I try to open my eyes, but I can only see through small slits.
“Hello?” I say, and pain rockets through my jaw. I reach up and feel movement at my side. I turn to look and see a handsome, large man. He has dark hair and soft, warm chocolate eyes. “Who are you?” I ask him. His happy eyes cloud over instantly.
“You don’t remember me?” he asks, and I look around the room. Flowers are everywhere and light shines in. I see the IV pole for fluids. I try to think of who this man is. I try to think of my name, and nothing comes to me. Why am I in the hospital?
“Who am I?” I turn back to the man and feel tears roll down my face. The salt burns my already sensitive eyes.
“You’re McKenna Johansen. I’m Dante Lupo. Your fiancé.” He stutters over the last part, and I lift my left hand to see a ring there.
“What happened to me?” In my soul I know this man didn’t do this to me. Something inside me trusts him, so he must be my love. But can I trust that? Do I trust anything or anyone? I’m in a hospital, and from the brief inventory of my aches, I’ve been beaten up.
“You were attacked five days ago. Don’t you remember?” I watch as he reaches down and pushes a button on the side of the bed. A nurse call. How do I know all these things, yet I don’t know who I am? Or for that matter, who he is.
I try to push myself up to take in more of the room, but he pushes me back. His touch is firm but familiar in a way I can’t explain. I look at his hands and see healing bruises. Wait. I push back and look up at him.
“Did you do this to me?” I see the anguish cross his face as his jaw tightens and his eyes crinkle up.
“How could you ask that?” he says, and I point to his hands. “I got these from hitting the men who attacked you. I could never hurt you, McKenna.” I notice he doesn’t say he loves me, but I don’t say anything about that. I take in what he said. He beat the men who attacked me.
“You hit them before or after they attacked me?”
“After. They fired a gun into the restaurant to stop me from chasing after you. They grabbed you and dragged you down an alley to beat you up.” His gruff voice is gentle, and he reaches for my hand. “I need to hold you,la mia bambola.” Something about the nickname causes my heart to warm, and I pause. “You remember me calling you doll?” he asks, and I nod.
The movement causes pain to shoot through my head. I reach behind my head and feel a gauze bandage.
“They slammed your head into the ground. I’m so sorry I didn’t get to you fast enough. It will never happen again, McKenna. I swear it.” He reaches for my hand again and this time I give it to him. When his fingers lace with mine, peace settles over me. I close my eyes, and as I start to drift off again, something he said plays through my mind.
“Why were you chasing after me?” I open my eyes as best as I can to look at him. “Were we fighting?”
“No,mia piccolo bambola. I became distracted with something you said, and you thought I was upset, so you got up and left. You stopped once you stepped outside.”
“Okay.” I fall back to sleep.
When I wake the next time, Dante is still in the same chair. He’s changed clothes though and he’s sleeping. I can open my eyes a bit more now and look at him closer. He’s so beautiful, his hair thick and dark. The scruff lining his face is thick too. He hasn’t shaved in days. Maybe since my attack. I reach out my hand that I’ve taken from his and slide my fingers through his hair. I try to imagine doing this a lot, but nothing comes to me. His head rises and he smiles at me.
“Morning,la mia bambola. Are you ready to try to eat something? You can also drink.”
I look toward the cup and nod. He brings it to my lips. I take a sip and a memory flashes through my mind. I remember drinking and watching him as I did that.
“What happened,bambola?”
“I just had a memory of drinking water and watching you.”
“Yes, the first night I saw you, I sent you a drink and you drank it while watching me.” He chuckles at the memory. I laugh and pain shoots through me, making me groan. “Take it easy,bambola.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Because the first time I saw you, you looked like a little doll, and I wanted to protect you.”
“How long have we known each other?” I smile at him, wanting him to tell me things.
“Not as long as I’d like.” His answer gives me pause.
“Well, how long?”
“Good morning, Ms. Johansen. I’m your private nurse, Doris.” A woman enters and interrupts us. “I have your breakfast tray. Mr. Lupo requested a bit of everything because he wasn’t sure what you’d want.”
I turn to look at him. “What is my favorite breakfast food?” I ask. I know it’s like I’m testing him, but I want to know these things about myself. And shouldn’t my fiancé know these things about me?