Greek Mavericks: Seduced Into The Greek's World. Julia James

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      “Then get me some,” he said, his voice hard.

      Issuing commands already, which was very much in his character. Leon was never at a loss. Even when her father had died and she’d been lost in a haze of grief, he had stepped forward and taken care of everything.

      He hadn’t comforted her the way a husband should comfort a wife. He had never been a husband to her at all, not in the truest sense. But he’d still made sure she was taken care of. Had ensured that the funeral, the legalities of the will and everything else were executed to perfection.

      It was why, in spite of everything, it had seemed right to stay for the past two years. And it was also why, though it meant losing everything, she’d decided she had to leave him, no matter the cost.

      But leaving him now...that didn’t seem right. He hadn’t been a true husband, but he hadn’t abandoned her when she’d needed him, either. How could she do any less?

      “I will have to call a nurse.” She picked her phone up and sent off a brief text to the doctor: He’s awake.

      Just typing the words sent a rush of relief through her that she didn’t want to analyze.

      His eyes opened, and he began to look around the room. “You aren’t a nurse?”

      “No,” she said, her heart thundering hard. “I’m Rose.”

      He was probably still disoriented. After all, this was Italy, and she was supposed to be at home in Connecticut. She was probably the last person he expected to see.

      “Rose?”

      “Yes,” she said, starting to feel a little bit more alarmed. “I flew to Italy because of your accident.”

      “We are in Italy?” He only sounded more confused.

      “Yes,” she said. “Where did you think you were?”

      He frowned, his dark eyebrows locking together. “I don’t know.”

      “You were in Italy. Seeing to some business.” And probably pleasure, knowing him, but she wasn’t going to add that. “You were leaving a party and a car drifted into your lane and hit you head-on.”

      “That is what I feel like,” he said, his voice rough. “As though I were hit head-on. Though I feel more like I was hit directly by the car. With nothing to buffer it.”

      “With how fast you drive I imagine you might as well have been.”

      He frowned. “We know each other.”

      She frowned. “Of course we do. I’m your wife.”

      * * *

      I’m your wife.

      Those words echoed in his head, but he couldn’t make any sense of them. He didn’t remember having a wife. But then, he didn’t remember being in Italy. He wasn’t entirely certain he remembered...anything. His name. Who he was. What he was. He couldn’t remember any of it.

      “You are my wife,” he said, waiting for the feeling of blackness, the open space around this moment that seemed to take up his entire consciousness.

      There was nothing. There was only her standing before him. This hospital room, this bright spot of the present, with nothing before or after it.

      If he kept her talking, perhaps she could fill the rest in. Perhaps he could flood those dark places with light.

      “Yes,” she said. “We got married two years ago.”

      “Did we?” He tried to force the image of a wedding into his mind. He did know what a wedding looked like. Curious that he knew that and not his own name. But he did. And still, he could not imagine this woman in a wedding gown. She had light-colored hair—some might call it mousy—hanging limp around her shoulders. Her figure was slight, her eyes too blue, too wide for her face.

      Blue eyes.

      A flash of an image hit him hard. Too bright. Too clear. Her eyes. He had been thinking about her eyes just before... But that was all he could remember.

      “Yes,” he said, “you are my wife.” He thought he would test out the words. He knew they were true. He couldn’t remember, but he still knew they were true.

      “Oh, good. You were starting to scare me,” she said, her voice shaking.

      “I’m lying here broken. And I’m only just now starting to scare you?” he asked.

      “Well, the part where you weren’t remembering me was a little bit extra scary.”

      “You are my wife,” he repeated. “And I am...”

      The silence filled every empty place in the room. Heavy and accusing.

      “You don’t remember,” she said, horror dawning in her voice. “You don’t remember me. You don’t remember you.”

      He closed his eyes, pain bursting behind his legs as he shook his head. “I must. Because the alternative is crazy.”

      “Is it?”

      “I think it is.” He opened his eyes and looked at her again. “I remember you,” he said. “I remember your eyes.”

      Something in her expression changed. Softened. Her pale pink lips parted, and a bit of color returned to her cheeks. Right now she almost looked pretty. He supposed his initial impression of her wasn’t terribly fair. Since he was lying in a hospital bed and since she had probably been given the shock of her life when she had been told her husband had been in a very serious car accident.

      She had said she’d flown to Italy. He didn’t know from where. But she had traveled to see him. It was no wonder she looked pale, and drawn. And a bit plain.

      “You remember my eyes?” she asked.

      “It’s the only thing,” he said. “That makes sense, doesn’t it?” Because she was his wife. Why couldn’t he remember his wife?

      “I had better get the doctor.”

      “I’m fine.”

      “You don’t remember anything. How can you be fine?”

      “I’m not going to die,” he said.

      “Ten minutes ago the doctor was in here telling me you might never wake up. So forgive me if I feel a little bit cautious.”

      “I’m awake. I can only assume the memories will follow.”

      She nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said. “You would think.”

      A heavy knock on the door punctuated the silence.

      * * *

      Rose walked quickly out of her husband’s hospital room, her head spinning.

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