FALLEN: A Dark Mystery Romance (LOVE IS WAR Book 1) Page 15
“Stress?”
“Yes. Traumatic events can cause this type of sudden retrograde memory loss.”
“Traumatic? What could have been so traumatic?”
“It’s not necessarily something we generally perceive as a calamity. It can be something you have perceived as stressful or has created a great deal of stress for you.”
“Am I getting it back?” I ask, baffled.
“Most cases are temporary, but some can last a lifetime.”
My mouth pulls open.
“Is there anything we can do about it?” I mutter after a moment.
“We can try hypnosis or a drug-assisted questions-and-answers session. It could help.”
I ponder for a few seconds, my eyes dipping to the floor.
“Is there any chance that it might come back on its own?”
“Yes. It might.”
I muse a few more moments.
“I guess I’ll wait and see what happens.”
Her eyebrows lift, a smile flashing on her lips.
“That’s good too. Just let me know if you change your mind.”
I leave her office thirty minutes later with a prescription for sleeping medication that I already know I won’t fill.
The night is slowly crawling up the streets.
It’s only six o’clock and yet it’s dark outside. The sidewalks are frosted, the snow sifting from the sky.
I glance around, looking for a cab before I change my mind and start walking. The traffic gets heavier as people head home, coming from work.
I could walk straight home as well, but I’m in no hurry.
An empty house awaits me.
I take a few more steps when a small restaurant with dimly lit windows catches my eye.
I take a sharp turn and head to the entrance. The hostess, a petite blonde with big eyes, greets me inside.
“A table for one,” I say.
“Sure.”
She motions me to follow her and leads me to a small table that sits next to a window.
I shrug out my coat. Courteously, she takes it.
A menu surfaces on the table.
“Anything to drink?”
“A glass of Chardonnay.”
She pulls away as I slip into my chair and open the menu. The soft voices of the people sitting around the other tables become a hum as the mellow music starts drifting through the air.
A few minutes tick by, and my mind wanders away, my gaze turning vacant.
So many things happened these past few weeks. Most of them not so good, disruptive in some way, leaving me confused.
The sound of footsteps makes me tip my gaze up. The waitress stops next to the table.
“Are you ready to order, Miss?”
I flip the menu closed.
“Yes. I’ll have the scallop salad.”
She nods and walks away.
My eyes shift to the window, soaking in the winter scenery. Snow dusts the sidewalks while lampposts pierce the darkness with their glow.
For a while, I absently look for black cars and men that wear long dark coats before I give up and focus solely on the lights.
My food arrives within minutes.
I start to eat when a few messages pop on my phone. Mom, Viola. Anna. I answer to all of them, removing any suspicion that I’m going crazy. I even call my husband and leave a message.
A bitter smile tickles my lips when I realize that I’m in full damage control.
Somehow, I have to patch things up and make it work.
“Anything else, Miss?”
“The check, please.”
I hand my credit card to the server.
A few moments later, I get ready to leave. She brings it back along with the receipt. The hostess walks right behind her. I give the blonde a double take when a bouquet of fresh camellias catches my eye.
I slip my credit card into my pocketbook, my eye trained on the flowers.
“This is for you. Miss.”
The woman sets them on the table.
I look at her surprised. Incredulous.
“For me? Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Who delivered them?” I ask, my blood pulsing faster.
“A man.”
A small smile tilts her lips.
“Can you describe him for me?”
She pauses for a moment before she speaks.
“Um, dark hair, green eyes. Handsome.”
I bite my lip, pushing back a smile and more questions.
I wish she could give me a detailed account of what that man exactly looked like, but I decide to leave it at that.
“Thank you,” I say with a soft voice, hugging my flowers.
A scent of cologne drifts to me.
The very same fragrance that always comes with them. I want to smile and cry at the same time. My eyes stay on the flowers, my fingers gently stroking their petals.
“They’re beautiful,” I mutter to myself.
Sad.
And happy.
I swing my eyes back to the window.
A car that wasn’t there before sits next to the sidewalk. The man whose exotic cologne has already imbued my hands, stands in front of me, not far from the window, his face barely distinguishable in the faint light of the lamppost.
He smiles at me.
A slowly burning grin that echoes deep inside me. He’s as real as the flowers in my hand and the warmth spreading through my blood.
We share a stare that takes me to a different realm.
Perhaps it’s only my imagination, but I get a pretty good idea of how he feels. Pressed against me, his hands roaming over my body, claiming with passion.
I don’t know what prompts me to raise my hand, but I splay my fingers on the glass as if I say hi to him.
He nods softly in response.
His lips move, muttering a few words I can’t hear or understand before he turns around and slips into the car.
My eyes and hand break away from the window.
Rushed, I collect my purse, the flowers and my coat and dash to the street.
