Chapter 22: My Dark Prince: Chapter 21

I had to hand it to myself – I managed to recover from the initial shock of pretending to be her fiancé pretty quickly.

A few days ago, my assistants had tracked down her apartment – a shitty studio in Downtown Los Angeles the size of my shoe rack. I’d contacted her landlord, paid for the remainder of her lease, and informed him she was moving in with me.

He didn’t ask too many questions, which made me want to strangle him. I could’ve been anyone. A criminal. A debt collector. Bad news.

You are bad news, and you better keep your hands to yourself, motherfucker, Dal’s Southern drawl warned in my head.

Thanks to my foresight, I could show her some of the things I’d overnighted on my private jet from the hellhole she’d shared with a few freeloading rats and a fake houseplant. Her scented candle collection, St. Bernard stuffie she’d had ever since she was a toddler, and her traditional Swiss fondu kit.

Before I’d left for the hospital last night, I’d stuffed my walk-in closet with her clothes, shoes, and toiletries, taking painstaking care to ensure her shit was messily strewn across the bathroom and closet for that authentic touch.

“We live in a grotesquely huge house.” Briar’s head twisted and turned to gulp up the stained glass and French balconies. The entire manor dripped of old-world money, and opulence, and the thin veneer of someone trying and failing to survive his sins. “But it doesn’t look like there’s a lot of staff here?”

“We’re private people.”

And by we I meant him.

But she wouldn’t meet him. They were going to live under the same roof, and she would never know.

“And we like to have sex everywhere, in odd hours,” I added, gesturing to the car-sized fountain, where water cascaded into a marble basin. The reflection of the crystal chandelier overhead glittered from the surface. “Too many potential lawsuits.”

“We sound feral.”

“I prefer the term madly in love.”

She paused in the game room, spinning the spare chair beside me. “And this is my chair?”

“Molded right for your ass cheeks.”

“Doesn’t seem like my style.”

“You went through a Star Wars phase.”

Actually, I did, cooped up in this place for long hours at a time, desperate to find a hobby again. But with the extent of her memories, she’d believe the truth even less.

We strolled down vaulted-ceiling halls, padded past oil portraits of Trio and Geezer in various historical costumes, and whizzed by the ballroom Romeo and Dallas used for their wedding, returning to the Grand Foyer.

“And that’s a wrap.” I clapped my hands together with a winning smile. “Two pools, one tennis court, a bocci court, and a home gym. Anything else you’d like to see?”

We’d already devoted a good hour to roaming the grounds, half of which she’d spent oohing and ahhing over the engineered roses and trying to feed an apple to Al Capony, who wielded a deep distrust of strangers.

He’s still mad you neutered him, I’d told her, mentally thanking Seb for forcing me to geld old Al.

“Yes.” Briar leaned against the wall beside the curved staircase and crossed her arms, peering beyond my shoulder. She jerked her chin toward the second floor. “The south wing.”

“What, this old thing?” I lurched my thumb over my shoulder, chuckling. “Nah, no need. It’s boring. Nothing to see there.”

“It’s got the biggest balcony, a direct view of the lake and some rowing boats.” Briar frowned. “There must be something there.”

That something would murder both of us if we treaded into his territory.

I blocked her path with my body. And I had a lot of fucking body. “That place is off limits.”

Briar pinned me with a searing glare. “What do you mean, off-limits?”

“Which part of the sentence did you not understand?” I enquired politely. I hadn’t realized her cognitive abilities had also been affected by the concussion.

“Let me clarify – I understand all of it and agree to none of it.” Her eyes thundered. “It’s my house, too. You can’t tell me where to go.”

Sweetheart, your house is a glorified porta potty with a curtain of beads partitioning your toilet and kitchen.

Another thing her house was? Nonexistent.

I’d broken her lease. There was no way I’d let her go back to that unsafe shithole. I still had no idea what she’d do once she regained her memory. I’d probably have to find her a new place. I hoped she wasn’t too proud to accept help, because buying her a nice house in a safe neighborhood would make me feel better about how we’d left things off.

“The south wing is not to be entered, Briar.”

She parked her balled fists on her waist. “Why?”

I closed my eyes. Drew in a breath. Decided to go for some version of the truth. “I have a dark side.”

“Is this about the butt plugs I saw in the car? Because if so, I’m totally not judging.”

“I said I have a dark side, not an awesome side. Pay attention.”

She scowled. “What’s the secret?”

“It’s private.”

“I’m your freaking fiancée.”

