Chapter 13
Elowen
I realize in the evening that I don’t have my phone. After coming home, I have a light meal and go back to sleep. I sleep until five, and only after waking does it occur to me that my phone and bag are still at Hunter’s.
I walk downstairs to ask Remi to bring them, but May stops me at the bottom of the stairs.
“I was coming to you. Our new neighbor is here. He says your phone and bag are with him.”
“Let him in.”
She relays the same into the phone pressed to her ear.
She ends the call and gives me her polite smile. “Do you want to eat something?”
I nod. “Something light.”
“Should I prepare something for the guest as well?”
I don’t know who’s here—Hunter or Logan. I hope it’s Logan. Spending time with him is easy, he’s like that sweet guy next door who becomes everyone’s friend instantly. And he offered me a meal this morning, it’d be rude not to offer him one.
I nod after a moment of consideration. May leaves after that, and I walk toward the door.
Bruno and Rosie rush past me, tails whipping, reaching the front door before it opens, and I know it’s the wrong Blackwood brother. The front door opens, and they welcome him with their happy husky dance.
I see my bag in his hand, the small gold pouch looking out of place in his large, strong grip.
He’s wearing a light brown shirt and black pants.
His straight, voluminous hair is combed neatly into place.
He trimmed his beard before coming here, it’s shorter than it was this morning.
And I’m standing here in the exact same state I was in at his house, with even more tangled hair from sleeping.
I walk to him. He extends the pouch toward me. I take it.
“Thanks.”
He nods.
I step aside, making way for him. “Please, come in.”
We walk into the living room and settle on adjacent couches. I take my phone out and find texts from my mom and a missed call from Ma. I’ll talk to them later. If there aren’t ten calls from each member of my family, everything’s fine in the world.
I set the phone and bag beside me.
“My clothes are still at your house.” I asked May about it, he didn’t send them here.
“Yes.”
“I’ll ask someone to bring them over.”
“No need. I’ll bring them over tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to go to so much trouble.”
“I’m having none of it,” he states, flatly, his face as serious as ever.
I bite the corner of my mouth. “I mean, it feels inappropriate to bother you so much when we don’t know each other well.”
“We can get to know each other anytime.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. How do I phrase it politely that I don’t want to know him, that I actually want to stay as far from him as possible?
When I don’t say anything, he continues. “I wanted to ask you about any piano concert halls in this city.”
I tilt my head. “You like piano?”
He nods.
“There’s a piano bar here, but you won’t find much variety there.” I pause, then ask, “Do you play as well?”
He shakes his head. “I only like listening.”
“Who’s your favorite pianist?”
“Ella.” He says it staring right into my eyes, like he’s telling me he knows me, or maybe it’s another one of my imaginings. But my heart skips a beat nonetheless.
I look away from him. “Oh. Since when have you been listening to her?”
“Six months.”
I nod. “Anyone else you like?”
“Only her.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I’ll send you the address. You won’t find Ella’s music there, it’s hard to replicate, but they’ll play anything else you request.”
“Will you come with me? Since Logan hates piano, I have no one to go with.” It sounds so pitiful. It’s the easiest thing to make me feel, and make me do anything.
“Why not? I love piano too,” I say with a smile, cheering him up.
“Thanks,” he murmurs.
He’s talking more today, I can’t help but notice. I don’t have a problem with that; I love the sound of his voice. On second thought, I do have a problem, the more time I spend near him, the more his similarities to Salvario start working their way through me, whispering shit like he’s him.
May comes in with two bowls of Mediterranean quinoa salad on a tray. I take one.
“Please have some,” I offer as she brings the tray toward him.
He takes the bowl, and May leaves.
“I hope you like it,” I add, between bites.
He takes a bite and frowns instantly. If I’m not mistaken, a spark of raw violence flashes in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, quickly.
“Does it have nuts?” he grits out through a clenched jaw.
“Ah, no. It has no nuts, it’s the flavor replicated without them.
