Carides's Forgotten Wife
His words had meant so much to her. Words she had held close to her chest. Words she had clung to when she had walked down the aisle toward him, thinking that perhaps this was what he had meant. That this would be the bright, beautiful living he had promised two years earlier.
Their marriage had been anything but bright. Far from soaring, she’d spent the past two years feeling as though her wings had been clipped. She had a difficult time reconciling the man he’d been then with the man she had married.
Still, that memory was so large, so beautiful in her mind, even with everything that had passed between them since, that she could not deny he deserved her help.
And once he was better, once he was nursed fully back to health, then she would take steps to moving on with her life.
“Just tell me what I need to do,” she said.
CHAPTER TWO
HE STILL COULDN’T remember his name when he was wheeled out of the hospital in a wheelchair and physically moved into a van designed to accommodate his limitations. But he did know that all of this ate at his pride. He did not like to need the assistance of others. He did not like to be at a disadvantage. And yet here he was, completely dependent, his pride in shreds.
Strange how he had no memories and yet he still knew these things. Bone-deep.
He knew his name. He knew his name because it had been spoken around him, over his head, as his wife and various medical professionals made decisions for him. But that was different than knowing his name. Than recognizing it. He was unable to remember who he was, but he wasn’t stupid. Still, that seemed to constitute a compromise that he could not be trusted to make his own decisions.
The drive to the airport was long, and painful, every dip in the road aggravating some injury or another. He was lucky to have less broken than he did. But he was still far too sore to walk on his own. He had a couple of broken ribs, but other than that it was mainly deep contusions. So he had been told. He knew his extensive list of injuries. Had done his very best to memorize them, just so there was something in his brain he knew. Something he knew about himself.
But it was a rather depressing list of facts, he had to admit.
Still, they were the only facts he had.
According to his doctor, there were basics that he would be told. But there were some things that were best allowed to return organically.
He hated that, too. Hated that he wasn’t just dependent on others for physical care. But that he was dependent on them for knowledge.
Every single person in the exam room earlier today knew more about him than he did. His wife knew whole volumes more than he did, undoubtedly.
He looked at her profile, her stoic expression as she looked out the window, watching the scenery go by.
“I know you very well,” he said. He hoped that by saying it it would make it so.
He must. He must know what she looked like beneath her clothes. He had touched her. Kissed her. Countless times, he would imagine. Because they were young—reasonably so—and in love, he presumed.
“I’m not entirely certain of that,” she said.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She blinked, looking startled. “Of course you do.”
The startled expression, he realized, was her correcting herself. Realizing she had done something wrong.
“Now you are being dishonest with me,” he said.
“I’m not. I’m just doing my best to follow the doctor’s orders. I’m not sure what I’m allowed to say and what I’m not allowed to say.”
“I don’t know that it’s detrimental either way.”
“I don’t want to put memories into your head that aren’t there.”
“Nothing is there at the moment. I’m a blank slate. I imagine I could very easily become victimized by you.”
Color flooded her cheeks. Angry color, he guessed. “I’m not going to do anything to you.” She turned away from him, her gaze fixed out the window again.
“So you say. But I am at your mercy.”
“Oh, and I am so very terrifying.”
“You could be. For all I know, this could be an elaborate ruse. I appear to be a very rich man.”
“How would you know?”
“I had a very nice private room, and an awful lot of attention from doctors.”
“Perhaps it is because you are a special case,” she said, her voice so brittle it reminded him of crystal.
“Oh, I have no doubt of that. There are certain things that I seem to know. That I feel, down deep in my bones. Other things you have told me, such as my name, I simply have to believe. But my importance, the fact that I am a special case, that I know.”
“Amazing,” she said, her tone arch. “Apparently nothing can beat your ego out of you, Leon. That is an amazing feat, I will bow to that.”
“So I am an egotist in addition to being special? I must be very charming to live with.”
She blinked slowly. “You often travel for work. I typically remain in Connecticut. I suppose we find we get on best that way.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Nothing unremarkable about that. I doubt very many people are suited to cohabitation.”
“Another thing you’re very confident about?”
“Yes. I am confident.” He knew that. He felt that. He turned his focus to his wife. “This has been very trying for you,” he said, trying his best to eliminate some of the waxen quality in her face. He did not like seeing her like this. Which was strange, considering he couldn’t remember what she was like on a daily basis. Still, he knew he did not like her being in distress.
“Nobody wants to hear that their husband may never regain his memory.”
“I can imagine. No man wants to hear he may never regain his memory.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry. This has nothing to do with how difficult it is for me. You’re the one who’s injured.”
