She lifted it up. It felt pretty light. There were a few shirts hanging in the closet, so maybe he’d already unpacked it. Still, curiosity got the better of her, so she opened it up. It was empty except for some dirty clothes stuffed in a plastic bag. When she touched the bag, a shiver ran down her fingertips. Something about the plastic feel made her immediately drop it from her hand.
She shook her head, trying to ignore the unpleasant feeling. Maybe it was guilt. Just because they were engaged didn’t give her the right to go through his things. Did it? She zipped up the suitcase and put it back where she’d found it. Then she went to his jacket and put her hand into his pockets. The first pocket turned out to be empty, but there was a paper napkin in the other.
It wasn’t crumpled like a napkin used to wipe one’s hands, but folded neatly as if it had a greater meaning. She pulled the napkin out and carried it out of the dark closet into the light of the well-lit room. She read the handwritten words on what was clearly a cocktail napkin.
Tina Sanchez
951-555-5512
I have a twin sister.
She blinked. Why would her fiancé have a woman’s phone number written on a cocktail napkin in his pocket? She might not remember who she was or anything about her life prior to one day ago, but she knew she hadn’t just fallen off a turnip truck either. Heat prickled up her neck. That’s why he wouldn’t touch her. He was cheating on her. The bastard.
After memorizing the telephone number, she stuffed the note back where she’d found it, then closed the closet door behind her, leaving it the way she’d found it. She walked over to the window and looked at the beautiful view, but even the light bouncing off the creek at the bottom of gently sloping wildflower encrusted hill couldn’t stop the depression from settling in on her and crushing away all her happiness.
She found a blanket in a closet and lay on top of the bed, curling up in the blanket and trying to hold back the tears. It wasn’t fair. How could she be happy? She couldn’t remember anything. She’d somehow landed a rich and handsome guy, but he was a jerk, a philanderer, a cheater. She couldn’t possibly love him, or if she did, she’d have to let that go.
A new set of emotions blossomed. Anger, determination, revenge. If he was trying to shut her out, to end the engagement, to leave her with nothing – she’d make that darn hard. He wouldn’t dare dump her as long as she was still suffering from the injuries caused by the accident, would he? He couldn’t leave her alone to fend for herself when she didn’t know her former address, or what she did for a living, or the name of a single friend?
Having determined to do whatever it took to hang on to him and the protection he offered, until such time as she could say, “I do,” and then milk him in a divorce, she felt the pain throbbing at the back of her head subside, and she fell into a restless sleep.
~~*~~
MERRICK’S POV
Merrick almost didn’t go back to check on Bombshell, but she’d been asleep for almost two hours, and he was beginning to worry about her. Determined not to let himself get that close to her again, he had a plan, an explanation for being standoffish.
“Bombshell,” he said as he walked into the room. He expected to see her curled up in bed, or sitting in a corner reading one of the books from the shelves. He didn’t expect to hear her voice calling to him from the bathroom.
“Oh, Merrick, I’m glad you’re here. Can you help me?”
“Of course,” he said and walked into the bathroom. She was in the tub, naked. “Sorry,” he said, averting his gaze as he walked away.
“Don’t be silly, Merrick. We’re engaged, aren’t we? I’m sure you’ve seen me naked before.”
Merrick didn’t move.
“I need you to lend me a razor. Do you have one I can borrow, please?”
“Oh, of course.” Merrick went to his kit bag and rummaged for his Mach III. He handed it to her without looking at her.
“Why are you being so shy, silly? Come closer.”
Merrick inched towards her, his hand out. She pulled her breasts out of the sudsy water and leaned forward to take the razor. He turned his head and dropped it into the water.
“Sorry,” he blurted. “I’m sorry.”
“What’s wrong, silly?” she said. “Come back.”
“Bombshell, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”
“Can it wait until I shave my legs?”
“Well, yes, I suppose.”
“Then you better get that razor for me,” she said. Bombshell could tell by the sweat breaking out on his brow that she had him by the short hairs. “I can’t reach that far. Can you get it for me, please?”
Bombshell had used her hands to move the razor under her butt.