CHAPTER 6
Samia
He’s late.
Why is he late?
And why am I pacing back and forth, searching out of the window like an over-zealous spy?
Every day for months, he’s been at the door before 8 a.m. Every morning, I act indifferent to his reappearance, even while he tries to coax a smile out of me or bribes me with caffeine. And now, the first day he hasn’t shown up, my nervous system is acting like we’re in fight or flee mode.
Some say the brain is limited in storage, but I’ve remembered every conversation, look, and annoyance with that man since the day I opened my eyes in the hospital room and saw him watching me gravely, like he was at my funeral.
Where is that overbearing man with his ocean eyes and endless patience?
To stop myself from thinking about Kian or calling to ask what’s taking so long today, I occupy myself with a long shower before dressing in a white and gold jumpsuit with wide, flowy legs and a snatched waist. It feels like the first time I’ve cared about my appearance in months.
Growing up with a supermodel mom sparked my interest in high-end designer fashion and vintage flea market clothing. If it’s both comfortable and brightly colored, chances are it’s already in my closet. My confidence took a hit from the accident, and vanity hasn’t been a priority. It’s hard to think of much else besides why I ended up in traffic playing human pinball with vehicles. These gaping holes in my memory are not only regarding Kian, making me insane not to have the answers.
Being angry with Kian MacNamara has generated a renewed light this morning, so I dab on lip gloss and brush a little color into my cheekbones. I even painted my nails a vivid turquoise while on a video chat with my parents, who are still in London doing business. My dad is the most overprotected bear, regardless of my grown age. They’ve spoiled me, so it was a surprise when they showed such trust in Kian.
And now the idiot isn’t even here!
Ugh. I’m not too fond of this feeling. The uncertainty. The unsettled sensation deep in my belly because Kian’s not near, and having him close, relaxes me.
Maybe Kian is under the bus this time?
As soon as the thought appears, I’m racked with fear that he might be hurt somewhere and unable to let me know. My fingers latch around my phone, shaking as I press the contact number to call him.
My fear is replaced with rage when the asshole cuts off the call after two short rings. He saw my name on the screen and shut me down.
That red-haired jerk!
He’s so stupidly hot that his mere existence makes me mad, and I don’t know why. Why do I hate the guy if he’s my boyfriend?
Ever since he proclaimed in front of my entire family that he had a right to be by my hospital bed because he was my man, he has bothered me. Looming oh-so-close, watching me through hooded eyelids, like an avenging devil in disguise. It must have been all the pain pills I was taking because he looked like he was vibrating out of his skin, barely holding back from exploding, the tick working hard on his jawline. That memory of him is so clear in my mind.
The first thing I thought was, why was Kian MacNamara here? And how had he become more handsome since I last saw him?
Then, of course, I learned he was my boyfriend and had the privilege to be there.
Although there’s little to no evidence of him on my phone before the collision.
He explained that I’m a neat freak and deleted everything in case hackers found my phone.
It was plausible because I am that cautious, but it still seemed wrong.
What woman didn’t have one photo of her boyfriend on her phone?
When I questioned it, he’d turned his phone around to show I was the locked screen photo on his. Giving me proof? Or confessing he was a deranged stalker? Unfortunately, I’ve never gotten the stalker vibe from Kian. It would be easier to free myself from this awkward situation if I had picked up a bad vibe from him. He’s been nothing but attentive, kind, and patient with me. Besides a few stolen pecks, he hasn’t ever pressed me to be intimate with him.
That also appeared strange, but I haven’t clarified it with him yet.
If I can’t remember our relationship, do I want to know if we had a healthy sex life? Despite the seasonal heat, a shudder travels down my spine as the image of Kian as a lover infests my mind. I bet the attentive man would vanish once he was on the sheets, making way for a darker, more dominant Kian. Taking me over, giving me untold screaming pleasure.
Oh, boy. Memory loss might have stolen part of my past, but my imagination is as healthy as ever.
On bare feet, I pad across to the window again, hoping to see his familiar car turning into the gated community. But Kian is a no-show, and it leaves me feeling adrift. He’s been with me through it all, but now he’s nowhere to be found.
I don’t feel like socializing, but since I’ve already bailed on my friend more than once, I call a car and head to Raene Bianchi’s penthouse. The concierge brings me to their private elevator, and she’s already waiting at the door with a big, tight hug.
As I tolerate her exuberant affection, I try to dislodge myself, but the petite woman, who’s been my friend since middle school, holds on fast.
“Raene, you’re cutting off my airways.”
“Suck it up, buttercup. You cancelled on me how many times? I have hugs to make up.”
Guilt gnaws, and I try to look repentant. She only loops my arm, drawing me deeper into the beautiful home she shares with the love of her life, the world’s biggest rockstar. No minor memory loss could ever make me forget my favorite band.
“I haven’t felt up to it lately. I’m sorry, but I brought you a gift to compensate for it. Don’t forget I have a head injury, you know.” I emphasize, placing a hand on my temple for dramatic effect. But Raene, my gorgeous friend, who is Manhattan’s most significant asset to the rich and famous because she manages them like chess pieces, always ensuring the bad press stays buried, laughs in my face.
“You’re going to milk that one for life, aren’t you? Come and sit your butt down. Take the weight off your head injury so you can tell me why you’ve been hiding away for weeks. Oh,” she reminds me, “now give me my gift.”
Her gift is a protein bar, which has been sitting in my purse for a long time, probably decades. I carry them around like a guinea pig for snack emergencies.
“Just what I always wanted,” she scoffs.
Raene prepares coffee on the low-slung coffee table with Manhattan’s view behind her, casting light through her blonde hair. I’m so grateful for her friendship, she’s been a constant in my life. Seeing her so content and settled makes me happy.
