“But…?”
“But my gut is screaming that there is definitely something between us,” Rafael grimly admitted. “When I get near her, when I touch her…It’s like I become someone else entirely. Someone I don’t know. I hear the conviction in her voice when she talks of us making love by the ocean and I believe her. More than that I want to believe her.”
Devon let out a whistle that sounded more like a crash-and-burn. “So you believe her then.”
Rafael sucked in his breath. “My head tells me she’s a liar.”
“But your gut?”
Rafael sighed because he knew what Dev was getting at. Rafael always went with his gut. Even when logic argued otherwise. And he’d never been wrong.
“My gut tells me she’s telling the truth.”
Chapter 8
“Do you feel well enough to travel?” Rafael asked Bryony over dinner.
Bryony looked up from the sumptuous steak she was devouring to see Rafael studying the bruise on her face.
“Rafael, I’m fine.”
“Perhaps you should see an obstetrician before we leave the city.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll go see my doctor as soon as we get to the island, but I’m certainly capable of traveling. Unless you have matters to attend to here? I can go ahead of you if you can’t get away yet.”
Rafael frowned and put down his fork. “We’ll go together. It’s important we retrace all our steps and follow the same pattern we did when I was there before. Perhaps the familiarity will bring back my lost memories.”
Bryony cut another piece of her steak, but paused after she speared it with her fork. “What does your doctor say?”
Rafael became visibly uncomfortable. Even though the table they’d been seated at provided complete privacy from the other patrons, he glanced around as if the idea of anyone overhearing his personal business caused him no end of grief.
His lips pursed in distaste and then he finally said, “He thinks there’s a psychological reason behind my memory loss. If I was so happy and in love then why would I want to forget? It makes no sense.”
She was unable to control the flinch. Her fingers went numb as she realized how tightly she gripped the fork.
“I didn’t say that to hurt you,” he said in a low voice. “There’s just so much I don’t understand. I want to go back because I want to find the person I lost while I was there. The man you say you loved and who loved you is a stranger to me.”
“Apparently we’re both strangers to you,” she said quietly. “Maybe that man doesn’t exist. Maybe I imagined him.”
Rafael’s gaze dropped down her body to where her belly was hidden by the table. “But neither of us imagined a child. He or she is all too real, the one real thing in this whole situation.”
She couldn’t keep the sadness from her expression. The corners of her mouth drooped and she shoved her plate aside, her appetite gone.
“Our baby isn’t the only real thing in our relationship. My love for you was real. I held nothing back from you. I guess we won’t know whether you were real when you were with me. You deny that you could be that person. You deny it with your every breath. And I’m supposed to forget all of this denial if you suddenly remember you did and do love me.”
She dropped her hands into her lap and wound her fingers tightly together as she leaned forward.
“Tell me, Rafael, which man would I believe? The man who tells me I’m not his type and that he couldn’t possibly have loved me, or the lover who spent every night in my arms while we were on the island? No matter what you remember tomorrow, or the next day, I’ll always know that a part of you rebels at the mere thought of being with me.”
She could tell her words struck a chord with him. Discomfort darkened his features and regret simmered in his eyes. He splayed his hand out in an almost helpless gesture.
“Bryony, I…”
She gave a short, forceful shake of her head. “Don’t, Rafael. Don’t make it worse by saying you didn’t mean it. We both know you did. At least you’ve been honest. You just need to remember that you’re not the only victim in this.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and she knew he meant it.
He reached across the table and slipped his hand over hers. For a moment he stroked his thumb across her knuckles and then he gently squeezed.
“I really am sorry. I’m being a selfish bastard. I know this has to hurt you and that none of this is easy for you. Forgive me.”
Her heart squeezed at the sincerity in his eyes. It was all she could do not to throw herself into his arms and hold on for all she was worth. She wanted to whisper to him that she loved him. She wanted to beg him never to let her go. But all she could do was stare across the table in helpless frustration.
“What if you never remember?” she asked, voicing her greatest fear.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
She leaned back in her seat, slipping her hand from underneath his. The heaviness in her chest was a physical ache, one that clogged her throat and made it hard to breathe.
“What have you packed?” she asked lightly, forcing a smile.
He looked confused by the abrupt shift in conversation. “I haven’t yet.”
She raised an eyebrow. “We leave in the morning and you don’t know how long you’ll be gone. Aren’t you leaving it to the last minute?”
He grimaced. “I wasn’t sure what to pack. You mentioned things like swimwear and flip-flops.”
She laughed as some of the tension in her chest eased. “Well, it’s too cold to swim. The weather is still quite warm but the water is chilly. But we can buy you shorts and flip-flops like we did before. We can’t have you wearing suits all the time, and your expensive loafers will just get ruined.”
“I’m trusting you,” he muttered. “Since you swear I did this before.”
“And it didn’t kill you,” she teased. “When I was done with your makeover, you looked more relaxed and less like a stuffed shirt.”
“You’re implying I’m stuffy?” he asked in mock outrage.
“Oh, you were. Totally stuffy.”
“I don’t want to stand out this time. I’d like to keep my…problem…as private as possible.”
“Of course,” Bryony murmured.
He sat back in his chair and fiddled with his wineglass, though he didn’t pick it up to drink. He turned in the direction of the band playing soft, mellow jazz and then back to her, his expression thoughtful.
“Tell me, Bryony. Did we ever dance?”
Caught off guard by the question, she shook her head mutely.
He stood and held his hand out to her. “Then dance with me now.”
Mesmerized by the husk in his tone, she slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He led her onto the dance floor and slid his palm over her back as he pulled her into his embrace.
She closed her eyes and sighed as she melted against him. His warmth wrapped tantalizingly around her and his