Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“When was that?” I had been so focused on his words I hadn’t been aware of his subtle approach.
“Five weeks ago.” He took my hand, a foreign gesture from a stranger which made me uncomfortable. “You were doing really well. There was still a lot you couldn’t remember from before the accident, but you were making new memories. The doctor warned me you might have a relapse as the swelling went down. We’ve got an appointment with him later today to remove the staples.”
Staples. That was what my fingers had found buried in the gash on my head.
It was embarrassing to ask it. “Who are you?”
“I’m Ryan Juric, your fiancé.” He squeezed my hand and held it up for me to see. The enormous diamond engagement ring on my left hand was stunning.
“That reaction never gets old,” he said. “We’ve put it off until your recovery is . . . farther along.”
I shivered, although something in my head whispered it wasn’t from the breeze.
“What were you doing out here?”
My gaze flicked over to the edge of the balcony.
“I don’t know.” My voice trembled. “I don’t really know anything.”
“Your name is Laurel Hayward.” He gauged my reaction. “Not ringing any bells this time either, huh?”
I pressed my lips together and shook my head.
“Hey. It’s okay. You’re lucky to be alive. Really, we both are. I know this is scary, but be patient. It’ll come back. It doesn’t seem like it, but you’re going to be okay.”
Nothing felt okay right now.
My focus moved away from him and drifted to our surroundings. The large stone balcony was level with the treetops that dotted the steep cliff. Attached to the balcony, a house—large and impressive, and something odd I couldn’t place.
“We live here?”
“Yes. You want a tour?”
Maybe something inside would be familiar.
“This way.” He motioned toward the French doors.
The house was warm, but my feet remained blocks of ice. The focal point of the large bedroom was a king-sized four-poster bed. The silver duvet was pushed to one side as if it had been thrown off. One nightstand held a clock and glass of water. The other was bare.
What seized my attention most was the oversized canvas mounted above the headboard. It was a black-and-white, candid-style photo of him and a pretty brunette, smiling at each other while seated in a field of tall grass. The photographer had been successful in capturing a private moment between the two. It was intimate and stunning.
I didn’t have to ask who the girl was. A large mirror over the six-drawer dresser on the other side of the room reflected a robe-clad version of the girl in the picture.
“I’m too skinny,” I said as I corrected my posture.
“You haven’t had much of an appetite. Your doctors said it’s the pain medication.” He grabbed the corner of the duvet and tugged it into place. “Are you hungry?”
“No. Not really.”
“This is the primary bedroom.” He looked at me expectantly. Like maybe this was supposed to be our room, but it wasn’t.
I didn’t know what to say. “It’s nice.”
“Yeah. I’m not completely sold on this comforter, but it’s a good compromise. You wanted lavender.” He half-smiled as he recalled the memory. I stared vacantly at the bed, then upward at the picture again.
“The bathroom’s this way.”
I followed him through the door, and when the overhead light jumped to life, I inhaled quickly.
“I forgot about the light, sorry.”
As I surveyed that room, I noticed the same thing as the bedroom. One countertop by a sink was cluttered with a man’s razor, contact solution, and toothbrush, while the other was empty. Where was my stuff? And why were all the labels in a language I couldn’t read?
We continued along, Ryan showing off more of the house, seemingly unaware that my anxiety was building to an unmanageable level. He didn’t notice how I was trembling.
“Stop,” I said when we stood in the kitchen, grabbing a box of something that looked like it contained cereal from the counter. “Tell me what language this is.”
He took it and set it back down. “Croatian.”
“Why is it in Croatian?” I already knew, but I needed to hear him say it.
“Because we’re just outside the city of Dubrovnik, Croatia.”
I felt like I was standing at the edge of a stage, about to fall off. It was strange that my nationality was the only thing I had any certainty about. “I’m not American?”
“No, you are. I have dual citizenship, and I thought it was best for you to recover here.”
“Why?” My heart thudded in my chest. I had no idea where home was, but this kitchen felt like it was a million miles from it.
“The doctor warned me not to overwhelm you, and we can get into my reasons later. I know you’re not hungry, but let’s get some eggs in you before the appointment.”