Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
ROSE
Present
The face was blurry. I could make him out if he were closer, but the last thing I wanted was to be near him. He threw me to the ground. I screamed, crawling backward on my elbows to get away from him.
I sat up with a jolt, dragging in ragged gasps of air. It was the recurring nightmare that had haunted me. My panic subsided upon realizing I was under the protection of a handsome doctor who made me feel safe.
“Dr. Maxwell?” I called out.
The room was dead silent. It was also shrouded in darkness.
My arms were free to move, so he must’ve taken out the IV line. Snippets of flashbacks from last night crept into my mind. My ankle had flared up throughout the night. Every time the pain woke me up, I found him tending to my injuries with dexterity such rough hands shouldn’t possess.
He’d worked on me for hours, treating every wound like the black plague he needed to eradicate and me like frail glass he needed to keep from breaking. He must’ve been exhausted by the end of the night. I was spent simply by watching him.
Finally, he had passed me a new hospital gown, and I had pulled the sheet over my head to put it on.
He helped me to the bathroom, and later, administered a shot that took the pain away and let me sleep through the night.
The effects must’ve worn off. My ankle throbbed, prompting me to grope for the table lamp and flick on the switch.
The silky curtains were drawn over the window, but the soft light from the lamp revealed a pretty room painted in soft whites.
The details of the room had escaped my attention last night.
Everything was a shade of white or beige, even the paintings decorating the walls.
The nightstands on either side of the bed, the cabinets, and the armchairs were modern with a clean look. Understatedly wealthy.
A faded memory slipped into my mind about being rich versus wealthy. There was a difference somehow.
Rich people show off their money because their status depends on an income that can disappear at any time.
Wealthy people are discreet about their assets and can maintain their lifestyle without an income.
Whoever said it must’ve been a snob, though looking around, I couldn’t argue with the theory.
This room screamed discreet wealth with beautiful, minimalistic items. Rich people didn’t fashion rooms like these, only wealthy folks did.
Who the hell was wealthy enough to own this boat? It never occurred to me to ask.
I reviewed my surroundings for clues before catching sight of the bed’s state. The side I hadn’t slept on was marked with dents and creases. It also smelled of the outdoors, cashmere, and warm firewood.
Did Dr. Maxwell sleep next to… No. I wouldn’t entertain such preposterous ideas. He didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one shamelessly moaning. Ugh!
The door creaked open, and the man in question entered with a cart. Like last night, he was composed and unruffled, quietly surveying my appearance. The intensity in the look nearly unseated me, and I gulped.
This morning, he wore a white linen shirt with chinos. Everything down to his shoes had the same look as the room—classy and understated. The subtlety in his expensive clothes confirmed it for me—the doctor was wealthy, not just rich. Only affluent people dressed so effortlessly.
I noticed my outfit—the new hospital gown. It was softer than the previous one and mimicked a plush bathrobe with ribbons tied together on the side.
Our class difference was swiftly cast aside when he wheeled the cart closer. I nosily leaned over to see it was full of food. Saliva pooled on my tongue. No matter how much I ate last night, I’d never be full. A part of me would always remember the hunger, yearning for food like a bottomless pit.
“I expect you’re feeling better,” he said, pushing the cart against the nightstand to feel my forehead with cool fingers.
The touch doused me in vivid images of the sponge bath. Heat crept up my neck, and I timidly nodded, unable to hold his gaze.
He showed no signs of awkwardness, concerned only with my sustenance. He sorted through the cart, explaining the purpose of each item. The delicious dishes from last night had been replaced with flavorless hospital food meant to counteract dehydration.
When he took the lid off an individual serving cup of Jell-O, I knew he meant to hand-feed me again.
I didn’t protest when he lifted a spoonful.
My lips parted to taste the raspberry gelatin.
I ate quietly. That was until I realized the ship was moving differently than last night.
The boat had rocked back and forth gently on the still water, but today, it swayed like it was being pulled against the current.
“We’re moving,” I exclaimed.
He studied me curiously over my sudden outcry. Why did my voice always puzzle him?
I didn’t have time to dissect the reason because… “We are moving,” I pressed. “Why?”
“We left the port earlier today,” he replied calmly.
Icy tentacles gripped my heart. “What?”
