DAHLIA WESTBROOKE
Human emotions were a funny, complex thing. While my father was alive, I wanted nothing to do with him, and when we were in a room together, I wished it was an ocean separating us instead of the dinner table.
Now that he was gone, it all felt surreal. I was torn between grief, panic, exhaustion, relief and most especially guilt for even feeling a slight bit of relief.
I was completely numb one minute, and the next, I was bawling my eyes out like there was no tomorrow. I didn't understand myself and the reason behind some of the things I did half the time, and I gave up trying to ages ago.
So, I let myself wallow in this weird period of grief, curled under the sheets while my tears stained the pillow.
The sun had risen four times since I'd cooped up in the room, and it was the fifth morning. My throat was horrendously dry and my eyes were itchy and sore from all the crying I did last night. I took that as a sign that it was time for me to get out of bed, so I did.
I spent the last hour scrubbing my skin clear under warm water, washing the tears and sweat away. When I stepped out of the bathroom, I felt much better, so I headed for the walk-in closet next, rifling through the clothes.
It was almost like a makeshift department store in there, and I had no clue who any of the clothes belonged to, but I helped myself to a buttery-soft, pale, yellow dress, that skated just below my knees.
And then I spent the next few minutes searching for a brush to take care of the matted, damp mess on my head.
By the time I was done, a full two hours had gone by since I crawled out of bed, and I was starving after going without food for days.
I'd ignored the knocks on the door accompanied by offerings of food, and on the second day, it was crickets. It was almost like they'd grown tired of me ignoring them, and decided to let me starve to death.
Even more surprising, I hadn't laid eyes on psycho stalker since our run-in at the shady hospital. After all the nonsense he spewed about 'remembering for both of us' and whatnot, he'd left the room, and I'd succumbed into another round of slumber.
The next time I woke up, I was in this weird room, but I was too tired to start asking questions. It wasn't like that'd change anything. I'd done a lot of that at the hospital, and it hadn't done anything, other than make me realize I was truly alone now with both of my parents dead.
I ventured out of the bedroom, blindly walking through hallways. The further down I went, the easier it was for me to smell the coffee brewing in the air, so I followed the aroma, winding through the complicated corridors until I was finally at the bottom of the stairs.
Luckily I ran into a woman, putting an end to my misery. My sense of smell was excellent—if I did say so myself—but I was tired of blindly finding my way around relying only on it.
"Hi. Good morning." The greeting came out hoarse and scratchy, and I internally cringed. I sound like a crack addict, who chained smoked for the fun of it until I'd done irreversible damage to my vocal cords. "Sorry I sound like that."
She shook her head immediately. "You're fine, ma'am."
"Just Dahlia is fine," I corrected. "Um, where's the kitchen, please? I need some tea to remedy this." I gestured at my throat.
"Right this way. I was on my way to your room on Mr. Tarasov's orders. He's waiting for you."
"Oh."
My desire to feed my body dwindled from a hundred to a negative five in the span of a few seconds. I didn't want to see him. Scratch that. I didn't expect to see him this morning. He'd done a fine job of staying away the last few days, I thought things were going to continue that way until I could finally figure out what was going on and get out of here.
"Ma'am?" The woman's smile faltered, an air of awkwardness wrapping around the space between us. "Would you like me to bring breakfast up to your room instead? I can relay the information to Mr. Tarasov."
"Yes, that would be gr–"
"Absolutely not. My wife will be having breakfast with me on the terrace. The morning sunlight and fresh air will do her some good."
The abrupt interruption had me jumping out of my shoes, and I silently cursed at him when I heard him chuckle lowly.
Psycho stalker stood next to me, our bodies separated merely by a few inches. "Dahlia."
I jutted my chin forward, regarding him coolly like I wasn't on the verge of a panic attack from just standing next to him. "Psycho stalker."
Another little chuckle. "Endearments already? I love that." He folded at the waist, leaning down to whisper in my ears. "Would you like to hear a few I have reserved for you, wife?"
"I'd rather not hear that now."
"Later, in private then?"
I flinched when his lips brushed against the shell of my ear, his warm breath teasing the skin. "No, never. I hate pet names."
"Hm. We'll work our way up to that."
I huffed, averting my gaze before he could see how unsettled I was. For whatever reason, I had no clue, and it puzzled me. "Or you'll just do whatever you like." He seemed like the type.
"Precisely." The smile in his voice piqued my interest, but before I could turn to stare at his face to confirm I wasn't making things up in my head, he straightened, addressing the woman, who'd stood frozen in place for the stretch of our little conversation. "Change of plans. Relay the change to the kitchen staff. Breakfast is on the terrace. Have some warm tea prepared for my wife. Any specifications?"
