Chapter 13 Gio
GIO
If dinner was any indication, this night is going well. I can tell Stephanie feels bad letting me do the dishes while she helps Jackson with his homework.
She keeps glancing at me from where they sit at the kitchen table.
But I insisted, and I’m glad I did. I like getting a glimpse into the different aspects of her as a mom.
And doing the dishes will keep my hands busy so I don’t feel like I’m hovering.
I can tell Jackson’s a smart kid simply by how quickly he catches on to what Stephanie explains.
He’s quick at math—even if he’s less than confident in himself—but what I love most about it is his determination.
He actually likes to learn. And I can tell Stephanie has done a lot to instill that passion in him.
When they’re done, Stephanie sends Jackson up to get ready for bed—even if he tries to talk her into letting him stay up a little longer.
“No way. It’s a school night. You can hang out with Gio another time,” she insists, directing him up the stairs.
Shoulders slumping, Jackson complies, vanishing down the hallway beyond.
Stephanie turns to me, her expression apologetic. “Sorry. I should go up and get him settled. He might not like to admit it, but he sleeps better when I tuck him in.”
“No need to apologize. Take your time. I’ll be here,” I promise, and because I’m feeling bold, I reach out to brush a single knuckle along the curve of her cheek.
Stephanie’s lips part, her eyes dilating as the air between us electrifies, and my cock twitches to life.
I should have waited—should have kept my hands to myself. I just wasn’t expecting to have quite such an intense reaction from an innocuous touch.
But after eight years of longing for her, my body seems more than ready to get close once more.
Clearing my throat, I take a step back, putting space between us before I do something stupid—like kiss her while she’s trying to go take care of her son.
Stephanie flushes, her cheeks turning a beautiful shade of rose, and she swallows visibly.
“I’ll be back,” she says, her voice breathless, and she whirls, the fabric of her dress swirling around her thighs in a way that brings back far too many memories.
While she’s gone, I finish cleaning up the kitchen and head to the living room, settling on the couch.
Taking the remote, I turn on the TV and skim through the movies on her streaming subscription.
I’m looking for something light, cute, a movie I know she’ll enjoy but won’t have to pay too much attention to.
The cursor stops on one, and my heart skips a beat as I glance toward the stairs.
The Princess Bride.
I know it’s her favorite, but if I put it on, I might risk crossing the unspoken line I sense between us but haven’t found.
If I’m being honest with myself, I’m shocked by how well things have been going so far—not just because my connection with Stephanie feels as natural and profound as when we first met, but because she seems more open to the idea of letting me back into her life than I expected.
It’s entirely confusing—how she could never have told me she’s alive and yet be perfectly happy to have me here, how she can seem to understand everything about me and yet pretend not to recognize me.
I’m dying to get to the bottom of it, but I don’t entirely know how to start.
Confronting it head-on could scare her off, and if the fact is that she just doesn’t recognize me, she could change her mind about wanting to see me as soon as she figures it out.
But if I never say anything, it might just drive me mad.
I need the truth, to understand what happened between us, even if it’s what I’ve feared all along—that Stephanie chose to extricate herself from my life after she realized I was incapable of protecting her.
I can’t stay in limbo forever, waiting for an explanation.
And a gentle nudge—like suggesting we watch her favorite movie—might move us in the right direction without completely scaring her off.
“Sorry to make you wait,” Stephanie says as she steps lightly down the stairs, disrupting my tumultuous thoughts.
“Really, no need to apologize. I’m the one who sprang a date on you,” I say, rising from the couch. “You still up for a movie?”
Stephanie’s eyes flit to the TV, and she smiles. “Sure. Did you already pick one out?”
“We can choose another if you’d prefer,” I say quickly, backpedaling from my plan at the last second.
“The Princess Bride. It looks cute. I’m game.”
Stephanie plops onto the soft chenille cushion next to where I was sitting, leaving me speechless with confusion as I frown down at her.
“You don’t recognize it?” I ask, sinking down onto the couch beside her.
Stephanie laughs. “Honestly, between the shop and Jackson, I just don’t have much time to watch TV—and when I do, it’s usually something Jackson wants to watch, which means we don’t touch anything that has the word ‘princess’ or ‘bride’ in the title.”
My chuckle sounds forced—even if it was a funny comment—because I’m pretty sure my brain just short-circuited.
“What?” Stephanie asks, her tone making me realize I’ve been staring at her for too long.
“Nothing. I’m just surprised you wouldn’t have seen it before. It’s a classic. I’ll put it on, and we can change it if you don’t like it.” Turning to face the screen, I press play and try not to be obvious about watching Stephanie from the corner of my eye.
She settles in, tucking her legs beneath her and putting a pillow on her lap as her knee hovers several inches from mine.
As the sound of an old-school video game issues from her soundbar, that electric energy between us crackles through the air once more.
Stephanie fidgets with the corner of her throw pillow, glancing at me sidelong and smiling shyly when our eyes meet.
What is she thinking right now?
The need to know is slowly making me insane.
God, I can’t do this any longer.
But the fear that grips me when I think of losing her again holds my tongue.
Searching for a way to gently broach the topic, I land on one subject I’m certain she’ll be willing to open up about.
