Sinful Kisses by Emily Bowie

CHAPTER 7

Ihear myself moan in pain. My whole body feels like someone took a hammer to each of my muscles. I attempt to move to alleviate the soreness of my back, but my muscles spasm, screaming in protest. My head pounds in retaliation. Everything hurts.

It smells like dirt and coffee, and in the distance, I hear the low murmuring of male voices.

“I thought you said she would wake up in twenty-four hours?”

“No, I said she might survive if she didn’t die in the first twenty-four hours.”

Am I dead?I try to open my eyes to see if my body is floating around and looking down at me. If I can open my eyes, maybe I can get back into my body.

“It’s been ten fucking days.”

I’m able to open my eyes enough for blinding light to enter, and I quickly close them. The light is too bright and hurts my head more. There’s no chance to focus on the figures near me.

“Gia?”

Warmth brushes against my hand. The name confuses me. It feels unnatural, like a tight-fitting pair of jeans that cut into your skin.

The voices drift around me, and I have a hard time following them.

Something cold is touching my wrist, while that warmth at my other hand stays.

“Why won’t she open her eyes?” asks a masculine voice. It’s deep and rough, but his touch feels like warm clouds brushing over me.

“There’s no rule book for this. She may not wake up fully.”

“Gia, please wake up,” the husky voice whispers in my ear.

I try to open my eyes. The light floods in, and I have to close them again with a moan.

“Shut off the fucking lights” is yelled, making my head pulse erratically. “Try again.” The voice is demanding with an edge that has me obeying.

My eyes flutter open, and this time, it doesn’t hurt so much. I look into a stranger’s face.

“Thatta girl.”

The man staring over me is cute. He has longer hair that is tucked behind his ears and reaches his shoulders.

“You frightened us. Romeo didn’t leave your side the whole time.”

My head twists on the pillow to the other side. An older man wearing a white coat is talking to me.

I open my mouth to ask what happened, but the strain in my throat stops my attempt at speaking. A cup of water is brought to my dry lips, and the man named Romeo helps me sit up to have a drink.

The cold water is refreshing, and I slurp it down as fast as I can.

“Do you remember how you got here?” the man I’m assuming is the doctor asks. He has kind eyes, the type that make you feel comfortable enough to tell your deepest, darkest secrets to.

I shake my head, not trusting my voice yet. I try to think what caused my pain, and I come up blank. In fact, all I see is black when I try to think past the present. I can’t remember a thing. I have no secrets to tell, because my mind is an empty space of darkness.

I have no idea who I am, who these people are in the room. My eyes glance around as I try not to move my head. I recognize nothing. It doesn’t look like a hospital room, but it has all the devices.

“Where am I?” I manage to ask, and it comes out choppy and gruff.

“You’re at the farm.”

I don’t know what farm he’s talking about. I don’t feel any connection to animals. If I lived on a farm, I should feel at home, right? I look back at the handsome man, and there is a connection flowing between us.

“Who are you?” I question. Romeo’s forehead creases with a deep frown before he covers it with a gentle smile.

“Do you remember who you are?” the doctor asks, looking into my eyes with a penlight. I close them, hating the onslaught of brightness.

I don’t remember who I am. The thought is petrifying. “Of course, I do.” My stomach clenches with fear, but I refuse to show it.

“What’s your name?” he asks me. His kind eyes are worried. I want to check myself over, but it hurts, so I focus on him.

“Gia.” I smile, knowing that answer because it was already said.

“What is your last name?”

I look around the room for any type of clue.

When I refuse to answer, the doctor asks another question. “Do you know the year?”

“2021,” I confidently answer. When he smiles, I know I got it right.

“Very good.”

I look back to the man holding my hand, and he has another frown on his face. But it disappears as soon as he notices me watching him. I’m not fooling him at all. He nods for the doctor to follow him out. I try to listen, but with the door closed. I can’t hear a thing.

My whole body aches. With them gone, the pain comes right to the forefront. Closing my eyes, I think I might hear better, but the only thing it does is pull me back under into the darkness.

