Chapter 8 #3
I reach to take a napkin off one of the dishes, and she flinches back—something I should be used to by now. Everyone I know fears me, even Zoya and Yana, my own flesh and blood. But when Anissa shrinks back, it’s different.
But maybe this time, it has to be different.
"You should eat food with that medication. You should not take it on an empty stomach." She nods wordlessly. Reaching for a fork, she takes the food I give her.
"Think of it this way," I tell her with a pretty lame attempt at humor. "Everything is a new experience."
She doesn't smile. My god, but she's beautiful. Porcelain skin, wide blue eyes framed with thick, blonde lashes, her hair so light it's almost white, cascading down the side of her shoulder, hiding the lacerations on her arm.
"That is one way I could look at it," she says with a little smile.
"I don't know much about what happened to me, but it doesn't make sense that I have no memory at all, Rafail.
I shouldn't say that," she says, shaking her head.
"I remember a few faces. And I know some of them are familiar.
" Frowning, she looks down at her tray. "But you are wholly unfamiliar to me.
So is this room. Your sisters, your brothers…
I feel as if I've never met any of you before. "
I ignore the wave of guilt that twists in my gut.
"You would think that I would remember some of you. Why don't I remember you?"
"I don't know," I lie. She eats rapidly as if she just wants to give herself something to do. Goddamn, I don't blame her. I’m glad to see her packing it away, though, one bite after the other. Zoya will be pleased.
I live for control. I would absolutely hate being in her position, not knowing who I am, and having to rely on other people to tell me.
"I don't know exactly how amnesia works, but I do know the doctor said not to tax your memory.
Just take things as they come," I say, "and I know that's a lot easier said than done.
" I shake my head. "I would hate being in this position.” I frown and admit, “I don't think I would handle it very well. "
Her beautiful face breaks into a little bit of a smile. "I feel like I've just met you, and I can already say with certainty that you absolutely would not handle a loss of control very well.”
I grunt in reply, which seems to amuse her.
"Well, I can say one thing,” she says, changing the subject.
“This food’s delicious. Pelmeni. Incredible.
I can’t say I’ve never had better, but it seems like the truth.
And I definitely enjoy sweets.” She eyes me as she takes a mini chocolate cookie in her hand and bites into it as if I’m going to scold her for eating her dessert before finishing her meal. I just care that she’s eating.
When she reaches for another cookie, her sleeve shifts, and I see it—a faint, dark mark on her wrist. A tattoo. Curled lines form an intricate symbol, almost like a chain, no… a snake twisted around a flower? It’s delicate, nearly hidden.
Why was this not in my notes?
"I know what this is," she says, her face breaking out in a smile. "And I know it has something to do with my family." She smiles, pleased with herself. "There. It will come back. I just have to be patient."
She pops another cookie in her mouth. "I like chocolate."
Why didn’t I know about the tattoo?
"Is there anything else you can remember about me, Rafail?”
Time stands still for a fraction of a second. Fuck, but I love when she says my name. Just hearing it in her pretty, musical voice makes my dick hard. I shift uncomfortably. I want this woman… broken stranger that she is. “Anything at all?"
"You were brave," I say, surprising even myself.
"Brave?" She tips her head to the side.
"Yes, you did what I've never been capable of doing." I look away. I didn’t mean to say that. Something about being in the presence of this woman who’s supposedly my wife does strange, unexpected things to me.
She swallows, absentmindedly running her finger over her tattoo. "And what's that?"
I hold her gaze and take a sip of wine before I continue. "Surrendering control to somebody else."
"Well,” she says thoughtfully, her gaze fixed on my wine. “You haven't given me much of a choice.”
"Not much of a choice, no. But it was a choice."
She stares at my wine. “Can I have some of that?”
“Just a minute.” I pull out my phone and type in the names of the meds she’s taking. I read the contraindications and shake my head. “No, not with those medications you’re on.” I put my own glass down. “I won’t have any if you can’t.”
She gives me a thoughtful look but doesn’t respond. We eat in an almost amiable silence for long minutes until she pushes the tray away and leans back against her pillows, spent. I glance down at the tray. She’s only really nibbled.
"You said I was a runner, but I have a hard time believing that. How is it that I was a runner and actually tried to outrun the likes of you, but I’ve exhausted myself by eating only enough food for a child?" She frowns as if disgusted with her lack of energy and stamina.