“That isn’t true at all. Of course it matters if this is difficult for you. We are one flesh, are we not, agape?” He leaned in slightly, her light floral scent teasing his nose and stimulating...nothing. At least nothing in terms of memory. He was a man, after all, so it did stir something in his gut, low and deep. She was enticing, if not traditionally beautiful. “And if we are one flesh,” he continued, “then what affects me also affects you.”
She shifted, delicate color blooming in her cheeks. “I suppose that is true.”
They were silent the rest of the ride to the airport, silent until he was wheeled onto a plane. A private plane. He had no memory of this, either, so he imagined not remembering her scent wasn’t any more remarkable.
Once they were settled in the opulent surroundings, he leaned back in his chair. “This is mine?”
Rose nodded. “At least I hope so. I would hate to abscond with the wrong private plane.”
“Then we really would make headlines.”
“And of course we don’t want that,” she said, her tone firm.
“Do we not? I would like a Scotch.”
“Certainly not,” she said, frowning. “You’ve had enough pain pills to knock out a large mammal.”
“I am a large mammal. And I am not unconscious.”
“A larger one. Adding alcohol to the mix is a bad idea.” She sat down in the chair across from him. “We do not want it getting out in the press that you are having issues with your memory. I have called a couple of media outlets and let them know you are recovering nicely from what was a traumatic injury. But that you will be back to normal in no time.”
“Efficient of you. Do you work in my company with me?”
She shook her head. “No. But I spent many years helping my father with various details. Particularly after my mother passed away. So I’m well familiar.”
“Am I involved in the same business as your father was?”
Her expression became guarded. “I don’t think we should talk about business. In fact, I know we shouldn’t. That is something I discussed with your doctor.”
“How very nice of you to leave me out of it.”
“It’s for your health and well-being,” she said, her words stiff.
“As though I am a child and not a grown man.”
“You may well know less than a child does, Leon.”
“I know a great many things,” he countered. “I do not need to be sheltered.”
“You’re also not in any condition to go to work. Which means you don’t need to be troubled with the details of business.”
“As I said earlier, I am at your mercy.” His head was pounding, and he really could kill someone for a Scotch. He could not be entirely certain, but he felt as though he did not often go this long without having a drink. He found the experience unsettling. Or perhaps, he was simply unsettled because his entire mind was a vacant field, with nothing stretching as far as he could see.
“I don’t intend to let you atrophy on me now, Leon. We have a bit too much of a history for that.” Of course they did. They were married after all. “You should sleep. When you wake up we’ll be in Connecticut. And it’s entirely possible everything will seem a bit clearer.”
* * *
When the town car pulled up to the Tanner house Leon expected...something. A rush of familiarity, a feeling that he might latch on to. Rose had said this place was very important to him. In fact, she had acted as though his being here would be key to his recovery, and he realized as they advanced on the large, palatial home that he had been expecting something of a miracle when it came into view.
There was no such miracle.
It was a beautiful home, comprised of brick, with ivy climbing up the sides, making it appear as though the earth was attempting to reclaim the space for its own. There were no other houses out here. There was nothing but a large building off to the side he assumed was quarters for the staff, or at least had been at one time. Otherwise, there were large sprawling lawns in a vibrant green, backed by thick dark woods that gave the impression this house was in another time and space entirely from the rest of the world.
It was a beautiful home. But none of the magic he had been hoping for was present.
“This is it,” Rose said, her tone small, as though she had already sensed his disappointment.
How was it that she could know him so well, even as he now didn’t know himself? It was as though she could see inside of him, see into things that he could not. She had done so on the flight, and then again once they had landed. Of course, none of it seemed to matter, as her sixth sense mostly involved realizing that he was craving alcohol, and then denying him the satisfaction.
“Yes,” he said. “So it is.”
“You don’t remember it.” She sounded crestfallen.
“No,” he said, surveying the bricks and mortar yet again. Waiting for a feeling of homecoming to overtake him. Waiting for anything beyond this fuzzy, blank confusion.
“You have been coming here often for as long as I can remember,” Rose said. “Ever since you first started working with my father. When you became his protégé.”
“Is that how we met?”
She nodded wordlessly, the gesture slightly stilted. “You would always sit with him in his study, but I can’t enlighten you as to the content of those meetings. I was not included. Which stands to reason since I was a child.”
He wondered then how old she was. If she was much younger than him. She did seem young. But then, he had very little reference point for that since he wasn’t entirely certain how old he was.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“I don’t think that’s relevant. Anyway, it isn’t polite to ask a lady her age. Is that something you’ve forgotten?”
“No. Survival skills made sure that was instilled deep inside of me still. However, it seems relevant. If I was here having business meetings and you were a child then clearly there is an age gap between us.”
“Something of one,” she said, her tone airy, distant. “But it isn’t important. Why don’t we go inside and I can show you to your room.”
Her words didn’t strike him as odd until they were wandering through the grand foyer of the home, surrounded by enough marble and fine art to make any museum curator jealous.
