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When the doctor nodded and beckoned his two assistants forward with cases that looked to contain medical equipment, Imogen took that as her cue to leave.
Zeph’s voice stopped her before she’d made it three steps. ‘Stay, Imogen.’
The command rumbled through her, delivering layers of electricity and indomitable power that rushed fever through her blood.
She told herself she was annoyed at the imperial demand, that he’d made it impossible for her to leave, given their audience. But when she returned to the seating area, and he snagged her hand before she could place distance between them, she knew she’d stayed because this new Zeph continued to compel her with effortless power.
It was a relief not to be the subject of chilling indifference or glacial fury.
She tried to brush away the keen awareness of his muscled thigh next to hers as the doctor glanced at her.
‘If it’s not too much trouble, tell me the circumstances of locating your husband, Kyria Diamandis. It might help with his treatment.’
Reminded of the incident—goodness, was it just this morning?—she paused to summon the right words.
Zeph’s eyes glimmered at her, as if he found her hesitation amusing.
Imogen shrugged. ‘It was no big deal, really. He was in church in a small Greek village with a bunch of the people I assume he’s been living with since he went missing. He didn’t know who I was when I said I was his wife but he eventually...gave me the benefit of doubt.’
If the doctor was hoping for a salacious tale, such as a confession that she’d blown in like atelenovelaheroine just as her husband was about to marry another woman, she wasn’t about to make his day.
Zephyr Diamandis might be one of the richest men in the world, but he’d guarded his privacy with jaw-dropping zeal, with his PR department working overtime to ensure the very same. Besides, the last thing she wanted was to be embroiled in a media circus.
The doctor nodded, and proceeded to examine Zeph. Who continued to eye her with open interest as if the doctor and his minions weren’t present.
‘Tell me what your last memory is before ten months ago, Kyrios Diamandis.’
Finally the amusement was wiped off his face. His lips pursed and the area around his mouth grooved. ‘I’m sitting on a doorstep of a house. I can hear Greek voices around me so I’m assuming it’s here in Greece, but I could be wrong. I remember I’m waiting for someone but I don’t know who.’ He shrugged but Immie suspected his thoughts weren’t as carefree as he projected. ‘I also have recurring dreams playing out exactly those scenes so it may be the memory originated from a dream instead of the other way around.’
The doctor nodded, glanced at his assistant who made notes on a tablet, unaware that Imogen was frozen into shocked stillness.
‘Do you recognise the person you’re waiting for when they arrive?’ the doctor asked.
Zeph’s lips thinned further, his jaw clenching tight before he answered. ‘No. Because they never do.’
Her heart lurched and she bunched her hands in her lap to prevent them from visibly shaking. Sucking in a slow, even breath so his attention didn’t stray to her, she swallowed.
But collecting her fraying composure didn’t stop the snarled words she remembered starkly from flashing through her mind.
Because of your family’s greed I lost my grandfather and then my father. I sat on my doorstep in the rain waiting for a father who never came home again. Be thankful I only want marriage to secure this deal, and not a biblical eye for an eye, Miss Callahan.
Her heart twisted further when Zeph raised a hand to rub his temple. It was the first adverse sign she’d witnessed of his condition and her heart lurched for different reasons.
‘It’s imperative that you don’t try to force the memories,’ the doctor admonished gently, peering over his bifocals at Zeph and the hand worrying his temple, then her. ‘If that memory brings on headaches, you should refrain from probing it too much. That goes for you too, Kyria Diamandis. Attempting to prod his memories could do more damage that way.’
As much as she wanted to feel relief for being let off the confessional hook, she also dreaded the weight of the secrets she needed to carry.
‘So you’re saying there’s nothing at all that can be done?’ Zeph asked.
Imogen tensed further, conflicting emotions and hope and faint alarm swirling through her. She definitely wanted Zeph to get better. But it struck her acutely she didn’t want to deal with the old version of her husband. Not because she couldn’t—because somehow being forced to face down the board members and keeping a multibillion-euro conglomerate afloat had uncovered a spine of steel she was extremely proud of—but because she simply...didn’t want to.Yet.
And perhaps even for his own sake, she wanted this formidable but less...intense Zeph to stay awhile. She grimaced at the faint guilt that brought, pushed the whole notion away and focused on the doctor.
Who looked apologetic. ‘Retrograde amnesia—which I’m fairly certain is what you have—resolves itself in its own time. You’ve lived with it for almost a year. How long it lasts is anyone’s guess.’
‘One day at a time is all well and good, but I have several months’ worth of questions. There are some things I will insist on knowing, Doctor, whether they incite a headache or not. I should warn you about that now.’ The words were soft but the intent behind them were implacable. And again, he said them with his eyes fixed on her.
The expression in the doctor’s eyes said he knew he wouldn’t be moved on that point. ‘Then I suggest that it’s done carefully, with a minimum of stress. The good thing is that you’re back among the familiar with people who’ve known you some or all your life. That in itself is a great start.’
