Chapter 5 Lyle
Lyle
Later that evening, Gina’s making a pot of pasta, and I grab a bowl and fill it for Valentine.
My mind goes back to a conversation I had two days ago with Gina. She told me that when she bathed Valentine there were scars on her back. I’m itching to see them for myself, but I don’t want to distress her. If they’re old wounds, Valentine may not even know they’re there.
But the way she wakes up in a panic and flinches at anyone touching her abruptly has me brooding. I need to find out who she is so I can find out if someone needs to pay for hurting her.
I take the pasta into the room where Valentine is propped up on the bed reading a well-thumbed romance book.
“Hey.” She smiles when I come in the door, and I almost drop my pasta. She was pretty when I picked her up off the road covered in dust. But with the health restored to her rosy cheeks and her lips healing, her hair washed and brushed, she looks beautiful.
“Hey.”
I set the tray down on the bed and resist the urge to kiss her.
“I brought dinner.”
She gives me a thankful smile. “Thanks, Lyle. For everything.”
She’s thanked me a hundred times, but she doesn’t know I’ll look after her for the rest of her days if I can.
“I’ve got a game we can play.”
Her eyes perk up. “I like games.”
I give her a raised eyebrow because that’s exactly the point of the game.
Valentine has lost her memory, but she can still speak and read and function like an adult.
I’ve spent the day researching memory loss and amnesia.
It seems that in Valentine’s case it’s a certain part of the brain that stores her long-term memories that’s affected.
She might not remember her name or where she lives, but we can still get to know each other.
“It’s a getting-to-know-you game.”
She gives me a wary look. “I might not be too good at it.”
“We’ll see.”
While Valentine eats her pasta, I pull out a deck of cards that I found at the local game shop.
“I’m going to ask you a question, and you answer truthfully.”
“Okay,” she says between mouthfuls. “I’ll try.”
I pull the first card from the pack.
“What’s your favorite season.”
“Winter.”
I’m surprised by her quick answer and the certainty in her voice. She looks at me with wide eyes, just as surprised as I am.
“Oh my god. I don’t know how I know that.”
She gets that concentrating look on her face, and I know she’s scanning her brain for a memory, looking for a reason why she prefers winter over any other season. After a few moments she shakes her head. “No. I don’t know why, but I prefer winter.”
I pull the next card out of the pack.
“If you could live in any country, where would you live and why?”
“Italy. For the artwork.”
A surprised look crosses Valentine’s face, and I feel it too. She might not remember her past, but she knows her preferences.
“I think I like painting!” she squeals. “Or at least looking at paintings.”
She bounces up and down excitedly, and I rescue the half-full pasta bowl.
This is going better than I expected. I just hope it triggers some real memories for her.
“Hold on.” I race downstairs because I’m sure I’ve seen an old art book around somewhere.
Gage is reading in the corner, and he looks up as I jog up to him, pushing his spectacles down his nose.
“You got a book on art? Italian art?”
“Renaissance or modern?”
I have no idea what he’s asking me, but the fact that he has both doesn’t surprise me. “I dunno. Give me what you’ve got.”
We’re probably the only MC in the states that has a bookcase. Gage sneaked it into the back office a few years ago.
He’s our club secretary, and this is his domain. Alongside a filing cabinet, there’s a bookcase and a comfy armchair in the corner with a reading lamp. I get the feeling that when he says he’s in here doing the accounts, half the time he’s getting in some quiet reading time.
He bends down and runs his finger over the spines off the books, touching each one reverently as if he’s polishing gold or something. I hop on my feet impatiently.
“Anytime this year will do…”
Gage ignores my impatience and pulls two hefty-looking books off the shelf and hands them to me.
“That first one’s…”
But I don’t hear what he has to say because I’m already out the door and up the stairs. I throw the books down in front of Valentine, and she picks up the one on top. It’s got old-looking paintings on the cover, and even a philistine like me recognizes the Mona Lisa.
Valentine flicks through the pages until she comes to a page covered in glossy, colored pictures, her hands smoothing down the page reverently.
“This one’s Leonardo Di Vinci, the Madonna of the Rocks.” Her eyes meet mine excitedly. “And this one’s the Annunciation.” I lean over to read the text underneath, and she’s got it right on both counts.
Valentine turns the page and points to another picture. “This is Madonna with John the Baptist. And this one’s Raphael’s Transfiguration.”
With each page, her voice gets more excited, and I’m right there with her. She may not remember her name, but she remembers every goddam picture in that book.
Until she turns the page to a picture of a dragon with a man thrusting his spear into its head. Her brow furrows. “I don’t know that one.”
The next picture is a woman on a clam shell with her hair wrapped over her shoulder. I’ve seen this before, but Valentine’s face screws up.
“Nor this one.”
She doesn’t know the next few pictures. They’re from old mythology. A man who’s half-goat plays the horn, and in another one, sprites dance around a tree.
We turn the page again, and it’s a Christian religious scene. Valentine smiles, naming the painting.
She’s so pleased with herself. She hasn’t noticed she only knows the religious paintings and not the ones from Greek mythology, like those are the only ones she’s been exposed to.
I don’t have time to think about it because I’m too caught up in the excitement of a little piece of the puzzle fitting in.
“I know this one!” Valentine practically shrieks.
I lean in to look, and we’re both laughing, our heads almost touching. I love the way her eyes dance with laughter, her whole face lighting up with excitement. She looks up and catches me looking at her.
We stare at each other, and I can’t resist any longer. My lips capture hers, and she sighs slightly as her mouth moves with mine.
She tastes of sweetness and fresh herbs and the salve that Gina gave her for her lips. I’m gentle with her cracked lips, tenderly exploring her mouth.
My hand snakes around her head to pull her toward me, wanting more, wanting all of her.
But there’s a warning going off in my mind. This isn’t right. This isn’t the time. We still don’t know who she is. She’s still hurting and vulnerable and so young. She’s under my protection, and I won’t take advantage of her.
With great reluctance, I pull back.
Valentine’s eyes flicker open, and disappointment etches into her features.
“I’m sorry.” And I really am. “But I won’t take advantage of you.”
Her mouth turns down, and I hate that I’m making her frown. “It’s not taking advantage if it’s what I want.”
I stand up and run a hand through my hair, needing to put some distance between us before I do something she’ll regret.
“You’re here under my protection, Valentine. I won’t take advantage of a young woman I’m supposed to be looking after. We don’t even know who you are. You might already be someone’s old lady.”
The thought of Valentine being with someone else makes me shudder, but it’s a truth I might have to face.
She sticks her chin out, and there’s a fire in her eyes that I haven’t seen before.
“Then let’s find out who I am.”
It’s the first time she’s mentioned finding her identity, and I hate the shudder of foreboding that goes through me. It’s selfish to want Valentine all to myself. Of course she wants to find out who she is and where she came from. I just hoped I’d have more time with her.
But if that’s what she wants, that’s what I’ll do.
“If you’re ready, I’ll make some enquiries.”
I’ve already checked the missing persons reports, and no one matching her description has been reported missing. I didn’t want to put my own feelers out until I knew it was what she wanted.
“I’m ready.”
Of course it’s what she wants. She wants to know who she is, where she came from.
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
I leave her in the room with the art books. I should be happy to help Valentine, but all I feel is my own selfish disappointment because I don’t want to give Valentine up.