Clearing my throat, I try to shift my body to sit up, but I’m unable to. The man moves to press a button on the side of the bed that brings the back up so I’m able to sit almost straight without much effort.
“How’s your head?” the man asks, looking off to my left, then back at me.
I turn to look where he did and see the doctor from earlier standing by a table in the room with a clipboard in her hand. The situation makes me uneasy, but I don’t understand why, so I ignore it.
“Foggy, hurts,” I respond through a rasp.
“Do you remember anything?” he questions, tilting his head to the side as he takes a step back.
I frown, sorting through the jumble of things that don’t make sense. Nothing comes clearly to mind. I shake my head and groan against the pain. The doctor steps closer, now holding a cup of water and two pills that she hands to the man. Eyeing the pills being offered to me, I look between the two strangers, ignoring the outstretched hand. I don’t want to take something that will make me go back to sleep. I want answers.
“What happened?” I ask.
Another glance is exchanged between the two of them; confusion thick in the air between the three of us. The man steps to the bed, sitting next to me and forcing the pills into my hand.
“I don’t want to go back to sleep,” I plead with him, tasting bitterness in my dry mouth. “Please, what happened?”
I try to hand him back the pills, but he refuses to take them. The tick in his jaw is the only indication he’s irritated with my pushing back.
“The medication won’t make you tired, it’s only medical grade NSAID that will help with any inflammation and pain,” the doctor says.
I purse my lips, assessing the white pills in my hand, the pain throbbing behind my eyes and urge to make it stop makes me swallow them whole and suck down the water that tastes like heaven.
The man reaches out to cup my cheek, and my brows furrow at the action.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,principessa,“ he says thickly. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it back to me.”
Principessa.
I don’t think I like that, but I ignore that thought as well.
“Who are you?” I ask.
He frowns, his thumb sweeping back and forth along my cheek. I reach my free hand up and rest it over his, partly wanting to shove it away and partly just hoping if I give him this much he will answer my questions.
“What have they done to you,bella?“ he says in a whisper.
I swallow through the lump in my sore throat as the doctor clears hers, demanding our attention. We both look at her, our hands falling from my face. He takes my hand in his, interlacing our fingers and my gaze falls from the doctor to our linked hands. It all seems wrong, too much for me to make sense of right now.
“Is Bella my name?”
“No,” the man says, a smirk pulling at his full lips, but there’s no warmth behind it. “Your name is Malia, but you’rebellato me.”
He lifts our linked hands and places a chaste kiss to mine.
“Who are you?” I ask again.
The man drops our hands to the bed and sadness takes over his features.
“I’m Elio Ricci, your betrothed.” His head snaps toward the doctor, a growl in his voice when he speaks, “Why doesn’t she remember?”
The doctor stares at him momentarily with a blank look on her face before she decides to answer.
“There’s swelling in her brain from the injuries she sustained. The amnesia she’s experiencing is most likely temporary. How temporary will be up to her. She could remember who she is tonight or years from now. The brain is a tricky thing.”
I absorb the information, my lungs deflating from a response that gives no promise, answers, or clarity from the frustrating mist I’m currently wading in.
“How long do I have to stay here?” I grumble, annoyed with my situation.