Chapter 20: My Dark Prince: Chapter 19

Not a single memory returned by the time the hospital discharged me.

I’d spent ridiculous hours sleeping, chasing another dream from the past. One that would fill in the gaps from now and fifteen years ago. None came. On the bright side, the hospital had moved me into the executive suite for my last few nights, and I woke up every morning to the sight of Oliver sprawled across the spare bed, his glossy hair twinkling in the fresh sunlight.

I flicked open the overhead mirror in Oliver’s Ferrari, running my tongue over my teeth. “I’m super excited to go back home.”

He hadn’t touched me at all since I’d come to, save for a handful of awkward fatherly hugs. I didn’t remember much about my life, but I did remember us as teenagers.

Back then, you couldn’t remove us from one another with a five-blade machete. We were always one breath away from humping each other’s leg in public and used to kiss until our mouths were dry and stinky.

So, I was a little taken aback by the priestly restraint Oliver showed me. In fact, he’d been withdrawn ever since I’d woken up from my comacussion (coma-concussion). Not exactly unfriendly … but reserved.

Maybe he’s worried for me.

Maybe this is all in my head.

I lifted a chunk of hair near my temple, observing the greenish bruise there. “I’m sure being back where I live is going to help me remember things.”

“Mmhmm.” Oliver drummed his long, elegant fingers over the steering wheel, looking at everything and anything, just not me.

I turned to smile at his profile. “Trio and Geezer are going to be so happy to see me.”

No response. Oliver’s hooded eyes remained trained on the road. With a small sigh, I popped the glove compartment open, taking a sip from my Stanley. As soon as I saw what waited for me inside, I proceeded to spray the water all over the windshield, choke-coughing for breath.

“Jesus,” Oliver growled, veering to the right as he shot me an alarmed look. A car behind us honked, bypassing us as the driver flipped us the finger. “You okay, Cuddlebug?”

“I don’t know. Am I?” I fished out the contents of the glove compartment, including a glow-in-the-dark dino-dick, a BDSM chastity belt, and a spiky dildo. “What the hell are you doing to me when we’re in bed?”

Oliver’s eyes broadened, and his impossibly sculpted cheekbones turned bright pink. “Nothing you don’t consent to, my little sex kitten.”

“I can’t recall any version of me that would enjoy a spiky dildo.”

“Well, it exists. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be here.”

I frowned. “This is … surprising.”

“Wait till you see your goat-shaped prostate massager collection.”

Oh my god.

This had to be work-related research. I worked as an intimacy coordinator, right?

“You might have to show me how to use it again. I definitely forgot.”

Oliver closed his eyes briefly, his mouth moving in a silent prayer.

I popped a brow up, stuffing our sex toys back into the glove compartment. “Why are you acting so weird?”

“Weird how?”

“You’re, I dunno … stiff.”

He choked the steering wheel to the point of white knuckles, rearranging his buns of steel on his seat. “My being stiff is usually a bonus for you, not a complaint.”

I ignored his very obvious erection, reading the speedometer. “And why are you driving at 30 miles per hour?”

“I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“By boring me to death?”

“Briar, I—”

“What happened to Cuddlebug?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Nothing,” he finally answered. “Last we spoke, you didn’t want me using that nickname.”

“Wow.”

I’d grown to love that nickname. The fight the night of the accident must’ve been major. I hated the idea of being a bridezilla, but I had grown up fantasizing about marrying Oliver. There must’ve been a flower arrangement I couldn’t do without.

I changed the subject, not wanting to bring it up quite yet. “Do we have a big backyard?”

“Yes.” He frowned, eyes still on the road. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, you’re obviously in the doghouse, and I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

Still, I couldn’t quite believe I’d asked him not to call me Cuddlebug, and he’d taken the request seriously. Something was fishy about this entire thing, but I couldn’t pinpoint what. Contemplating the possibilities made my head feel like every failed drummer in the country currently resided inside it. Something had caused Oliver to feel uncomfortable around me, and I needed to find out what it was.

His phone rang in the central console. The ringtone danced between us. “Sleeping Beauty” by Tchaikovsky. Finally, something that reminded me of us. A string of nostalgia looped around my heart. It left as fast as it had come but doubt lingered. How could it not? Nostalgia is the heart’s way of holding on to what time can’t keep.

I swallowed the kernel of doubt, deciding to break the ice.

