Chapter 31: My Dark Prince: Chapter 30

If anything good had come out of that dinner, it was the fact that Oliver had decided to stop shadowing me. The difference between Pre-Dinner and Post-Dinner was night and day.

Prior to the dinner, Oliver would not let me out of his sight. I’d practically spent each minute climbing the walls of the perfect, lush mansion that didn’t feel like my own.

He followed me everywhere, save for the occasional quick bathroom and shower breaks. He never left me out of his sight. The man was relentless. A mother hen in the making. He made me do puzzles, play Sudoku, drink health shakes every few hours, and accompanied me on long walks along the lake, citing fresh air was “good for the soul.”

He treated me like I was Beth from Little Women. About to plotz any second. More fragile than a dry leaf. I insisted I felt fine. I mean, I still had migraines, and my muscles ached from the fall into the pond. Otherwise, the only reason I felt disoriented was because I didn’t remember everything about my life.

But after the dinner, I’d all but chased Oliver into our bedroom, ready to grill him about Sebastian, only to find him passed out on the bed. It didn’t take a detective to know he was faking it.

With a huff, I stormed into the bathroom and tossed my clothes onto every surface, well-aware my self-proclaimed hoarder fiancé hated messes. After my shower, I returned to the bedroom with a towel wrapped tight around my chest.

He greeted me with a snore.

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed and a lone blue rose on the nightstand. No note. I traipsed downstairs, following the buttery scent of pancakes into the kitchen. He forked an entire stack onto a plate, drizzled a liberal dose of maple syrup on top, and set it on the island beside a full glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice.

I held the cup to my lips, eyes glued to the floor-to-ceiling French window overlooking the lake. My eyeballs burned to stare at him. To study him. To figure out what he was hiding from me.

It killed me that something must’ve happened between him and his brother. I believed, with all my heart, that Oliver von Bismarck loved me more than he loved anyone else in the world. But his baby brother was definitely a strong contender for the top spot.

Why didn’t he want to tell me? Surely, pre-amnesia Briar already knew the truth.

“I’m going for a game of golf.” Ollie handed me a napkin, dropped a kiss on the crown of my head, and grabbed a banana and protein bar. “Dallas should be here any minute.”

“No, you’re not.” I sipped my juice. “You hate golf. You always said it’s the most boring sport in the world.”

“Second most boring sport in the world,” he countered. “Nothing is more boring than curling. It’s basically like watching people wipe the floor in slow-mo.”

He leaned a hip against the counter, the picture of relaxed. As if he hadn’t avoided me last night. Maybe I was overthinking things. He had drunk a boatload of wine at dinner. The height of irony was that, with my head absent of memories, it overflowed with everything else. Questions. Thoughts. Conspiracies.

I bit into a pancake, marveling at the revelation that he could cook now. “Where are you really going?”

“Anyway.” He flung open the fridge, withdrawing a prepackaged meal. How much did this man eat? And could we afford it, even with our billionaire status? “I grew to like it.”

“No, you didn’t,” I said decisively, cradling the glass between my fingers. “You’re also wearing a business suit. Tell me where you’re going.”

He popped a peeled boiled egg into his mouth in its entirety, glowering in exasperation. “Do you ever let things escape you?”

“Yes.” I sliced through another pancake. “I let my parents escape me. Though, honestly, good riddance to them.”

“Those bastards aren’t worth your sneezes’ bacteria.” He frowned at his Patek Philippe and muttered something mean about Dallas being late everywhere, even to her own wedding. “Don’t worry. My parents worship you and can’t wait to see you again soon.” He flashed me a reassuring smile. “Mom always said you were like the daughter she never had.”

“Nice subject change. I like her, too. Now where are you off to?”

He groaned, rummaging his prepacked meal for a second boiled egg. “Board meeting at the hotel.”

I twisted in my seat, my jaw almost hitting the floor. “You took over The Grand Regent?”

He nodded, grabbing a shaker bottle and a tub of protein powder. “Dad hasn’t been himself for a long time now.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s healthy.” Ollie nodded as I relaxed back in my seat, relief sweeping into my gut. “He’s still the CEO by name, but I’m the one taking care of business.”

“That’s wild.”

“This seems to be the ongoing reaction when people find out, which is why we are keeping it a secret.”

I hated that he was putting himself down, pretending he was dumb when he wasn’t.

“How long has this been going on for?”

“Almost eleven years. Again – very few people are aware of this. Even Romeo, Zach, and their spouses have no clue.” He disposed two fat scoops of powder into the shaker, filling it with soymilk and Greek yogurt. “So please, don’t mention it.”

I rubbed the raw part of my forehead, free of gauze now. “Why would you hide this accomplishment from your friends?”

“The bigger the expectations, the bigger the failure.” He shook the shaker, taking a sip. “They think I’m a ditzy heir. Let them.”

Hmm … Romeo and Zach met Ollie in preschool, right around the time he realized all the other kids just didn’t do it for him. The three of them – thick as thieves – paraded around Potomac like little menaces with freakish IQs and even freakier penchants for trouble. I highly doubted Romeo and Zach would’ve accepted Ollie into the fold if they truly found him to be a ditzy heir.

Plus, it would be a total one-eighty from his personality growing up. He was mischievous, yes. Full of endless pranks, of course. But he had never, ever been ditzy.

I filed this under yet another thing Oliver was keeping from me, right beside the fight that led up to the accident. Realistically, I knew Doctor Cohen had ordered him not to tell me something upsetting. Still … I couldn’t help but hate myself for losing my memories. None of this would be an issue without the amnesia.

“I should be home in no more than a couple hours. Be good, Cuddlebug.” Oliver turned toward the door. He stopped, swiveled back to me, and marched over, giving me another kiss, this time catching the shell of my ear. “Stay away from the south wing.”

He’d followed me like a hawk these past couple days, making sure I didn’t venture too close to it.

“Mmhmm.”

“I adore you,” he whispered.

“I love you.”

I turned to grin at him.

He wasn’t grinning back.

He looked serious. Sad. Lost. Devastated? But why? Wasn’t it a good thing that I loved him? It was the one thing I remembered very well. Not our relationship, but the acute feeling of belonging wherever he was.

I hated that the amnesia changed the dynamics of our relationship. That he obviously still loved me but felt uncomfortable showing it.

With more confidence than I possessed, I snatched up his hand, pasting on my best reassuring grin. “I don’t remember much, yet somehow, I know that no one has ever looked at me the way you do.”

He flinched.