“You were in a coma for three weeks,” the doctor says. “You are home and safe. We can transfer you to your bedroom once we get through some more tests.”
I nod, sinking into the hospital-like bed.
What kind of man needs a room like this in his own home?
Elio, my so-called fiancé, leans forward pressing his lips against my forehead as the doctor gets to work checking my vitals and asking me more questions.
I can’t shake the feeling of so much… wrongness in all of this, but the part of me I’m reaching for isn’t willing to answer my call. All I can do is put my trust in these people until my memories resurface.
18
Malia
It’sbeenfivedayssince I woke up in that hospital room, dazed and confused. I’ve yet to remember anything about my past. I only know the details Elio has filled in, but I have no way of knowing if they’re true.
He’s given me snapshots of what happened, here and there, before the injury that ultimately brought me to my current predicament. From what he told me, we were due to be married. I was supposed to marry someone else through an arrangement between parents, between mobsters, to appease the power structure and pecking order. Elio and I had a past that ended abruptly due to my engagement. It’s apparently something common in our world.
Today, Elio told me parts of when we were together. A time before the engagement when it was easy and happy.
A mafia princess he called me, as he related the memories.
Principessa.
I still don’t like the endearment, but I keep quiet about it. I guess the person I was didn’t mind it, which is why he uses it. I suppose I could learn to not mind it again.
According to Elio my father was the reason behind my injury. My mother helped me get out and back into my love’s arms, which was grounds for war between gangs, with me being collateral damage in the fall out.
Now, we’re here, standing in a bedroom we supposedly share. Every memory passes so smoothly through Elio’s lips, and he calls upon them so easily while I listen, trying to rack my brain and make the pieces fit. Holding onto them like it might spark a memory that’s my own and no one else’s.
I sit down on the plush mattress, sinking into it and frowning as I stare at the bed. There’s something about the headboard that brings me unease. I remain unblinking as I mentally chase that feeling for the reason behind it.
Elio steps into me, taking my chin between his fingers and directing me to focus on him. When he’s satisfied with my attention, he smiles at me, bending close enough that I can feel his breath ghost across my lips. His gaze flicks from my eyes and my lips.
“I’ve been so worried,bella,“ he whispers, making a shiver travels down my body; I can’t tell if it’s good or bad.
He leans in, gently taking my lips, kissing me slowly, as if we’re doing this for the first time and he’s testing the waters. I don’t pull away, hungry for the knowledge I crave so badly I will take anything to give me back who I was before this.
His kisses quickly turn from soft to more urgent and needy. He bites down on my bottom lip, causing a gasp to rush from my lips, and he takes advantage of catching me off-guard and presses me back against the bed.
Elio pulls back to look down at me and frowns at my hesitation.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers against my lips, finishing with a peck then putting distance between us.
He runs a hand through his dark hair and I watch him as he seems to war with himself. I tilt my head, taking in the man who’s going to be my husband in three months’ time.
Elio is tall, a solid wall of muscle. I can admit he is good-looking but there’s a monster lying in wait behind the void in his deep brown eyes. He has a strong jaw that’s shadowed by thick stubble, never seeming to grow, or be cut down. I can only guess he likes to keep it that way. His olive skin is decorated in tattoos, much like mine, and I wonder why I choose the ones I did.
A story is etched onto my skin, but it’s lost to me. Art that had meaning now falls short to my defective brain.
Suddenly feeling hot, I fan my shirt, hoping to ease some of the fire that’s building inside me. It’s not enough, so I strip off my shirt. But my breathing becomes labored, my limbs lose all the strength I’ve gained back in the last few days. I drop the shirt on the floor, the motion gaining Elio’s attention.
His thick brows crease as he takes me in, rushing over as I fall back onto the bed again. My hot body turns cold almost immediately, and I bring my hands to eye level. It takes too much effort to bring them up and I whimper, taking in the intense trembling. Sweat coats my skin as I shiver against the cold, wishing I had my shirt back.
A sharp pain stabs into my arm, I roll my head to see Elio holding my forearm with one hand and a needle with the other.
“You need your medicine,” he says, pushing the plunger in as my body falls into bliss. “It’s been too long in-between doses,bella.”
I smile at him and he smiles back while pulling the needle from my arm and discarding it on the table at the end of the bed. I sink into the comfort of my body, into the numbness in my once trembling arms and legs. I watch Elio as he removes his shirt, revealing his sculpted body and the tattoos that hide underneath his clothes. My fingers want to feel his protruding abdominal muscles, trace each line he has worked hard to carve into his body.