“How’s life? Is business going well? And where is your hubby today?” I ask, sipping the hot drink. Raene comes off the floor to sit a few inches away from me. She’s dressed in Barbie pink and looks adorable as she tucks her feet underneath her.
“Nuh huh,” she tuts, waggling her finger at me like a mother as if we aren’t the same age. She’s the bossier of the two of us. Growing up with the Fierro brothers meant she had to be pushy. “I’ll answer all that, but you’re not avoiding telling me what’s been happening with you lately, Samia.”
“I’m fine, really.” She fires a notable mother-like stare, and I relent with a smile. “I am, but things are taking time to get back to normal. Physio is kicking my butt. I think I have a handle on everything, and then something misfires in my brain wiring, and I’m falling over my feet. Like my brain forgets how legs work, it’s annoying. And the headaches are no fun, so I’ve been sulking at home alone.”
“Are you still at your parents’ place?”
“For the time being, it was just easier, or I’d have mom at my apartment every hour, and you know how dad is. Where she goes, he’s stalking behind. But they’re overseas right now, and I think it might be a good time to go home.”
There’s a teasing glint on Raene’s face as she looks over the rim of her cup. “And how does Kian feel about that?”
“Kian.” I snort, trying to make his name sound like I’m disgusted by his very existence, but over the weeks, that sentiment has lessened, and I can’t put my finger on why, other than he must have worn my resolve down to a nub.
Maybe because if he’s my boyfriend, I’m supposed to like him? I have no idea, but I’d bet a million dollars he’s using some Irish fairy magic on me. I haven’t figured it out yet.
“Get this. This so-called fantastic boyfriend of mine, there is no record of him on my phone. No photos or texts.”
“You’re not much of a hoarder, Sam.” She reminds me.
I grumble with my lips to the cup. “He said that, too.”
“What about sex tapes?”
I blink and then feel my heart ramp up in my haste to grab the phone from my purse. I hadn’t thought to check any video files!
Raene’s amusement tinkles through the spacious room as she observes me acting a little nuts. But thankfully…or perhaps not? No dirty videos exist. I’m oddly relieved yet disappointed. I’m so boring I can’t even do a sex tape.
“I bet he has them under lock and key. You should ask him.”
The mere thought of a hypothetical sex show we’ve recorded together turns me on instantly, and my clit throbs in time to my racing thoughts.
I would never record anything intimate in case someone else got hold of it. Hackers live for blackmail, especially being the daughter of someone famous. That would be juicy news for the tabloids, wouldn’t it?
So why is the idea scorching, like the surface of the sun?
Even if I never confess it to another living soul, my dirty thoughts know I would film a sex tape with Kian MacNamara.
He might be the world’s most dogmatically frustrating man, but he sure is sexually attractive to every living woman. Me included.
“Answer me then. Why do none of my friends know I was attached before the accident? I tell you everything, Raene, don’t I? Or is that something else I’ve forgotten?”
“You’re not wrong. I was just as surprised to find out the Kian bombshell, too, but I assumed you wanted this one thing to be private for a while, especially since you used to be annoyed by Kian years ago. Plus, I’ve been out of the country with Tommy and the band for most of the year.”
It makes sense, I suppose. Raene had a secret wedding with Tommy before we knew about it. Everything is so clear when I think about my life and those in it. Maybe a few patchy spots here and there. But nothing major.
The only gaping holes in my memory comprise one riling-on-my-last-nerves man.
“Why would Kian say he’s your boyfriend if he’s not? You should see the way he looks at you, Samia. That boy is smitten. He was a brooding mess when you were hurt.”
A flash of heat attacks me all over.
“Because he’s a crazed psycho who gets off on torturing me?” I suggest, and it makes Raene chuckle. “We all know what he’s like, Raene. We grew up together. I might not have been friends, but he was always around. How often did the police bring him home? How many cars did he joyride just because he felt like it? Not to mention his posse of girls.”
One thing constantly plagues my memories. Something I can’t shake off. He would watch me at parties. It was nothing polite. The glares felt inappropriate, like I was under his microscope. And as much as I tried to ignore those provoking eyes, I sought them out, too. It was impossible to be in Kian’s vicinity and not look at that man. And at every party, there was always a woman hanging off his arm as his prized trophy, grinning from ear to ear that she was the chosen date of the night.
Even now, I want to punch walls as those images assault me.
He acted indifferent to his date’s presence while he stared at me. The audacity of the man. It was a neck-wringing offense. I should ask him what that was all about.
“He was such a petty criminal, wasn’t he? I always thought he and Lachie would be a duo tearing up the town. Now, my brother is an FBI agent catching the bad guys, and Kian earns bucketloads of money. You have to give him props for changing his life around.”
“Doing god only knows what,” I mutter, chewing on my lip. Imports, supposedly. But it’s not his job that worries me. It’s not a significant concern that Kian might play me for shits and giggles. I don’t think he’s a cruel man. But there’s something he’s not telling me.
And now, with this disappearing act, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else, even as I spend the afternoon catching up with my friend and her hectic life. I stayed long enough to cuddle with their adorable baby when Tommy brought Lorenzo home after visiting with his parents. The afternoon was relaxing, but I went to bed that night worried about Kian because I hadn’t heard from him.
Despite all my suspicions, I sleep clinging to my phone just in case he calls during the night. I don’t miss his stupid, unforgettable face, rough voice, or how he panders to my cold shoulder behavior. I don’t miss how my belly tumbles when he walks into a room or surrounds me with affection without touching me.
He’s behind my eyelids when I finally fall into a disturbed sleep.
And the biggest shock is I’m in his arms when I wake up, however, many hours later.