All The Lies (Lies & Truths Duet #1) by Rina Kent

“So it’s true.” The corners of her eyes pull downward. “You remember nothing.”

I nod slowly, feeling awful that I’ve completely wiped her—and everyone else—from my memory.

“It’s okay, darlin’.” She takes my wheelchair from Alex’s hands.

He places his phone to his ear as he takes the stairs to the left. “Elizabeth will take good care of you. Let me know if you need anything, Reina.”

He disappears before I can say anything.

“He’s a busy man, isn’t he?” I ask Elizabeth.

“I’m surprised he took the time to bring you home from the hospital—” She cuts herself off and quickly follows with, “Not that he wasn’t worried about you. He was, but…well—”

“His work comes first.” I finish for her.

“Well, yes.”

I kind of figured that out with the amount of time he spent on the phone the whole way here.

“He does care, though,” she murmurs, as if speaking to herself.

Once we reach the stairs, I place my hands on the armrests of the chair and attempt to stand up. Soreness erupts throughout my muscles.

“It’s okay.” Elizabeth tries to keep me down. “I’ll call Jason to come and help carry you up.”

“No need.” I stand, using the railing for balance. Something tells me I hate imposing on people or asking them for something I can do on my own.

The sound of the music continues thumping from outside.

“On second thought.” I sit back down and try to maneuver the chair without triggering the pain in my shoulders.

“You okay there, darlin’?” Elizabeth keeps me in place, stopping me from falling sideways.

“Yeah. I want to see what’s going on outside.”

“Well…umm…” Her gaze darts back and forth.

“What is it?”

“It’s better you don’t.”

“What do you mean? Who’s out there?”

“Your college friends.”

I smile. “One more reason to meet them.”

Maybe like Dr. Anderson said, seeing familiar faces will finally shake me out of this zombie trance and give me something to look forward to.

Like regaining my memories.

“Right.” She pauses, glancing sideways as if trying to find a way out—of what, I don’t know. “Maybe it’s because you don’t remember that you don’t care, but the old Reina would never let others see her this way.”

I glance down at myself and the simple denim dress the nurse helped me put on at the hospital. Before we left, Erika helped me wash and dry my hair. It’s neatly tucked into a ponytail, and I look presentable enough. There shouldn’t be a reason why Elizabeth would think otherwise.

“What way?” I ask.

She motions at my face. “All bruised and not in top shape.”

“Don’t tell me I used to get done up to meet my friends?”

“Done up?” She laughs in a heartfelt way. “You never stepped outside unless you looked like a goddess.”

Okay, that’s even more superficial than anything I’ve heard about my life thus far. Why would I care so much about my appearance when, according to the picture the detective showed me, I’m naturally pretty?

It’s not like I’m a model or something.

An urge pushes me to go see what’s going on out there, but what Elizabeth just told me stops me in place. I can’t go against what the old me used to do just because I want to.

I must’ve had a reason for acting the way I did.

Deep down, I refuse to believe I’m that vain or plastic or another stereotypical cheerleader.

Unless I figure out my reasons for having them in the first place, I can’t break any patterns. I can’t ruin my life just because I lost my memories.

Besides, as Dr. Anderson said, all of this is temporary. I’ll remember everything sooner rather than later.

Right?

A commotion comes from a huge double door to our right. Male and female voices and laughter filter in all at once.

“We can hide in the kitchen,” Elizabeth whispers, turning my chair.

I clutch her hand, stopping her. I might not want to ruin Old Reina’s lifestyle, but I’m not running away in what’s supposed to be my home.

Sure, I don’t remember it, but it still counts as my home.

My confidence crumbles the moment I make eye contact with the person I never wanted to see again.

Asher.

Isn’t he supposed to be at Oxford? Alex said he studied in England, didn’t he?

He should be in England.

He laughs along at something someone said at his side, but his entire focus is on me.

Like a hunter.

The air ripples with tension and dark intentions. It licks at my skin like rusty knives.

Dark aviators sit on his straight, arrogant nose, so I can’t see his eyes, and it pisses me off.

I can’t get a read on him, and I feel like I always need to predict his moves.

He’s wearing white shorts and a black T-shirt that tightens around his cut abdomen and sculpted biceps.

Since I’m sitting, he appears taller than I initially predicted at the hospital. If anything, the lines of his face are sharper and harder, too.

Shouldn’t assholes be less handsome?