I didn't realize he was addressing me until a carefully placed hand on my waist nudged me back into their conversation I'd been passively observing. "What tea would you like to have?"
"Chamomile. Or peppermint. Either is fine. Or if some ginger tea is available, that's great, too. Anything the kitchen staff is comfortable wi–"
"She'll have some peppermint tea, Lucinda," Psycho Stalker interrupted, stopping me in the middle of my spiel.
"I'll have everything ready in fifteen minutes." Lucinda excused herself after that, leaving just us.
"A people pleaser. Shocking." His dry tone said suggested otherwise.
"There's nothing wrong with being considerate of others."
"If you say so. Selfish people tend to live a longer and more fulfilled life, or say the geniuses say."
"It's not hard to guess you're a selfish individual. You won't even let me see my family."
"Rotten to the core," he agreed. "And as for not letting you meet your family, that's purely of their own doing. Not one of them dropped by at the hospital while you were indisposed, by the way."
I bit down on the inside of my cheeks, like that'd somehow dull the hurt coursing through my veins. I knew things between us were strained, but still. I wouldn't leave Bethany completely stranded in a situation like this no matter how much I despised her.
"None of that. They don't deserve your sadness."
"I'm not sad," I lied through my teeth as I fought back pointless tears.
He nodded, probably seeing it as pointless to argue over the issue. "So, breakfast?" He held a hand out to me.
"I can walk myself."
"Not with those heels, you can't." His eyes flicked down to the white mules I'd slipped into, and when they flicked back to me, he looked amused. "It's just breakfast at home. We're not going out to some fancy place for brunch."
Duh. Like I'd wear this to brunch. I told him as much, and his brows raised. "So, you are aware. Well, usually, people wear comfortable clothes at home. For breakfast, especially." He gestured to himself, clad in a black tee and grey sweats.
I hated to admit it, but he was a sight in simple clothes like this. My earlier mission to disregard the way his shirt stretched over his broad shoulders and clung to his muscles and the dip of his slender waist crumbled to dust as I drank in his frame.
God, why did he have to be so... weird? He wouldn't hurt as a very brief fling. Now, that was completely out of the picture.
I shook the dirty thoughts out of my head, answering his earlier question. "I am dressed comfortably."
"In heels?"
"They're only four inches," I deadpanned. "They're nothing."
"If you say so." A small smile ghosted his lips, and I caught it just in time before he turned away. "Breakfast. You've gone without food for long enough."
I wordlessly followed behind him as he guided me to the terrace, succumbing to my hunger when my stomach growled violently.
We got to the terrace, and I hated to agree with him, but the fresh air certainly did some good to improve my mood.
"The view is wonderful," I commented as I took in the colorful garden across from us. "I love the rose bushes. It smells like heaven here."
"The gardener will be flattered to hear you compliment his roses. He takes pride in them."
"He's done a fantastic job."
"Hm," he hummed as he pulled back my chair. "Remind me to give Charles a raise then."
"That wasn't my intent when I brought it up, but it's nice regardless. For an extremely selfish man like you."
He shook his head in disagreement. "I treat my staff extremely well. I'm sure they'd all say the same if you did a survey."
"Of course, they would. The job market is horrible, and they're scared of losing their jobs."
He crossed his arms in front of his chest, arching a trimmed brow at me. "For someone who just woke up from a nine-month-long coma, you seem to be a great judge of my character."
"I–" I opened and snapped my mouth shut, feeling equal parts of shame and irritated. The latter was more at myself. He'd been so easy to talk to earlier, I almost forgot we didn't know each other at all.
"As I said, we have eternity to get well acquainted with each other. Don't feel embarrassed."
I gripped the edge of the table, disgusted that he could get a good read on me this early into our entanglement. "I'm not embarrassed," I lied for the second time in the span of a couple minutes. "It's not like you've given me anything to work with, other than hammering on the fact that we're married." I held up my left hand, showing him my empty ring finger. "I don't even have a ring."
"All of that we can remedy. I'll connect you with my jeweler, and you can get your ring size and diamond cut all settled."
"I don't want your ring."
He looked unconvinced. "Why'd you bring it up then?"
"Because I was trying to make a point." A baffled laugh escaped my throat. "There's no way I'm wearing your ring without getting to know you first. In fact, there's not much keeping me from filing for a divorce."
"Assuming you had the money to pay for your legal fees," he said with a tight smile. "You see, we signed an ironclad agreement. And I became your legal guardian some time ago. There's no way I'm giving you an opportunity to run away from this."