I jumped in my seat, slapping a hand to my heart. “HOLY SHIT.”

“What? What?” Ollie swerved over to the shoulder of the road and turned on his hazard lights, his eyes roaming my upper body in a panic. “What’s wrong?”

“Your tiny laptop can sing.” I pointed at the phone, covering my mouth with my whole palm. “Can it dance, too?”

“Can what dan …” he trailed off, staring at his phone between us.

His brows furrowed as he picked it up. Romeo’s name flashed on the screen.

Oliver dragged a hand over his mouth. “Oh, sweetheart. You don’t remember.” He reached to run a hand over my hair, sending goosebumps along my spine as he gently tucked a tendril of my bangs behind my ear. “It’s called an iPhone. A part of the smartphone family. It isn’t a laptop.”

“Can … it …” I bit on my lower lip, shooting worried glances between his phone and his face.

“What?” He leaned forward, angling the phone away from me like he thought its proximity might trigger another freak out. “Tell me.”

“No, no.” I shook my head. “You’ll think it’s a stupid question.”

“I will never think anything you do or say is stupid,” he assured me.

“Can it …” I dropped my voice into a whisper. “Read your mind?”

“No.” He chuckled softly, gathering my hands in his. “It can’t read your mind, but it can do a lot of other stuff. You can work with it. It connects to the internet. It has a digital assistant called Siri, and she can answer general questions you have. About the weather and important dates.”

I blinked, trying to keep a straight face. “Does it work on batteries?”

Poor dude thought I’d woken up after a trip to the eighties. I knew I was being a little cruel to him, but I hadn’t felt normal since I’d woken up, and this helped me gain some sort of grip on who I was.

“You charge it with electricity.”

I reared my head back, frowning. “What’s electricity?”

I could see all the blood drain from his face, before his eyebrows dove into a deep frown. Before he had time to process the joke, I flipped the visor down and studied my face in the mirror.

I winced, pawing at my forehead. “Oliver.”

“What’s wrong?” He fussed over my face, his hands fanning in every direction like he wanted to touch it but feared he’d make it worse. “Are you in pain? Do we need to turn back? I knew they discharged you too soon. Let’s go back. You know what? Let’s go to another hospital. I’ve always hated that place, and Doctor Cohen is a dickhead. There’s this guy I know at Johns Hopkins. He specializes in all things head related. He can help us, I promise. If not, we can—”

My god. I’d never seen him like this. If I didn’t stop him, he’d keep talking.

“It’s not pain.” I rubbed an imaginary line between my brows. “Is that a wrinkle?”

“A what?”

“A wrinkle.”

“On your forehead?” He pulled my hand away and studied my face. “No, it’s a red mark from you stabbing it every ten seconds.”

“What year is it?”

“Year?” he echoed.

“How old are we?”

“I’m 34. You’re 33.”

“But …” I shook my head. “I was just fifteen.”

He leaned back in his seat, tugging on tufts of hair. “Oh, fuck.”

“I haven’t even had my period.”

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Just yesterday, Meemaw sat me down and told me boys stick their pee pee in my pee pee to make babies.”

His jaw almost dislodged. One second passed. Then another. And another. Finally, he tipped his head back and started laughing like a maniac, slapping his forehead. “You little shit.”

“Please, you deserve much more crap for using goat-shaped prostate massagers on me.” I propped a shoulder on my seat, staring at him with a mixture of delight and confusion. We didn’t feel like us. And yet, nothing made me more comfortable than being near him. I sighed. “Chill out, by the way. I’m fine. I’m not going to disintegrate because you glanced away for five seconds. Keep your eyes on the road.”

“You don’t get it. I thought you died that night. Or worse.”

“There’s something worse than death?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, his voice flat.

In an instant, the joy sucked out of the car. I tugged the lush cardigan Oliver gave me tighter – a Christmas gift from someone named Dallas, who was apparently my best friend – and stole glances at him from my periphery. He white-knuckled the steering wheel, the car still in park. My fingertips itched to smooth out the lines between his brows and take away whatever happened that had made him so serious. So somber. Problem was, I didn’t know what that was. Just another reminder of what I’d lost. Every memory that made me … me.

That’s not true.

I caught my gaze in the mirror.

You’re still the you that matters. You’re still sweet, and smart, and compassionate. You don’t need your memories to be the same girl that loved Oliver von Bismarck something fierce.

