. Is he violent? Or angry I left? Why did I leave? My own frustration sets in, but I know one thing for sure. The knowledge of my amnesia is not safe in his hands. Make that two things. I now know why no one was looking for me. I willingly left on my own.
“Why are you acting so strange?” he asks, his hair falling over the severity of his eyes. Despite telling me he loves me, nothing is comforting about him. Since I’ve arrived, his body language and tone have been anything but loving or welcoming. It’s as if I’ve interrupted his day.
“Traveling,” I blurt, needing a reprieve from him to collect my thoughts and make a new plan. “I’m tired. Do you mind carrying my suitcase for me?”
“I had really hoped three months away would have helped your head.”
Uh-oh. Does he know? “What’s wrong with my head?”
He shoots me a glare that would end a weaker person. That’s not me. I’m not going to run, spiting my alarm. Not only do I have the love of my soul mate as armor, but I’ve been to war these past seven weeks and have a strong shield. A hard stare won’t deter me from getting my life back.
“If you’re tired, you should rest. We have a lot to discuss.”
“We sure do,” I say as my own personal power play.
His brow pinches again before he starts up the stairs. Stopping a few steps ahead, he turns back. “I know the fight we had was bad, and the timing terrible, but the way you left . . . left me to deal with the guests, I questioned if you were ever coming back.”
There’s that smile again, the one that adds no warmth to his face. I’m shocked he doesn’t realize he’s completely transparent. Instead, he marvels in his stance as if his words should have greater meaning. “I should have known better.”
“Why is that?”
“Because that’s the agreement we made.”
“Well, maybe one day I’ll stay gone for good.”
He stops at the top and looks back, our gazes fixing in a way I can’t read. His indifference mars the love he claimed for me only a few minutes prior. “Sometimes I wonder if it would be easier.”
A shiver runs up my spine as a breath escapes, sinking my chest. I’m lost to the deeper meaning, and I hate it. “I don’t know.”
He looks up at the ceiling as sadness shrouds his face. “Yeah, me neither.” He leads me upstairs and to the right down the hallway. Opening a door on the right, he walks in like this is his room, causing my stomach to churn from the implication of what that really means.