The traffic is light right now. I glance around, holding no hope that I can see him again, and sure enough, his car is nowhere in sight.
I’m trying to make up my mind on what to do next when a thought surfaces in my head.
It takes me ten minutes to get to Anna’s place.
Surprise floods her eyes the moment she opens the door.
“Hey,” she says effusively, wrapping an arm around me. “How come you stopped by?”
“Is Dany home?” I ask, peering over her shoulder.
“No. Come on in,” she says, swinging the door open.
I step in.
Her home smells like food.
“I made biscuits from scratch. They’re warm out of the oven. Want some?”
“I just had dinner,” I say, slipping out of my coat.
She sets it on a hanger, her gaze slanting at my flowers.
“They’re beautiful. Where did you get them?”
I smile mysteriously.
“Someone brought them for me at the restaurant.”
Her eyebrows lift.
“Really?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
A slight shadow slides over her face.
“Is that man again?”
Quietly, I nod a couple of times.
“Yes. And actually… That’s why I’m here. I want to talk to you about him.”
She looks at me a little confused.
“Okay,” she mutters.
We enter the kitchen. It smells divine.
“At least taste one,” she says, pointing at the plate sitting on the table.
It’s piled up.
“Okay.”
I grab one. It’s moist and flaky, and it melts in my mouth.
“Tea?”
“No. I’m good. Thank you. I had a glass of wine.”
She sets a mug of tea on the table and picks up a biscuit from the plate.
“For the flowers, or for going out?”
“Both.”
“I had my doctor’s appointment. And the flowers...? I have no idea,” I say, shrugging. “He must’ve followed me.”
“Again?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure is not some odd coincidence?”
“The woman who collected the flowers described him to me. And then I saw him.”
“Did you try to talk to him?”
“Mmm-hmm. I did, but he pulled away.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
She stares at her cup for a moment.
“Did you find out anything about this man?”
“No. Not really. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Perhaps I’m doing something wrong.
She rises to her feet and brings her tablet at the table.
“What’s his name again?”
“Sebastien Rockford.”
For a few long moments, I watch her pursing her lips and creasing her brow as she runs a search on him, the screen lights switching fast as she browses the Internet.
“There,” she says.
My ears perk up.
“What?”
“He’s the... Oh, my God.”
Her hand flies to her mouth.
“He’s the only heir of a billion dollar estate.”
“Did you know that?” she asks, flicking her gaze at me.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And apparently...” she says as she starts reading again.
Her voice quiets down, the blood draining from her face.
I feel her tension in my chest.
“What is it?” I ask.
She turns her eyes to me, and all I see is bad news.
“What happened?” I ask again.
She moves her eyes back to the tablet.
“His wealth is slightly bigger than his… wife’s?”
“Wife?” I shriek.
I put the biscuit down, struggling to swallow.
“Are you sure it’s his wife? Where did you find the information?” I ask, running a napkin over my lips and hoping to hear something different.
“Business Public Library. It’s public information, but you have to know where to look for it,” she says, grappling with the news as well.
I fall back in my chair, a pile of rubble inside.
“How can he be married?” I mutter. “I checked on his family. I couldn’t find anyone with his last name.”
She keeps scrolling down, her eyebrows pinching together.
“Well, there’s a good reason for that. She didn’t change her name when she got married,” she murmurs, staring at the screen. “Here are some pictures of him and his wife taken at some private event.”
A knife twists in my chest.
“September 25th. Sebastien Rockford and his wife Jacqueline Monroe attended the charity ball hosted by the Rockford Foundation,” she says, reading the headline.
I feel like throwing up.
“These are the pictures,” she says as she flips the tablet to me.
A group picture fills my sight. It doesn’t look staged. The photographer must have taken random snapshots. A few women fill the frame along with their male companions.
“Anyone you recognize? The pictures are not the best,” she admits.
Slowly, I run my gaze over the photos.
I catch a glimpse of a woman’s hair and my stomach clenches. She has long dark hair and wears a long white evening gown. A man stands by her side, his back turned to the camera. They both look to the side. I can’t see most of his face and very little of her profile.
“I think it’s them, but I can’t tell for sure.”
“Try a different one,” she says, pointing at the gallery.
I go through a few more pictures until I find one that shows her face.
My hand flies to my mouth.
“Oh, my God…” I mutter, washed with disbelief.
“What is it?”
“That’s her,” I say, unable to filter my thoughts.
Anna looks at me intrigued.
“Her? Who’s her? Do you know this woman?”
My eyes stall on the beautiful brunette as bits and pieces of information flow through my mind at amazing speed. The clip of that woman on my computer, the nudes in the art gallery, and the brunette keeping company to Stephan Leone.
What was she doing there with him?