Damn straight.

In the end, my heart mattered more than my mind.

“We’re in our thirties, you said?” I patted my face, making a show of gazing in the mirror with fake awe. “This has to be Botox. Damn, I’m aging well. When do you think my next appointment is?”

He loosened his grip on the steering wheel and revved up the engine, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I’ve never taken care of anyone without a memory before.”

“I have memories. I just blanked out on the last decade or so.” I pouted, staring at the road ahead. We lived in a beautiful place – wild with evergreen trees, golf courses, rivers, and lakes. “In fact, I just remembered something recent a moment ago.”

“Oh?” Ollie quirked an eyebrow. “Do share.”

“I remembering sewing a pair of see-through thongs shortly before I bumped my head.”

“You did.” He grinned. “For the film you were working on.”

“Why the past tense?” I frowned. “I’m going back as soon as I can.”

Ollie’s throat bobbed with a swallow. “Cuddlebug, they … found a replacement.”

“What?” I almost shot out of my seat. “They can’t do this to me. I need to go back. It’ll help me remember.”

“You need to rest.” He patted my thigh, and a jolt of desire zipped through me. “And ask plenty of questions.”

“Okay. What’s my favorite sex position?” I challenged.

“Reverse cowgirl while I operate heavy machinery.”

That made me laugh. Now, this was more like the Ollie I knew. Passionate. Goofy. Real.

“Have we ever …”

“Ever …?”

“Sixty-nined?”

He did a double take. “Come again?”

“Cum again or come again? Never mind. I was just wondering what happens if I accidentally bite your dick when I come.” I shook my head, amused by his automatic wince. “Moving on. Where’s the craziest place we’ve ever had sex?”

“Hmm.” He stroked his chin, giving it some thought. By the ghost of the smile tugging at his lips, I gathered there were plenty of places to choose from. “The Versailles Palace, probably.”

I choked on another sip of my water. “Oh my god, were we drunk?”

“Sober as an angry, freshly rehabilitated uncle on Christmas dinner.” He shook his head. “Didn’t do it in the gardens, even. Right there on the throne.”

I covered my face with both my palms, my ears roasting like Thanksgiving turkey. “You’re lying.”

“Nope.” He popped the P. “Went down on you for forty minutes, too.”

“Now I know you’re lying.”

“Okay, I lied.” He paused. “I went down on you for fifty minutes, not forty.”

I barked out a laugh. He laughed, too. And for a tiny, fleeting second, we were us again. Whatever that was.

Oliver turned right into a broad, tree-lined road. A good mile passed before we reached a massive cul-de-sac. Two mansions spurted from each side at the ends of ceaseless driveways, with a third mansion planted firmly in the center, propped up on a hill that helped it tower over the rest. The homes loomed like three kings, overbearing in their size and architecture. Nothing about the view seemed familiar.

“This is Dark Prince Road.” Oliver tapped the accelerator with his foot, finally driving at a faster pace. “Mine is the right one. It has its own lake. Well, it’s more like an inlet that leads into the Potomac. You’re going to love it.”

I cleared my throat, wondering when it had dried. “You mean ours.”

“What?” He turned to me, confused. “Oh, yes. Ours. Sorry.”

A tiny knot tightened in my stomach. I brushed it away, soaking in the property. “Is this the house your dad got you after he spent that year away on business?”

“You remember that?”

“Yup. I remember you got a horse, too.”

“He’s in the stables out back. I have two now. Usain Colt and Al Capony.”

I giggled into my sleeve. “One for me and one for you?”

He parked beside a Roman statue on the gold-bricked motor court, shot a lingering glance at the windows on the south wing of his mansion, and swallowed hard. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll teach you how to ride Usain Colt sometime.”

“I got a horse and never learned to ride?”

“Believe it or not, you’re not the best at everything.”

I pasted a dramatic pout onto my lips. “That’s not what I remember.”

He clicked my seat belt off, rounded the car, and opened the door for me. I accepted his hand, wobbling as the last dregs of winter winds slapped me. Lush gardens framed the manor’s towering stone façade. Spires and chimneys pierced the sky. Ivy crept up the ornate columns flanking the double doors.

He lived in a castle.

We lived in a castle.

“Welcome home, Cuddlebug.”

But it didn’t feel like home at all.

For a reason I couldn’t fathom, it felt like someone’s gilded prison.