Jackson. “So, how long have you and Jackson been living in Chicago?” I ask lightly, leaning back and draping my arm across the top of the couch to mimic nonchalance—even when I’m near humming with tension.
“He was born here,” she says simply, her eyes leaving the screen for a moment as she flashes me another smile.
God, I could live for those smiles.
“And… where are you from?” I press. My heart thunders against my ribs as I wait for the answer, wondering if she’ll lie or dodge the question.
Anxiety flits across her delicate features, and Stephanie bites her lip. “I… actually don’t know,” she admits.
Because she hasn’t memorized that detail of her alias? Frowning, I turn to face her fully, our knees brushing lightly, and I don’t move mine as they remain pressed together.
Color infuses Stephanie’s cheeks, and her eyes drop to her throw pillow as she picks more aggressively at a loose thread. “I woke up in the hospital eight years ago… and that’s the first thing I remember.”
“You…” Now I’m certain my brain is short-circuiting. Time slows, dragging on so I can process what she just said. “You don’t remember anything before that?”
Stephanie just shakes her head, her eyes fixed on her lap.
Then, as if it takes a considerable amount of effort, she brings her gaze to mine.
“They had to put fifteen staples in my head from some kind of blunt force trauma that led to a TBI—a traumatic brain injury, that is.” Her fingers go to her temple as she curves her neck and parts her hair, revealing a thick, raised scar that runs from the edge of her hairline to the cowlick at the crown of her head.
“Jesus,” I breathe, sitting up to get a closer look.
Maybe it’s presumptuous of me, but I can’t seem to stop myself from touching her.
Stephanie’s breath catches as I gently run the pad of my thumb along the jagged scar, both awed and horrified at the evidence of her trauma.
It looks like the injury must have been incredibly deep.
Stephanie’s laugh is soft and humorless.
“Yeah. Whatever happened to me, it knocked every last memory clean out of my brain. All I know is that some good Samaritan found me on the banks of the Chicago River while he was out kayaking, and he brought me in. They never could identify who I used to be—said I didn’t have any form of identification on me, no fingerprints in the system, and in the weeks I was there, no one ever came looking… ”
She shrugs, the gesture casual, though her expression is overwritten with pain.
“The hospital signed me in under the name ‘Jane Doe’ while they were waiting for me to wake. I guess that’s common for cases where they can’t find the person’s identity.
But after I was released, I didn’t really want the constant reminder that I was no one to anybody.
I considered a few different options, but Jane seemed like as good a name as any.
So, I changed my name to Jane Cook.” Another shrug. “And here we are today.”
Stunned, I don’t know what to say as my heart starts to race.
Stephanie has amnesia.
She hasn’t been playing some game with me. She didn’t change her name to hide from me, and it’s not that she just doesn’t recognize me now.
The truth hits me like a ton of bricks—straight to the face.
The reason Stephanie never told me she’s alive is because she genuinely doesn’t remember who I am.
She doesn’t even remember who she is.
The realization is as painful as it is relieving.
Because as glad as I am that she didn’t choose to walk away, all I can think about is how scared and alone she must have felt waking up in that hospital bed.
It makes my chest ache to think of her lost and confused, with no clue who she was or how she got there.
In truth, I never thought to look for her in any hospital.
Not after the message my father received from the rival family who took her.
They made it perfectly clear they’d killed her.
But they must have failed to do so.
Most likely, they cracked her over the head hard enough to think she was dead, then tossed her into the Chicago River, assuming the water would do the rest.
My stomach roils at the thought—knowing that anyone could be capable of doing something so horrific to my girl, recognizing that I wasn’t there to protect her.
I couldn’t save her.
And even after she survived it all, I failed to bring her home.
“Why haven’t you mentioned it before?” I ask softly, the shame in my failure coming down on me with crushing force.
Stephanie snorts a laugh, her hands dropping into her lap once more as she turns to meet my eyes.
“Believe it or not, that’s not the best icebreaker when you like a guy.
Hi, I’m Jane, and I suffer from amnesia.
Don’t worry. It’s not contagious—at least, I don’t think it is. But I can’t quite recall…”
I’m laughing before I can stop myself. “I don’t know. That sounds like a great line to me. At least he would know you have a good sense of humor right off the bat.”
I cringe as soon as the word “bat” leaves my mouth, because now I can’t help picturing those bastards bringing one down on Stephanie’s head with enough force to require fifteen staples.
“See, you say that, but your face is saying I should have kept my mouth shut—because you look like you’re about ready to run screaming for the hills,” she says, her tone playful.
But I can see the flash of pain behind her eyes, like she’s bracing for the exit I’m about to make. “Don’t feel bad. I get it. I’m used to it by now. Any time I like a guy, I find some way to run him off—”
“Hey.” Electricity dances across my fingertips as I take Stephanie’s hand and squeeze her palm.
I don’t like cutting her off when she’s finally opening up to me, but I can’t stand to hear her mention liking other guys.
Then it clicks—she isn’t just talking about other guys. She just admitted she likes me.
The intense desire to kiss Stephanie instantly consumes me, and I can’t hold back any longer.
Cradling her face in the palm of my hand, I draw her closer, peering into her captivating green eyes as the pad of my thumb strokes her soft cheek.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise, my voice low and rasping with unspoken emotion.
Then I seal our lips in a fiery kiss.