Denial (Careless Whispers #1)(3)

“You have to know that’s not a logical reply. Plenty of Americans, myself included, live in Rome, while thousands of others visit as tourists.”

“I know that—I meant I don’t live here.”

“So you’re visiting,” he says, rounding the bed to reclaim the stool. “That’s progress. Where do you live?”

“I don’t know,” I say, wracking my brain. “I don’t know. I just know it’s not here.”

“That’s okay. You know you’re American. You know you don’t live here. You’ll remember the rest in time.”

“You have no idea how much I want you to be right.”

“I’m right,” he assures me, “and for the record, you were right, too. I don’t have to stay. But I am.”

“I don’t want to be an obligation.”

“I don’t do obligation, sweetheart.”

“Well, then, pity.”

“Another thing I don’t do, so if you’re looking for someone to feel sorry for you, I’m the wrong guy for the job.”

“There are no other reasons for you to be here.”

“Aren’t there?” he challenges softly.

“What does that even mean?” I ask, but it’s a forgotten question when I hear “Good morning.”

A twenty-something woman in dark blue scrubs, her long dark hair tied neatly at her nape, sweeps into the room and offers me hope that I might actually find a way to escape all of this white noise.

“I’m Maria,” she says pleasantly, stopping at the end of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone turned off the switch to my brain,” I say, holding nothing back.

“That’s quite normal after a head trauma,” she assures me. “How about your back? Can you move okay?”

I flex a bit, and grimace. “I can. I just don’t want to.”

“I’m not surprised,” she says. “You have a pretty nasty lump between your shoulder blades.”

I don’t care about my back. I care about my memories. “When will the doctor be in?”

“He’s on his rounds now,” she says, “but he’ll be by soon to discuss your recovery. Now let’s check your vitals.”

She moves toward Kayden’s side of the bed and he stands reluctantly—or maybe I’m imagining it because I don’t want him to leave. He might be a stranger, and I might hate feeling like a burden, but he’s also all I have right now.

Moving into Kayden’s spot, Maria reaches for the blood pressure cuff and wraps my arm. “So far, your vitals have been looking good.”

It’s then that Kayden steps to her left, hovering over her shoulder, seeming to supervise her actions, and I swear the look on his handsome face is intense, almost possessive—which is a ridiculous thought. He barely knows me. I barely know him. He’s not possessive. Protective, maybe, of the woman he saved. Yes. That has to be it. That’s why he’s still here.

“How’s your pain?” Maria asks, shifting my attention back to her.

“Fine, unless I move.”

“That should start easing up by tomorrow,” she assures me, going silent for a moment to operate the blood pressure machine before confirming, “Still right on target.” She removes the cuff and picks up my chart by the bed.

“What about memory loss?” I ask. “Is that normal?”

“It happens,” she says, her tone matter-of-fact, dismissive even.

“But it’s not just a few mental hiccups,” I clarify. “It’s a complete meltdown.”

“It’s probably not as bad as you think,” she says, “but let’s do a little test.” Her pencil is poised to write on my chart. “Let’s fill in the blanks. I need your full name, birthday, and address.”

I laugh without humor. “I’d like to know those things myself.”

Her brow furrows. “You don’t know your name, birthday, or address?”

“That’s what I am telling you. My memory is gone. I don’t know my name. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t remember what happened last week.”

She narrows her gaze. “What is the last thing you do remember?”

“Waking up here.”

“No,” she amends, “I mean, what do you remember before right now?”

“Nothing,” I say. “There is nothing but now.”

She stares at me, her expression cautiously blank; more beats pass as she says nothing. Then she glances over her shoulder at Kayden and speaks a few sentences in Italian that are obviously about me. He replies rather shortly, almost as if he’s reprimanding her. But she is undeterred, launching into more Italian.

“English, please,” I plead, unable to take one more thing I don’t understand, especially since it’s about me, and to a stranger. How is that okay?

“I’m sorry,” Maria apologizes, setting the chart back on its clip.

“What did you say to him?” I ask, glancing at Kayden. “What did you say to her?”

“I told him I’m going to have the doctor in to speak with you in a few minutes,” she replies.

“And I told her we’d prefer sooner than later,” Kayden adds.