by Ryan, Lexi
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispers. He lowers his mouth to mine in a kiss so sweet my nerves fizzle away. And maybe it’s how good he smells or the fact that I already had a big glass of wine before he got here. Or maybe it’s because I’m standing and don’t feel as self-conscious about my body like this. But when his hands find the hem of my sweater and slide under, I don’t stop him.
He breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against mine, his eyes closed and lips parted a fraction of an inch as he cups my breast in his hand and grazes his thumb over my nipple. The contact makes my knees weak and I have to curl my hands into the thick muscle of his shoulders to keep myself upright.
“So we have the place to ourselves tonight?” he whispers.
Something thick lodges in my throat at his question and nerves flare back to life in my belly. “Yeah.”
“Do you want to have dinner first or can I give you your present?”
“I thought the flowers were my present.”
He grins and points to a gift bag sitting by the door. “I got you something else too.”
“You really didn’t have to.”
He retrieves the bag and watches me carefully as I open it.
“Oh.” It’s pretty much the last thing I’d want him to buy me.
“Do you like it?”
“I…” I force a smile but it hurts when I want to die of mortification. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” And it is. The silky gold material of the lingerie slip is rose-petal soft in my hands and beautiful against my skin.
“I know you’re not ready yet. I don’t want you to think I’m pushing you. But I saw it and I thought of you. You’d look gorgeous in it.”
“Thank you,” I repeat, dropping it back into the bag. I have to turn away from him. I can’t let him know how horrified I am by the idea of him seeing me in that slip. I don’t want him to see the parts of me that would be on display in it or to know how un-sexy a girl like me looks in lingerie.
I go back to the kitchen and busy myself with the steaks.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asks behind me. “Was that too much too soon or…?”
“No,” I assure him. “You’re wonderful. This is perfect.” But the awkward silence as I get our meals on the table speaks volumes to how not-perfect this night is shaping up to be.
“Want me to pour some wine?” he asks as I take our plates to the table.
My shoulders drop in relief. Wine is just the Band-Aid we need here. “That would be wonderful.”
He pours us each a full glass and we sit and stare awkwardly at our food. “I’m sorry about the lingerie. It’s probably too soon for that.”
Shit. I’ve ruined this. I keep reminding myself that I can’t have it both ways. I can’t be with Max in every way I want to and keep hiding my body from him. “I’m kind of…insecure,” I blurt.
Looking up from his plate, he softens. “I noticed.” He isn’t cruel about it. It isn’t an accusation—more of a sympathetic understanding.
“I saw the slip and instantly thought about how much I didn’t want you to see me in it.” God, that’s terrible to admit.
“Hanna…” He exhales heavily. “I don’t know what to say. I wouldn’t have bought it for you if I didn’t want to see you wear it.”
“I’m not like the girls you usually date.”
“Thank God.” He grins. “You’re you. And I happen to like that.” His phone buzzes and he pulls it from his pocket. “Sorry,” he says as he slides his finger over the screen and reads. “Crap.”
“What is it?”
“Meredith thinks she’s going into pre-term labor. She wants me to take her to the hospital.”
“Meredith? The one who bought sperm to get pregnant and let everyone think it was William Bailey’s baby?”
He taps something on his phone before sliding it back into his pocket. I wait for him to respond, but his mind is somewhere else already. “I’m sorry. She doesn’t have anyone else to take her.” He stands, and I’m so shocked I can only gape at him. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?”
I shake my head as if the motion can send my confusion away. What is happening? Is my boyfriend seriously going to spend Valentine’s Day with some pregnant bitch who tried to steal my best friend’s boyfriend?
By the time I can gather my wits to follow him to the door, he’s already in his coat and pulling open the door.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” I whisper.
He drags a hand through his hair, tousling it in the way that makes him go from handsome to devilishly irresistible. “She doesn’t have anyone.”
“What about her friends? I happen to remember her having a lot of those back when she was letting everyone think William was some jerk who got her knocked up.”
His jaw hardens. “I know Cally’s your friend, but Meredith is mine. You’re going to have to deal with that.”
He pushes out the door and pulls it shut behind him, and I’m left alone with a romantic dinner complete with wine, roses, and lingerie. Alone while he runs to rescue the gorgeous blonde.
“IT’S NICE to see you again, Miss Thompson,” the lawyer says as Lizzy and I settle into chairs in her comfortable Indianapolis office. “And it’s nice to meet your sister. What can I do for you today?”
“We’re kind of wondering who the silent partner is,” Liz says. She points her thumb at me. “This one has amnesia and doesn’t remember whether or not you told her.”
Her eyes go wide. “Amnesia! That’s horrible. I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“I’m a klutz and fell down the stairs.”
“Goodness. Do they think your memory will come back?”
“The doctor said it will, but like Swiss cheese,” I explain. “And so far that’s been true. Lots of holes, including the details of my agreement with my silent partner.”