I stifle a growl. "You're correct. You barely ate a child’s portion of food. Eat more, Anissa. You have to get your energy up." I push the tray back over to her.
She folds her arms across her chest and frowns at me. "I’m not hungry," she says with a note of defiance in her tone.
"You haven’t eaten enough to gain any strength," I insist.
"Fine," she snaps at me, reaching for a second cookie. "Another cookie. How is that? You’ll have a nice, sedentary, fat wife with a big butt.”
I frown at her. “Keep it up, and you’ll be a wife with a sore butt.”
She opens her mouth to protest before she slams it shut again. With flushed cheeks, she pops another cookie in her mouth, another blini, and a few more bites of soup.
“Good girl.” The words feel natural, right. She pleases me when she does what I tell her.
Her cheeks flush, and she looks away from me. "Now are you going to be satisfied?" She sighs. "Other than that, I think all I've done is behave myself. Jesus."
Her gaze lingers on the large bed, sitting flanked against the wall.
Housekeeping has tucked in every corner of the duvet and sheets, the bed impeccably smooth.
I imagine her hand fisted in the sheets, the way I’ll wrap them around her body.
I can see myself kneeling on the floor and her legs wrapped around my neck…
"Well, at least that’s big enough," she says as if she doesn’t know what to say.
I almost laugh. "I’m a big man."
She gives me a slow, lazy once-over that makes my cock stir. "I’ve noticed."
I swallow hard and push the tray away before she frowns and turns her head away from me. "Um. So. Question. Have we…? You know."
Fuck. This is where shit gets complicated.
I haven’t thought this through. If I tell her no, that I haven’t taken her yet, she’ll wonder why we’ve been together a week without me claiming what’s mine and consummating our marriage.
Any man in my position would make damn sure his wife knew who she belonged to.
She better be a fucking virgin. The very idea of another man’s hands on her drives a dark fury through me. I’d hunt down any bastard who touched her. She’s mine, whether she remembers it or not.
I decide to take a risk. “You disappoint me, Anissa. I didn’t expect that type of blow to my pride. I would’ve thought at least our wedding night was memorable."
She’s achingly beautiful when she smiles at me. Her voice drops, and she gives me a sheepish little smile. "Well, maybe when I’m better… you’ll have to refresh my memory."
My pulse races. I want this woman. All of her. I hate that she ran from me, but goddamn, I’ll make it my mission to make sure she never does—never wants to—again.
She’s mine.
"Count on it. But for now, let’s get you situated. You still have a ways to go." I stand and gather up the tray of food. As I turn to place it on my desk, she asks me another question.
"Do I have a job? How am I supposed to entertain myself? I don’t know who I am, what my role is here… what do I do?"
This isn’t too complicated. "I made you leave your job when you got married to me."
I turn to see a shadow cross her features as she narrows her gaze on me. "What did I do?"
"Lots of things, nothing of consequence." Jesus, I’m a dick, but based on what I read about her, she didn’t have a career but dabbled in a few tame areas of the family business her father probably thought wouldn’t put her at risk.
"We’ll find something for you to do. Maybe for now, since we don’t want to tax your brain, you can watch a TV show or read books."
She frowns and looks perplexed. “May I have a cell phone?"
Shit. If she gets her hands on a cell phone, she’ll start looking shit up. Asking questions. Maybe she’ll trigger a memory… I have to think fast.
"The doctor said not to tax your brain, and staring at a screen will definitely do that. Of course you can have a phone," I bluff, "just not right this minute. Let’s wait until your healing’s coming along.”
Frowning, she nods. "I want to look up my name. I want to remember who I was."
At least she isn’t lying.
I sit up straighter, my gaze sharp. “That doesn’t matter anymore.
You’re mine now. Your name is Anissa Kopolova, and you’re married to me.
Whatever we were before the accident, it’s done.
We’re starting fresh.” I lean in, my voice low and unyielding.
“On my terms. Your memory will come back in time, but until then, all you need to know is that you belong to me. And from this point on, you do what I say.”
She stares at me and purses her lips but doesn’t respond.
Maybe my brothers were right.
I make it sound as if we have all the time in the world when, in reality, every second we’re together is a ticking time bomb.