“To my room?” he asked.
“Yes,” she returned.
“We do not share a room?”
She cleared her throat, fidgeting slightly. “Well, for the purposes of your recovery it would be extremely impractical,” she said, neatly sidestepping the question. That was something he noticed she did with frequency.
“You did not make it sound like there would be any changes in our living arrangements when you talked about showing me to my room.”
“You’re making assumptions.”
“I am. Enlighten me as to the situation, Rose. My head hurts and I find that I am in a foul temper.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “This is a very traditional house. With an obscene amount of rooms, as I’m sure you guessed. It’s very much existing in its own time. And, I suppose you could say our living arrangement exists in the same time. We both like our space.”
“Are you saying we live like some outmoded royal couple?”
“Yes. As I said, you are often away. For business. That means I often live on my own. So I elected to retain my own space, and that suited you just fine.”
The answer seemed wrong to him. The arrangement seemed wrong to him. Which was strange, because he knew the man he was. The man who possessed all of the memories, all of the past experiences, had clearly found it the right way to conduct his marriage. Who was he to argue with that superior version of himself in full possession of all of the facts?
Still, he wanted to. Because his wife had come to his side immediately when he had been injured. Because her blue eyes were the only thing he truly remembered.
“Will you be able to make it up the stairs?” she asked, looking at him with concern in her expression.
“None of my limbs are broken.”
“Your ribs are.”
He shifted, wincing. “Only a couple.”
“Tell me if this is too taxing.” She began to lead the way up the broad, curved staircase. The steps were carpeted in a rich dark red, the banisters made of oak, polished to a high-gloss sheen. Money, history and tradition oozed from the pores of this place. And he had a strange sense that he did not belong. That somehow all of this was not his birthright, in any sense of the word.
He looked at Rose, her delicate fingertips skimming along the banister, her long, elegant neck held straight, her nose tilted up slightly. She was a bit plain, it was true, but she was aristocratic. There was no denying it. She was fine-boned, and refined, each and every inch of her.
He had the feeling that her skin was like silk. Smooth, perfect and far too luxurious for any mere mortal man to aspire to.
Somehow, he had her. Somehow, he had this house.
And he could make none of it feel real. Everything seemed to exist on its own plane. As if it were a strange dream he’d had once long ago.
A dream he couldn’t quite remember.
He paused, a sharp pain shooting up his side, somehow going straight up his neck and through his jaw, rendering him motionless. As if sensing his discomfort, Rose turned. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he returned.
“You don’t look fine.”
“Pain is a very determined thing,” he remarked, continuing to stand there frozen as he waited for the lingering effects to recede. “It doesn’t like to stay at the site of the injury.”
“I’ve never been seriously injured. So I don’t really have any experience with that.”
“I... I don’t know if I ever have been before. But either way I don’t remember it. So it feels remarkably like the first time.”
That made him wonder what other things might feel like the first time, and judging by the suddenly healthy color in his wife’s face, she was wondering the same thing.
Of course, with his ribs being what they were, that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.
It was a strange thought, the idea of going to bed with someone he didn’t know. Except, he did know her. But he might be different with her now. He might not be able to be the lover she deserved, or the one she wanted.
“Can you keep going? Or do you need for me to figure out a way to fix you a room downstairs?”
“I’m fine,” he said, welcoming the interruption of his thoughts.
Finally, they reach the top of the stairs and he continued to follow her down the long corridor that led to his bedroom. Though bedroom was a bit humble of a word for what was in actuality an entire suite of rooms.
There was a home office, an extremely large bathroom, a sitting area and a room that actually contained a bed. “Do you have something similar?”
She nodded in affirmation. “Yes.”
“We really are quite a bit like a royal couple.” It made no sense to him, and it also felt wrong. He felt...captivated by Rose. Drawn to her. He couldn’t imagine agreeing to separate bedrooms.
But perhaps things were different when his head was full of other things. Right now, it was only filled with pain, and her.
She was preferable to the pain, no contest.
She tilted her head to the side. “I find it very strange. The things you know and the things you don’t.”
“So do I. In all honesty, I would rather forget my surface knowledge of world customs and reclaim what I know about myself. But no one has consulted me on this.”
“I understand. I should leave you to rest.”
He was exhausted. Which seemed ridiculous considering he had spent most of the flight sleeping. He felt like this was definitely out of the ordinary. Being this tired. Also, being this sober.
He definitely had some strong impressions about what felt normal and what didn’t. But he still wasn’t entirely certain he could believe them.
“It would probably be for the best,” he said.
“I’m going to confirm arrangements with the doctor I have coming in to check on you. The nurse, as well.”
“I’m not an invalid.”
