Demand (Careless Whispers #2)(31)

“So . . . you’re okay with it?”

“I hate this f*cking store.”

“Good,” I say, glancing around the store, surprised at how excited I am about where this is headed. “Because I think I could kind of love it, and I have a feeling you’ll be less of an * if I’m running it instead of you.”

“You think I’m an *, do you?”

“You think you’re an *,” I counter.

“Only when I have to be.”

“You never have to be with me.”

“Disproven by rethinking last night’s events.”

“Last night sideswiped me. It won’t happen again.”

He studies me a moment, and slowly, approval lights his eyes. It’s the first time I’ve seen anything light his eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“You won’t have to,” I assure him.

“You hate the store?” Giada asks, and I don’t wait for Adriel’s reply, which comes in Italian anyway.

I head toward the archway, glancing at the various displays in glass cases, eager to start exploring them all. Crossing under the giant arch and turning right, I discover a cozy living area with a white stone fireplace in the corner, a brown leather sofa, two oversized matching chairs, and a flat-screen television mounted on the wall. Farther right I find an open-concept kitchen with a gorgeous gray stone island, but my joy at the coziness is doused as I wonder if this was the part of the castle Kayden shared with Elizabeth before she was murdered. If that’s the case, I am not bringing up the store to him again.

I return to the living room.

“Ella.”

At the sound of Nathan’s voice, I turn to find him standing by the couch, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, his normally clean-shaven jaw shadowed. “My patient transferred to another hospital, so I came by on the way to meet them there.” He motions to the couch. “You want to sit?”

I nod and join him on the couch, angling to face him. “You look tired.”

“It was a hell of a night, and I got called into surgery this morning.”

“What day of the week is it?” I ask. “I really don’t know.”

“Saturday. And welcome to my world, where I barely know if it’s morning or night.”

“We don’t have to do this today.”

“I’m here, and I want to be here. I assume you want to know the same things Kayden wanted to know.”

I actually just wanted to pressure him for a way to trigger my memory, but I suddenly do want the answers Kayden wanted. “He told you that you could tell me?”

“Anything you want to know.”

I am once again reminded of my father’s advice. The truth is in his eyes and his actions. “What did he ask you?”

“He asked me if the return of your memory could change who you seem to be now.”

“Who I seem to be,” I repeat. The “seem to be” is pretty hard to swallow, but I can’t fault Kayden for asking what I also want to know. “And?”

“I’ve studied the data on this, and there aren’t enough cases like yours to be sure.”

“You mean I could end up a completely different person?”

“Unlikely.”

“Unlikely?”

“It’s very individual.”

“That’s a nonanswer.”

“It’s the answer I have to give you. Not only are there a minute number of people who’ve gone through this, but the circumstances they find themselves in could affect the outcome. It’s like a husband lost at sea for years, and when he returns his wife has remarried. Does she love him less?”

“Thank God I’ve remembered enough to know I’m not married,” I say. “If Kayden and I had that over our heads, I’m not sure where we’d be. But there’s the potential that something in my past could change us.” I shake my head. “We can’t live like this. He can’t have unknowns.”

Nathan leans closer, elbows on his knees. “Let me be as clear as possible. Do I think you will wake up and be a different person? No. Do I think you will stop caring about Kayden? No. Do I think the past could influence how either of you feel for each other? Maybe. And do I have one ounce of scientific evidence to justify those answers? Yes. But not much more.”

“And that’s not enough for Kayden.”

“He says it is.”

“And we both know it’s not, Nathan,” I insist, but I stick to the less-is-more idea, and leave it at that. “We both know that he deserves more than that. Make me remember.”

“I can’t make you remember.”

“What about drugs or hypnosis?”

“No to drugs, and I don’t recommend hypnosis for one simple reason: risk versus reward. It’s not documented as highly effective, and we’d have to step outside The Underground. Writing in your journal is the best way to bring back your memories.” His phone buzzes and he pulls it from his pants pocket and glances at it. “I need to go,” he says, his gaze catching on the TV remote. “This part of the castle has American news. Have you tried watching it?”

“No. I had no idea we got American news here.”

“I think I remember Kayden saying it’s only in this tower. Some kind of technical issue, so try it. It might be better than hypnosis.” He starts to walk away.