10. Zara #2
“Nothing. I just remembered something,” I choke out.
He tenses so hard I think he might break a muscle, his voice turning to gravel. “What?”
“Your tattoo. We planned one too. I guess we never got to that part,” I say with a broken smile.
“Did you see his face?” he asks so low that the fear radiating from him sends a chill down my spine.
“No. Just that it was also letters somehow.”
He nods more to himself.
“Quite a coincidence, huh?”
He remains quiet, and together we prepare breakfast in silence, as if both of us need a moment to collect ourselves.
The spread is scrumptious: omelets, mini ham-and-cheese sandwiches, freshly squeezed orange juice, and toast with jam.
My mind redirects to his tattoo. It is a Z and a V, just like in my memory.
Is my brain playing tricks on me, switching things up?
Did his name start with V? There are few male names that start with that letter, and only thinking about asking him what her name was clamps me up.
It would make her more real when she’s already occupying a seat at the table, just like my unidentified one.
Vian peers at me now and then, and I offer him a reassuring smile. The chances are slim, but maybe more flashbacks will come. This is huge for me.
“Would you like to explore the city?”
I nod, the alternative unappealing. Being stuck in my head, reeling with questions and no answers, is maddening. Are my memories slowly coming back? Then why is he the trigger? Why? Just why?
“I’ll fly later tonight. I have a meeting tomorrow,” I say through bites.
He discards the mini sandwich as if he has lost his appetite. “When are you coming back?”
Breakfast forgotten, I lean back into my seat. “Or you can come and stay with me.” I pin him with a hard stare. “And not leave like last time.”
He lifts a brow, eyeing me intently. “I wonder why I left.”
I put my face between my palms, and slipping into this easygoing version of myself with him, I plaster an innocent smile on my face. “Wondering the same thing over here.”
A lopsided grin stretches one corner of his mouth. “Sure you want to do this? It sets a dangerous precedent.”
Right then, I hear the elevator ding, announcing someone and ending the levity.
“Fuck, I forgot. The doctor is here.”
We look at each other for long moments, neither of us moving. Hope gleams in his eyes, and while an inexplicable part of me wishes to rush into motherhood, the rational part, especially after the flashback, advises caution.
I want to be a good wife and mother. But I can’t be either before I uncover my past. Until then, it will keep holding me hostage, even if I become increasingly unwilling.
“Good,” I say, witnessing the dejection on his face before he schools his features into neutrality. It affects me more than I thought possible.
Standing, we move into the living room. Unease swarms in my belly, hornets buzzing, ready to strike me dead at any moment. I drop onto the sofa, torn between sorting through my past and this chance at building a family.
Stop with the nonsense. You’re barely married, no need to rush through it.
A woman enters, and after a quick introduction, she pulls a few things from her purse and lays them on the coffee table. As she disinfects the spot on my arm, my chest hollows, and I seek his eyes. Why does it feel like a loss?
Why does my inner voice urge me against it? Why can’t my brain and my heart make peace for one damn second?
A pinch later, she says, “The shot will cover you for the next three months.”
It’s the right thing to do. We have time. Why hurry through marriage when we agreed on a lifetime together? I don’t understand the urgency.
After thanking her, Vian accompanies her to the elevator. I am numb, barely registering him getting on his knees and taking my hands in his. “Talk to me.”
I offer him a small, soft smile. “You’re asking for everything.”
“I’m asking to be there for my wife.”
“It’s still too soon, too fast…” Not to mention how intense my husband is and how intensely I am beginning to feel for him.
He shakes his head and squeezes my hands, adamantly refuting my response. “No. What you’re trying to do is keep a safe distance. I can guarantee you it won’t work. Not for us. Keep lying to yourself, baby, but reality will be even harder to digest.”
I shoot up and pace, trying to dispel my restlessness. “Yes, because you’re shoving it down my throat.”
“I have something else I could shove there,” he says deceptively low. “Would you prefer that instead? Don’t bother answering. I know you would.”
I come to an abrupt stop and suck in a breath. “Excuse me. Who do you think I am?”
He crosses his arms over his chest, looking me dead in the eyes. “A needy slut for my cock.”
I gasp. This man is something else, I swear.
“I think you need some fresh air.” I leave him standing there as I change into beige linen shorts, a top, and a matching vest, then slip into flats.
He follows as we get ready in stiff silence, the trousers and button down shirt tailor-made to fit his sculpted body. Naked or dressed, he looks like a perfect male specimen. Lucky me.
He rolls his lower lip between his teeth, sending me a heated gaze. “You look stunning.”
“I think you’d much prefer me naked and on my knees, sucking you off,” I say, inflicting as much annoyance as I can convey.
He slides his hands into his pockets, the corners of his mouth turning into a lazy smile. “I won’t lie and deny it, but so would you.”
He is so crass, saying the most appalling things that strangely make me hot rather than bothered.
Guards follow us discreetly as we exit the building; however, the only truly dangerous man around me is my husband.