Shit. Right.

“I’m, um, a …” Serial killer? Art thief? The grim reaper? “… hoarder.”

Yes. Truly the best I could come up with. What can I say? Up until now, I’d never lived in a straight-to-cable romantic comedy where everything – including absolutely everything – went wrong.

Briar’s eyes squinted into two suspicious slits. She obviously believed me a little less than she believed Santa was capable of sliding in and out of chimneys all night, on all seven continents, and still managed to be a jolly motherfucker.

“Let me through.”

“It’s madness over there. I’m talking mountains of reuseable bags, empty Costco cardboards, newspapers from the sixties, my used toilet paper collection …”

She angled her head sideways. “You have a used toilet paper collection?”

“What can I say? The heart wants what it wants.” And in my case, apparently it wanted bacteria. “Look, you can’t see my shit.”

“I am your future wife. I’m sure I’ve seen your literal shit once or twice. Men are notorious for forgetting to flush. I do remember that. I had the displeasure of living in a coed dorm during college.” Her eyes widened, lighting up. “Oh, God, Ollie, I just remembered.” She slapped her own mouth. “I went to Baylor.”

“My condolences.”

“I’m serious.” She flicked my chest, her entire face lit up. “I remembered something about my past. But …” She frowned, tilting her head. “I can’t remember you visiting me at all. Wasn’t I supposed to go to Harvard? Why didn’t I go? Were we broken up at this point?”

“Something like that,” I muttered.

“Uh-huh. What did you do?”

“Why do you assume I did something?”

“Because I would never risk our relationship. I’m too crazy about you.”

Something prickled in my chest. A heart attack? No. Worse. Much worse. Okay, fuck, this was bad. Because it made me feel something. Something that wasn’t a total disdain for life.

“Fine, yes. It was me,” I grumbled.

She gasped. “Did you cheat?”

My mouth dropped. “No. I’d never cheat on you.”

Briar knotted her arms. “And on other girlfriends?”

“Irrelevant. There weren’t any and never will be.”

This was the god-awful truth.

She shifted from foot to foot, arms still crossed, obviously waiting for an answer.

“I kind of …” I stuck my fingers in my hair, close to drawing blood with how hard I raked my scalp. “… got cold feet for a while. I was going through something and needed time off from all of my relationships. I wasn’t in contact with Zach and Rom, either.”

“Oh.” Her voice turned soft. “I hope you can catch me up on what happened to you. We need to support each other. Now, let me see your clutter.”

“No can do.” I grabbed her shoulders – still dainty and delectable – and spun her around, marching her right back to the north wing of the house, with the libraries, guestrooms, master bedroom, and office. “My therapist says it’s better if you don’t see it. I don’t want you to say something mean about it.”

“What? I would never do that.”

“Already did.”

I hated lying to her and hated making her sound like an asshole even more, but I had no choice. The world might end if she went anywhere near that part of the house.

Seriously. I wouldn’t put it past him to smother me with a pillow in my sleep. It was the least I could do for him. But that would require him stepping out of his wing. He wouldn’t. He roamed those darkened hallways day and night, sulking, seething, festering in his own anger.

She stopped, surprised. “I did?”

“Yes.” I tugged her along. “You asked me if I was sure I had enough stuff, because I could still squeeze in a needle by the right-hand side of the ceiling.”

“Oh my god, that is so insensitive of me.” Briar cupped her mouth. “Why would I say that?”

“You’re a mean drunk.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Water under the bridge.”

I was going to hell. And to punish me, they’d bring my family along with me. I’d probably have to watch my beloved parents burning at the stake of my sins 24/7.

Briar plastered a hand on her heart, shaking her head. “You can’t let me drink alcohol from now until the wedding.”

“Just promise me you’ll never venture there,” I pressed, loathing the anxious edge in my voice. “Last time you went in there, you got buried in a pile of newspapers. It took forty-eight hours and an elite team to dislodge you from that mess. You were bundled in a copy of The Atlantic like a fish.”

“I am so sorry.”

She was so going to kill me when she got her memory back. Slowly. And painfully. I would probably get turned on by it, but still.

She paused just short of the master bedroom. “By the way, when do I get to meet our friends?”

Hopefully never.

They would ruin everything by reminding me this was not real. For the first time in a long time, I was having fun. Briar was gorgeous, funny, witty, and strongminded without being batshit.

But see – therein lied the problem.

The only way to destroy a dream was to make it come true.

I finally had Briar Rose.

I was going to lose her in spectacular fashion.