May does that kind of magic, since I’m allergic.
She wants me to experience the flavors without killing me.
” I chuckle, trailing off when I see no humor on his face.
His jaw is still tight, his brows knitted together, his attention turned inward as though he’s trying to work something out.
“Are you allergic too?” I prompt, pulling him out of his thoughts.
“No. I just hate them in my food,” he murmurs, his focus returning to me.
I frown. “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“How so?”
“The psychiatrist said something might have happened before I lost my memory that I hated too much. The memory of it is gone, but the effect it left is still there.”
The bowl in my hand almost slips. His words rebound through my head like he said them standing beside me on the cliff I went to throw myself from, and now their echo keeps coming back, keeping me from stepping off.
“You—you lost your memory? When?” I stammer, my chest tight.
“In an accident. A year and a half ago. Logan and I both lost our memory.”
I clench the trembling bowl tightly, only to realize it’s my hands that are trembling, not the bowl.
All this sounds like too much of a coincidence.
A year and a half ago, Salvario went missing, and that’s the same time Hunter had an accident that took his memory.
And not just him, but Logan as well. Apart from his changed features and the absence of torture marks on his hands—and I’m sure all over his body—he’s everything Salvario.
Hunter
I lied to her about the timeline. It happened a year ago, not a year and a half, but that aligns the accident with the time Salvario went missing. From the pallor of her face, I can tell she’s connecting all those dots well.
But there’s one thing I didn’t lie about: my hatred of nuts in food. And knowing she’s allergic to them is starting to gnaw at me.
She’s allergic to nuts; I hate them. She’s a pianist; I love it. She has brown hair and brown eyes; I’ve been searching for every girl with those features.
The reason behind all my unknown hatreds and obsessions is her. The psychiatrist Logan and I saw briefly after our memory loss said there was a root to it all. Now I can see it.
There’s only one explanation—I knew her before I lost my memory. But how? I’ll find out. Chris will tell me before he meets his end.
“How do you know you’re Hunter Blackwood if you’ve lost your memory?”
I’ve done the investigation, but I won’t tell her that.
“The man who saved us told us.”
She sets the bowl on the table, it was about to fall any moment anyway.
“And you believed him?” she asks, turning fully toward me.
“We worked for him before losing our memory. He has proof, including photos.”
“Can I see your old photos?”
I nod and pull out my phone. From the photos we’ve gathered so far, I pick the one that resembles my current face the least and hold it out to her. She’s shaking, I feel it as she takes the phone from my hand.
She frowns. “You don’t have the same eyes.”
I knew it. She’d pick on my eyes. I don’t even have the same face. It’s the photo angle.
She extends the phone toward me. “Show me another.”
I take the phone and pull up another one that resembles me the least and hold it out.
She pulls her trembling lower lip between her teeth, then looks up at me. Her eyes are wet. It took so little to convince her. I push down the guilt creeping up my throat, clawing at it.
She hands the phone back to me. I take it, my gaze dropping away.
I look back at her as she starts speaking in a small voice. “When Salvario kidnapped me, his maids schemed against me and fed me nuts. I almost lost my life that day.”
“Did he kill them?”
She nods.
“Good. I would have done the same.” No, it’s a lie. I would have kept them alive and tortured them until death became a sweet dream.
“You’re too much like him,” she quavers.
I don’t say anything to that. It’s not difficult for two men to share similarities, but I won’t say that to her. She needs to believe I’m not too much like him. I’m him.
“When will we go to the piano bar?” she deflects, and I let her.
“When you’re free.”
“How about tomorrow evening?”
“I’ll pick you up at six.”
She nods, a flickering smile on her lips.
There’s too much going on in her head for her to manage a real one.
It’s fine, I have a lifetime for her bright smiles.
A few forced ones will be forgotten easily.
I just have to convince her more now, and find Salvario as soon as possible. Then kill him for good.
No one is taking this woman from me.