Casting the comforter aside, I kneeled on the soft mattress and knee-walked to the window closest to the bed. I reached out to draw the curtains.
Bright sun.
Sparkling blue water.
There was nothing other than the endless ocean and the occasional seagull as far as the eye could see.
My goal was to regain my strength, then find out who I was. I was no longer starving or in desperate need of medical attention, but the chance of finding my way home had faded into the distance like the port.
On top of that, I had accidentally become a passenger on a luxury boat. I couldn’t afford their cheapest room. How would I pay for all this?
The shock of the endless blue wore off. “I can’t leave New York,” I whispered, glancing at him with desperate eyes. “I have to go back. Please!”
His expression clouded. A shadow fell over his face, his lips pressing into a thin line. His eyes appeared stormy gray instead of deep blue. “Why?”
Images of several worried faces flashed through my mind—an older man, a pretty woman in her thirties, and a dark-haired girl with a gloomy mien.
She was my sister, I was sure of it. Last night, I dreamed I was finishing my last semester of college before being ripped out of my world.
“I-I think my family lives in New York, and I might go to school there, too.”
“So?”
“So?” I echoed his cavalier word slowly. “My family might be looking for me.”
He glowered, irritated. “They weren’t the ones looking out for you when you were starving and knocking on death’s door. I was the one who took you in and saved you.”
I closed my eyes, I hadn’t meant to come off as ungrateful to the first person to show me kindness. “That’s not how I meant it. Thank you for saving my life. I don’t know what I would have done if we hadn’t met. It—it’s just, I-I…” I grappled with words. “I hadn’t expected to sail away.”
“Next time, clarify that before you sneak into someone else’s boat.”
Well, damn.
Karma was a bitch. I had snuck in to steal food, and now I was trapped. “H-how do I get back to New York?”
Broad shoulders lifted and dropped with an air of indifference, the relaxed posture of his large body giving off a sense of unconcern. “The only way is to jump into the freezing water and swim back.”
My eyes burned with unshed tears. “But what if my family is looking for me?”
My heart palpitated when he sat beside me on the bed, his body enveloping mine to pull me closer. I think he meant to comfort me.
I shouldn’t have trusted myself around a man this gorgeous. It made me stupid and careless. But he was just so damn tall. And beautiful. Even now, the amber and cashmere scent made me dizzy.
A more disturbing thought popped into my mind. What if I had a boyfriend or husband? What I did with the doctor, would that constitute a betrayal?
I unconsciously pushed away from him, but he moved with me instinctively.
It felt choreographed—as if we had done this song and dance before, where I ran, and he chased after me.
I trembled, pulling at the gown to hide more of my body.
It only drew his attention to my bare knees.
His gaze rested there as if he had the unapologetic right to see every inch of my body.
“It’s just frustrating that I can’t remember what happened, and I think the answers are back the way I came,” I admitted. “I want to know who I am.” I stared at my midriff, the hospital gown covering the scars. “And I want to know who put those marks on my body.”
His generally collected demeanor was suddenly replaced with a tight-set jaw. My meager explanations placated him enough to pick up the Jell-O, though. The spoon scooped up more Jell-O before it was pushed past my lips, making a soft, squishy noise.
“I put out feelers on the mainland before we left,” he told me. “If anyone files a missing person report for someone named Rose, the police will contact the captain. In the meantime, it’s best if you vanish from New York.”
I glanced at him, puzzled, but he was back to being inscrutable. “What do you mean?”
“If you woke up in a hospital gown, you were at a hospital when something— or someone —spooked you enough to run away. I’ll go out on a limb and say someone’s after you, and they might still be looking for you.”
I’d had a similar thought. I would’ve been dressed differently had I been discharged from the hospital. I didn’t even have shoes or a coat. I was in a rush as if running for my life.
That was when I told him, “I-I had been dreaming about a man chasing me. Except, I don’t think they’re dreams. They feel like memories. I think the man came for me at the hospital, and I ran from him.”
His face was emotionless as he asked, “What did he look like?”
Shoulders slouching, I tried to dig deep. “The dreams are fuzzy. No matter how hard I try, I can’t make out his face.”
He maintained a stoic expression. “Why do you want to return if you don’t even know who you’re running from?”