“Well, to answer your sister’s first question, the agreement was under the condition of my client’s anonymity, so if you knew who was behind it, that information certainly didn’t come from me.” She stands and hands me a thick folder across the desk. “I’m sure you have this in your files somewhere, but those are copies with the details of our agreement. You may keep them if you like.”
I open the file and flip through the first few pages, but my impatient twin cuts to the chase. “What’s going to happen to the bakery when she gets married?”
She lifts a brow. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
I shift awkwardly. “What my sister is trying to say is, not knowing who the silent partner is, I’m not sure if it would be okay for my husband and me to live in the apartment over the bakery. Or if my…partner would have an issue with that.”
She frowns. “I’d be happy to check with my client, but I can’t imagine he would object. Those living quarters didn’t come with any stipulations that I recall.”
Lizzy and I exchange a look, and Liz says, “You really can’t tell us? Not even a hint?”
The lawyer looks unimpressed with my sister’s adorable persistence. “Not even a hint, Miss Thompson. That’s the definition of anonymous.”
I dreamed about Nate Crane last night. We were swimming in Asher’s pool and he stripped my swimsuit off my breasts and took my nipples into his mouth. I wrapped my legs around his waist and realized he was nude and his dick was cradled right between my legs.
“We can’t have sex,” I said in the dream. “I’m marrying Max.”
“No you’re not.”
He slid the ring off my finger and threw it into the deep end of the water. Only we weren’t in the pool anymore. We were in the river. The ring glinted against the moonlight before the dark water sucked it under, and I knew I’d never see it again. I just shrugged, and Nate slid his hand between my legs. Then we were in Max’s steam room. I was sitting on the high bench just like I had the night I was there with Max, only it was Nate with me. Nate’s face buried between my legs. Nate’s fingers toying with my nipples.
And when Max walked into th
e room and called my name through the steam, I laughed. “This is what you wanted,” I said, grabbing a fistful of Nate’s hair and holding him against me. “You wanted me to find someone else, and I did. Now go fuck a blonde.”
I woke up confused, horny, guilty, and depressed. Did it mean something, or is my brain just screwed up from how crazy everything’s been the last few weeks?
I’ve been home from the hospital for two weeks and I feel like I never see Max. He works late almost every night, and when he does come over, he doesn’t stay long. And we’ve never had sex. I know he’s turned on by me—it’s evident—but it’s almost like he’s perfectly satisfied to stop things with a little groping.
In the meantime, wedding planning is going full speed ahead. I ended up having a meeting at the bakery during our caterer appointments last week, so Mom went with Max and they picked a caterer without me. I was relieved not to have to mess with it. Shouldn’t I be more excited about my wedding?
From the edge of Mom’s back deck, I scan the crowd gathered for my engagement party and try to push my anxiety to the side.
In just two weeks, Mom pulled together a party to rival the weddings of most girls in this town. I didn’t give her any input on the event, but then again, she didn’t ask for any. Not too different than my wedding, now that I think of it.
Nix Reid, my doctor and apparently friend, sidles up to me and puts her hand on my arm. “You look stressed. Are you okay?”
I force a smile. “I’m great. Turned out beautifully, didn’t it?”
The evening is warm but not too warm to mingle out on the lawn. Servers circulate with hors d’oeuvres, and Mom hired a bartender to serve drinks from a makeshift bar on the deck.
On the lawn, a small band is playing in front of the temporary floor put down so our guests can dance under the stars. It’s beautiful and perfect and terrifying.
“It’s a lovely party.” She smooths her hair and shifts awkwardly. She doesn’t seem like a woman who’s comfortable in dress clothes. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m doing great, really.” I pause for a breath. “Do you have any guess as to when my other memories might come back?”
Nix looks around. “This is what you want to talk about right now?” She puts her hand on my shoulder and smiles. “Relax. Stressing about your memory isn’t going to help anything.”
“It’s just weird,” I say. “I’m getting these pieces back, but the last few months are still completely missing. Like they never happened.” And the last few months are the memories I want the most.
“Memory recovery isn’t an exact science. It’s different for everyone, but it does usually happen chronologically—not always, but for the most part. Just because you don’t have any memories from the last few months doesn’t mean you won’t.”
“There’s so much I still don’t know. And the day of the accident? The day I fell down the stairs?” The day I put on Max’s ring. “I want that back. I want it all back.”
“Listen,” she says. “The worse the head trauma, the less likely you are to remember the events leading up to it. You need to make peace with the possibility that you might never recover your memories of the accident or the days prior.”
Including the day I chose Max. “This sucks.”
She whispers, “I know, but let it go. For tonight at least, okay? Try to enjoy your party. I’ll see you in my office next week.”
“Where’s the couple of honor?” the bandleader asks in the mic. “Because I understand this is their song.” The guitar player starts into the first notes of Jason Mraz’s “I Won’t Give Up.”
Suddenly, Max is next to me, taking my hand and leading me to the dance floor.
“This is our song?” I ask as I slip my arms around his neck.
“I gave you the ring three months ago, remember?”