“You have a head injury. And while we’re reasonably certain you aren’t going to die in the night, this is definitely out of the ordinary.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “All right then,” he conceded.
“I’ll wake you up when it’s time for dinner.” And then she turned and walked out briskly. And it was only then that it struck him that she never made any moves toward touching him physically. No small gestures of comfort. She hadn’t even behaved as though she was tempted to lean in and kiss him before walking out.
But he supposed he would have to unravel the mysteries of his own mind before he set out to unravel the mysteries of his marriage.
CHAPTER THREE
ROSE FELT LIKE she was losing her mind. Which, really wouldn’t do since Leon had so clearly lost his.
“That isn’t fair. He hasn’t lost his mind, he’s lost his memory,” she said, scolding herself as she paced the empty study.
The past two days had been the most trying of her entire life. And all things considered, that was saying something. She had endured an awful lot in her life. From her mother dying when she was a young girl to the loss of her father when she was only twenty-one. Continually feeling as though she didn’t fit in with her peers, because she was too quiet, too mousy to be of interest to anyone. Because she would rather spend her time in dusty libraries than at wild parties. Because if she was going to shop for anything it would probably be stationery or books rather than the latest fashions.
She had spent the past two years married to a man who hadn’t touched her outside of their wedding day.
Yes, it was safe to say that Rose Tanner had not had it easy.
Still, watching a man like Leon go through something like this, seeing him so reduced... It was... It was awful. She wished very much that she didn’t care quite so intensely. Even when she was angry with him, even when she talked herself into believing that she hated him, it didn’t change the fact that he was the most vibrant, powerful, incredible man she had ever met.
Seeing him injured. Seeing him unsure. Seeing him as mortal... It was as though the last remaining safety net in her life had been pulled away. She had already lost her other pillars. Her mother. Her father. And now, she was losing Leon, too.
Sure, he hadn’t exactly been a fantastic emotional support in the past few years, but he had been steady. Predictable, at least.
He could have died a couple of days ago, and he might never again be the man that he had been. Acknowledging that was devastating in a way she could never have anticipated.
“Get it together.”
Her stern admonishment echoed off the walls, and she bit back the rising hysteria that was threatening to burst out of her.
She should do something. Go out to the garden and tend to the roses. Finish cataloging her father’s extensive library. Instead, she sat on a dark green settee in front of the fireplace and allowed a wave of misery to wash over her.
She wanted so very much to be done with this. To be done with all of this sitting still and waiting for something better to become of her life, for something better to become of her marriage.
She wanted Tanner house. Of course she did. But she knew Leon wanted it, too. Ultimately, she had been willing to walk away from both if need be.
But she couldn’t walk away from him now. She needed to see him well. And then with a clear conscience she could go. She could get on with her life.
And if he doesn’t remember anything ever?
For one brief moment the temptation to lie to him overtook her. To tell him that the two of them were madly in love. To tell him that he had married her because he couldn’t keep his hands off of her, not because he wanted to inherit her father’s business empire and the home that had become close to his heart.
Yes, for one moment she was tempted. She wouldn’t be human if she wasn’t. She had spent so many years fantasizing about what it would be like to have Leon want her. To have him look at her and see her as a woman.
She couldn’t do it. It would be... Well, it would be disgusting, but more than that it would be the furthest thing from what she really wanted. She didn’t want Leon to be her prisoner. That was basically what he was already.
Actually, you’re his.
She couldn’t really argue with that. She had agreed to marry him, and then she had basically been installed in this house and left to rattle around the vacant halls. Meanwhile, he had continued to live life as though he were a single man.
The entire world knew they were married. The entire world also knew that he was an incorrigible playboy. And nobody knew that she had been trapped in an agreement to stay married to him for five years in order to make his ownership of her father’s company permanent, and for her to end up with the home in the event of a divorce.
That was the prenuptial agreement, dictated by her father before his death.
But she wasn’t waiting anymore. He could have the company. He could have the house. She just wanted to be free.
She had come to the point where she’d known she had two choices. To sit down and talk to him on one of the rare occasions he came home, and let him know how badly she wanted to give their marriage a chance. To tell him how she felt. Or, to ask for a divorce.
She’d opted for a divorce. Because there was no good way for the other conversation to end. She would lay her heart out there for him to see, risk everything and get rejected.
She’d decided she’d rather skip a few steps.
“Is it nearly dinnertime?”
She turned toward the sound of the gruff, sleepy voice and her heart nearly evaporated, right along with her good intentions. He was wearing nothing more than a pair of black, low-slung pants. His chest was bare, and she ought to be concerned about his wounds. About the bandage over his shoulder, the dark purple bruises streaked along his torso. Instead, her eyes chose mostly to fixate on his muscles.
On his perfectly defined chest, on the muscles in his abs that were rippling with each indrawn breath.