"You haven't given me a reason not to."
His eyes slightly flared with surprise. "Are you saying you'll stay if I give you a reason to?"
"I said nothing of the sort." I broke eye contact with him, grateful for the staff's interruption when they came bearing a spread of breakfast, tea for me, and coffee for my 'husband', whose name I still didn't know, but was too embarrassed to ask. So, Psycho Stalker, it was.
Unrelenting, when we were back to being alone, he struck up another conversation. "What's the last thing you have memories of? We can start from there and work our way up to helping you remember other things."
"What's in it for you?" I eyed him suspiciously.
"Having a wife who remembers me? I'm still hurt, by the way, Dahlia. Bearing the weight of our passion alone is no easy task."
I wasn't sure if he meant that as a joke, but I found my lips twitching involuntarily. Something about this very serious-looking man conversing casually and slipping in tiny jokes here and there, threw me off, and not in a bad way. "Passion, my ass. Speaking of what I last remember, Grayson and I split up, and he got engaged to my sister. Is he still engaged to Bethany?"
"They're married now."
"Oh." I expected much. Bethany looked all over him at their engagement party, and he was positively smitten with her, as he'd said in the email I'd received, informing me of our break up.
"My turn. Is this a situation where you're in love with your ex?" He posed the question casually, but the tension in his shoulders clued me in on what he truly felt and what he really hoped my answer would be.
This time I didn't have to lie. "No, I don't think so. At least, I don't remember feeling that way toward him. I do remember trying my hardest to make it work."
He relaxed ever so slightly, chewing carefully on his eggs before he spoke again. "The bastard didn't deserve your effort, anyway."
"He didn't. But I remember feeling so much rage that night, I thought I was going to explode."
"I know. I was there." He looked me dead in the eye when he dropped that bomb.
"You were? I don't remember meeting you that night."
"That was our third time meeting, and the night we got married."
"Oh, my God." If he was right, what the fuck was I thinking getting married the same day my sister got engaged to my ex? "That's wild. And so unlike me."
"You said that a lot that night in Vegas, too," he said with a fond look. "Glad to see some things haven't changed. At least, now we can pinpoint where you have gaps in your memory. It feels rather convenient that you remember nothing about me, though. It seems we'll just have to make newer, memorable memories."
The sexual innuendo in his tone wasn't lost on me, and I felt the heat spread across my face. This was one of the many instances I was glad for my skin tone. It couldn't betray me and make it known to him that I was blushing, thank God.
"I already told you. I'm not doing anything with you."
"But you aren't leaving either?"
I had no answer to that question, so I said nothing. I was still skeptical about trusting him, so a marriage was the last thing I wanted. I, however, wanted to regain my memories, and being around him was my easiest shot at that.
For now.
I eyed the food spread out in front of me, scared to reach out for anything.
"Is the food not up to your liking?" He quipped, interrupting the mental blackhole I was rapidly falling into as I contemplated on what to eat from the generous pick. "You can state your preferences, and I'll relay it to the chef for next time."
"No, that's not it." I didn't even know why I was hesitant. Bethany and her mother weren't here to pick apart my breakfast choice, but like a bad habit, the reluctance was ingrained into my body. I reached for the safest option for now—a platter of cut up fruits. "It's fine."
He paused eating, replacing his fork in its spot next to his plate. "That's not going to sustain you much until lunch. You need to eat real food." He laid emphasis on 'real' with a raise of his thick, groomed brows.
"I know," I hissed through gritted teeth. It was one thing to know, but it was another thing to undo years of wiring in just a few short minutes.
"Dahlia."
"Yes?"
"Look at me."
I did, alneit reluctantly.
"You're hungry, aren't you?"
I nodded slowly.
"So, eat. You don't have to worry about your manager, your father, or your step family anymore."
My eyes rounded into saucers at the same time embarrassment washed over me. How did he know?
"I-I..." I stammered, but before I could form a coherent statement, he spoke again.
"They're all gone, and they're never coming near you unless you agree to it. You're free to do whatever you like now." His sharp eyes bore into mine, conveying the sincerity of his words. "I'm here now."
My eyes burned at the simple yet confident reassurance. I knew it shouldn't affect me as much as it did, but I couldn't remember the last time someone had expressed being there for me ever since my mother died over a decade ago, but I wasn't naive enough to think he was doing this purely from the goodness of his heart.
The million-dollar question now was what he wanted in return. Scratch that. Did I even have the capacity to give a man like him what he wanted?