Something squeezes in my chest as the man sings the line about giving his love the space she needs to navigate. Is that what Max did for me? Gave me the space I needed to figure this out? I want to remember.
“You look drop-dead gorgeous tonight,” he murmurs against my ear.
I’m wearing a red dress, a bold, daring color that draws attention to my legs and my curves. Not just any red dress. It’s Lizzy’s. The one she wore to the winter gallery opening. Now I remember the night I caught Max checking her out and felt twelve kinds of depressed about it…until he kissed me silly.
“You know what I think would be even more gorgeous than you in that dress?”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“You out of that dress. In my bed.”
A delicious chill runs over my skin, but he says stuff like that and then…nothing.
He pulls me even closer and I can feel that hard length of him through his dress pants. “That’s all I’ve been able to think about since I had to leave you last night—undressing you and taking you to my bed, keeping you there all weekend.”
“I think I’d like that.” I’ve not pushed the issue of our lack of intimacy. My head’s too busy spinning with what I have and haven’t done, but I’m ready to put a stop to that hesitancy. I’m marrying this man, and none of my memories of making love to him have returned yet. I want to know what that’s like. I want the reassurance of him making love to me.
He groans. “I’d make damn sure you liked it.”
“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”
His hands tighten on me, pulling me closer. “Don’t tempt me. We’ve made it this far. We can hold out for a few more weeks, don’t you think?”
I stop moving. Right there in the middle of the dance floor, my shoes might as well be filled with lead. “What?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” he says quietly. “I want you. You don’t need to question that. I want you like I’ve never wanted anyone.” He presses his nose to my hair and inhales deeply. “But there’s something kind of special about waiting, about the anticipation of it. And I’m sorry if it’s not politically correct, but I fucking love that I’m going to be your first and only.”
I push back half a step so I can look into his eyes. “Are you saying we’ve never…?”
Confusion flashes in his eyes. Then he drags a hand over his face. “God, it never occurred to me that I needed to tell you, but how would you know if you can’t remember?”
“Know what?” I need to hear him say it.
He smiles, as if he’s about to tell me some delightful surprise. “You’re a virgin,” he whispers. “You wanted to wait for marriage.” He pulls me back against him, and I press my hot cheek against his chest and squeeze my eyes shut.
“You’re a virgin.” But what he means is that I haven’t slept with him. Did I sleep with Nate?
The song ends, and he tips my chin up to look in my eyes. “Are you okay?”
I don’t trust myself to talk, so I nod toward the bar.
We walk hand in hand. Every brush of his thumb skimming over my knuckles digs a guilty dagger into my heart. Every day it becomes clearer to me that I have secrets I have to share with Max before we can get married, but it never occurred to me I might have to tell him I gave my virginity to someone else.
Lizzy’s standing in front of the bar in a long, strapless black dress, tapping her foot to the beat. She takes in our joined hands and grins. “You two look nice out there.”
Max presses a kiss to the back of my hand and winks at me. “This beauty can make anyone look good.”
Lizzy’s jaw goes slack and she flashes me a look as if to say, “How could you doubt a future with this guy?” Or maybe it’s more, “You are such a bitch.” As her twin, I’m excellent at reading her, but those are pretty similar looks.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.
Max stuffs a five in the tip jar. “A draft beer for me and a glass of Riesling for my girl.” The bartender hands us our glasses, and Max presses a kiss to my bare shoulder. “I need to talk to William about our plans for his bachelor party. Sam made plans at this strip c
lub in Indy and Will isn’t having it. Apparently, I’m supposed to be the mediator.”
“Mediate away.” I force a smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I love you,” he whispers.
I wait until he’s gone before I turn to Liz and drag her into Mom’s house and all the way upstairs to our old bedroom.
“What’s going on?” she asks as I shut the door.
“Max said I’m a virgin.”
Her eyes go big and her jaw drops.
“He said I wanted to wait until we got married to have sex.”
“Since…when?”
I let out a long breath and study the ceiling. This is all so weird. Some days it doesn’t even feel like I missed a year of my life. It feels like I was dropped into someone else’s.
“I just assumed you two had had sex.”
“That makes two of us.”
“You and Mom have gotten closer lately,” she says. “Maybe she brought you over to the devout side?”
“I’m not buying that.”
“Yeah. Me neither. But hey, at least that means you didn’t have sex with Nate Crane either, right?”
“But what if I did?” I whisper.
“Oh.” She plops down on the bed. “That would be really bad, wouldn’t it? Max thinking you’re a virgin and you actually already gave that up to someone else?”
“I have to tell Max what I know.”
“Why?”
“Lizzy, I’m marrying him.”
“Exactly.”
“I need to be honest. I need him to know what I’ve done.”
“If you had your memories, I might agree, but the truth is, until they come back, you don’t know the whole story. The only thing you’re going to accomplish by telling Max is hurting him.”
“So you’re saying I shouldn’t tell the man I’m marrying that I was seeing someone else? Possibly sleeping with someone else? I shouldn’t explain to him why I wouldn’t wear his ring all those months?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