I wake upfeeling cold. My eyes flutter open, seeing no one beside me. Closing my eyes again, I try to remember how I got here. The harder I think, the more blank my memory seems to be.

“You’re awake,” the man who looks to be my age says. His tone is sweet, but I have zero memory of it. “Do you remember the accident?” he asks, taking a seat by me and grabbing a hold of my hand.

Shaking my head, I study him. I pray his presence can give me some clue to anything about the accident or myself.

“You got mad at me and drove drunk.” He talks slowly, as if testing out the words himself.

That feels out of character for me, but I have nothing to back it up with. If anything, it confuses me further.

“Why did I get mad at you?” I’m still not clear who he is to me. Brother doesn’t feel right. Boyfriend or friend? His gorgeous green eyes are sharp, trying to pull the answers I don’t know for myself out.

“Do you remember who I am?” His thumb brushes over my chin repeatedly. His expression is caring, and relief pours in.

I want to lie. He’s looking at me so hopefully. “No,” I respond, defeated and growing frustrated with myself.

“I’m your fiancé.”

My head jerks back at the unexpected news. Something prickles at the front of my mind. I want to protest, but something about that word fiancé sounds right. My resolve crumbles as I repeat his words in my head. I can’t describe it, but I know I have a fiancé. My heart doesn’t jump. The idea calms me. Deep inside, I know this to be true. I am engaged.

He’s looking at me expectantly, and I force a smile. Why don’t I remember him? The calmness I had felt disappears as he leans closer to me. His eyes look hooded, and I already feel the pull of him wanting to kiss me. When I don’t pull back, he must take this as a welcome sign to kiss me. He bends down, and I feel the tension I have rolling over my shoulders. His rough lips press against mine. Butterflies invade my stomach. Warmth circles my heart. But I have no sudden memories. I’m left staring wide-eyed at a stranger who kissed me. If I love this man, surely my mind would remember him? When his lips leave mine, I nibble on the bottom of my lip.

“How was that?” He winks at me with a cocky grin, as if his one kiss will wake me up from the memory loss.

“Who are you?” I try to keep the annoyed curl of my lip down.

“Your—”

I stop him. “No, your name.”

“Oh. Romeo.” Nothing. The machines I’m attached to keep on beating their steady rhythm.

“Romeo who?”

“Mancini.” The name wants to pull out a memory, but it’s not strong enough to come to mind. What he says must be true. I know him. My body is acting like it remembers him. I can sense we’ve met before. That last name does something to me, but I can’t figure out what the emotion is.

“Why did I get mad at you?” I’m trying to connect any dots that present themselves to me.

His cocky grin slips off his handsome face at my question. He must have fucked up big. I’m not the kind of girl who drinks and drives. Again, how do I not know my name but know this about myself? Frustration is the main emotion rushing through me. My monitors speed up.

“You wanted to elope, while I wanted my brother with us. But don’t worry, Gia, I was being stupid. I’ll do whatever you want.”

My heart races with the thought of being married. The idea of marriage seems attainable, like the memory is on the tip of my tongue. It’s so close, but darkness consumes it.

The machine beeps faster, and the doctor rushes in.

“She’s awake again,” he states the obvious, looking from Romeo to me.

“Can you tell me the last thing you remember?”

I close my eyes, trying to push those memories into the light. My temple rings, and the pain is a slow, steady pulse toward the front of my forehead.

Then a flash of Romeo’s face in the car with me pops into my head. I open my eyes and gasp. Before anything else comes to me, it’s gone like it never happened.

“Romeo’s face pops into my memory, but no other details.”

I look over to Romeo, who’s smiling from ear to ear like I’ve just put him on a throne.

The doctor nods, looking over my chart. “If all goes well, you will be back to sharing a room with Romeo by nightfall,” the doctor informs me. My jaw drops. We’re sharing a bed before marriage? My stomach twists, worried I might get caught. The feeling is incredibly irrational. No one in the room blinks an eye at the doctor’s statement except me.