She modeled for him. But the vibe I got from them was way off. And then there is another image that struggles to push through my memory wall. It’s a torn imagine, like a piece carved out of a newspaper, one you’ve carried in your pocketbook forever, with faded colors and parts of lines completely missing. I have a hard time to zoom in on in this last piece of information, struggling to distinguish silhouettes in a dimly lit setting.
I see a kneeled woman and a man sitting on a couch, his legs spread. The image is drained of color and has no sound.
Coming from nowhere, I get a spike of pleasure through my blood.
Swiftly, I push the image to the side.
My pulse is dead.
“Huh?” I mumble, raising a blank gaze to Anna.
“Do you know this woman?”
“Sort of. I’ve seen her before, but I didn’t know they were connected.”
Connected?
How is she his wife?
I don’t understand. But how can I possibly understand? Nothing makes sense.
The thought itself makes me sick.
“So that’s him?” she asks bewildered.
“Him?” I mutter, dazed.
She taps the screen with her index finger.
“Yeah. That’s him,” I say looking down this time.
My eyes stay on him for a few good moments, soaking in his image. The sharp tuxedo and dark hair, his chiseled face. He talks to someone at his side, most of his features hidden.
“Yes, that’s the man,” I say again, with a faint voice.
“And Allan saw him?”
“He saw me pursuing him. That’s what made him so mad. I don’t think he got a glimpse of him. ”
She shakes her head, puzzled.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. He followed you.”
“Why would he follow me?” I ask abruptly, sounding so hurt. “He’s married,” I say with a broken voice.
Jealousy spins through me like an angry snake eager to spill its poison.
How can I be jealous of someone who shouldn’t mean anything to me? I’m a married woman. With a loving husband, and he is just a man I saw on the street.
And yet, I feel the sting of tears in my eyes.
I also sense the soft touch of Anna’s hand.
“But nothing happened,” she says, noticing my turmoil. “Other than the flowers of course.”
I glance at her, a sad smile sitting on my lips.
“I broke my husband’s trust.”
“How? You didn’t ask for any of this.”
I take a long breath, and flip the tablet over, hiding his image.
“The truth is... Allan was right.”
“You didn’t even speak with this man. Perhaps he’s an admirer of yours.”
I let out a sarcastic chuckle.
“Admirer of what? I wasn’t even going out that much when he started to show up around my place. Where could he have possibly seen me?”
I sound angry and frustrated, and the nuance is not lost on her.
“Do you have feelings for this man?”
I look at her in silence, until revelation washes over her face.
Her eyes widen in surprise, her hand sliding to her mouth.
“No, you don’t… How can you possibly fall for him?”
I wish I knew the answer.
“I’m not sure that’s what this is,” I murmur.
“What else could it be? You’re living this turmoil because of him. You have problems with Allan. You
r mom sent you to the doctor again. They all think you’re crazy.”
“Do you think that too?”
She stays silent.
“Do you??”
“No,” she says softly as if she fears my reaction. “But to be honest, I don’t understand. You are so torn because of this man. He’s a stranger who––”
“Has a wife. I know. I’m perfectly aware. That’s why I said it. I don’t think this is about me falling for him. I would never fall for someone who’s not a free man. And he clearly isn’t.”
Frustration threads through my voice.
“Yet, you feel hurt.”
My jaw clenches, tense.
“Yes, I fucking do because I didn’t ask him to come into my life. And I didn’t need him to tease me and fight for my attention. He sent me flowers or left them on the threshold at my place. I also think he trespassed my home.”
The blood draws from her face.
“What are you saying?”
I set my elbows on the table and bury my face in my hands, slowly rubbing my temples.
“There was some stuff on my computer I don’t remember having.”
“What stuff?”
I lift my gaze.
“Nothing important,” I say, unable to offer a good lie.
She ponders for a moment.
“Why would he do such a thing?”
“To be honest, I don’t know. To mess with my head, I suppose. As you can see he’s done a great job. I keep seeing Dr. Jimenez regardless of what her findings told her about me. And now, she’s talking about hypnosis and medication.”
“Why?”
I instantly realize that was one word too many.
I flick my hand up.
“To find some answers. Shrink stuff,” I say dismissively while pushing out of my chair. “I have to go,” I say.
She follows me into the foyer and helps me with my coat.
“So what are you going to do?” she asks just as I’m getting ready to walk out the door.
“I’m trying to find a way to save my marriage.”
TO BE CONTINUED
Also by SHAYNE FORD
NIGHT OF THE KINGS SERIES
A Billionaire Romance
JAMES (Night of the Kings Series #1)
DARK JAMES (Night of the Kings Series #2)
TAMING JAMES (Night of the Kings Series #3)
LEX (Night of the Kings Series #4)
HARD LEX (Night of the Kings Series #5)
LOVING LEX (Night of the Kings Series #6)
DARK HEART SERIES