“Put it on this time,” he orders, tossing the shirt to me, his gaze sweeping low, brushing over my breasts, where they linger a moment before landing on my bare feet. “And shoes,” he says, his eyes meeting mine again. “Quickly.” He snaps out the last word, turning away and crossing to the cabinet where he retrieved the duffel bag, while I try to catch the breath he’s stolen from me.

Shaking myself, telling myself that I have to find a way to put his impact on me on mute, I tug the T-shirt over my head and grab the tennis shoes and socks I retrieved earlier. Sitting on the edge of the toilet, I ignore the increasing pressure in my head and bend over to put them on, irritated that I know the brand “Keds” when I still don’t remember my own last name.

I stand up about the time Kayden shrugs into a sleek, fitted brown leather jacket that matches his boots, not to mention hugs every perfect inch of his torso. I’m irritated that I’m even noticing such things when I’m about to be on the run from the Italian police.

Slipping my hands inside the front of my jean pockets, I say, “So we’re really doing this?”

“This?” He laughs. “We’re not breaking out of jail, Ella.”

“We’re running from Gallo,” I point out, wondering how he so easily uses my newly discovered name.

“I told you,” he says, “we aren’t running from anyone. We’re making sure things happen on our terms.”

“It feels like we’re running,” I argue, hugging myself. “Isn’t he going to come after you to find me?”

“Leave Gallo to me,” he says, reaching inside the cabinet again to produce another jacket, this one in black and my size. “It’s February and cold. You’re going to need this.” He holds it open for me.

“It’s February,” I say, closing the distance between us to rotate and slip into the coat. “I know I’m wearing Keds tennis shoes, but I don’t know the month. My brain is ridiculously illogical.” I face him again. “What’s today’s date?”

“The fourteenth,” he says, and while I think “Valentine’s Day” and glance at my naked ring finger, he doesn’t seem to notice, moving on to more important things, like getting us out of here. “Here’s the plan,” he says. “I’m going to check out the hallway and see if I need to create a distraction for our exit.”

“What kind of distraction?”

“I’ll pull the fire alarm if I have to, but I don’t think I will.” He reaches into the cabinet and retrieves a medium black purse, which he hands to me. “I told the clerk to fill it. Once I leave the bathroom, you’ll have about three minutes to put on makeup, pouf up your hair, and do whatever you can to not look like a person the staff will recognize.”

I gape at what I know to be a Chanel flagship purse with a cool five-thousand-dollar price tag, while Kayden glances at his also ridiculously expensive watch and instructs, “I’ll knock three times when I come back so you know it’s me. Don’t open the door for anyone else and don’t talk once you exit the bathroom. We don’t want anyone checking on you or recognizing your voice once you’re in the hallway.”

“Yes. Okay.”

“Finally,” he continues, “people know me on this floor now, so you’re going to exit the room before me and turn left. Act confident and walk slowly and casually, no matter how much you want to run. When you reach the stairs, exit. That’ll be about halfway down the hall. I’ll meet you on the basement level, which is the parking garage.”

“Meet me? Where will you be?”

“I’m taking the elevator to draw attention away from you. There’s a cell phone in your purse. Stay at the garage door until I call you. I want you to literally walk out the door and we’ll drive away. The phone is programmed with my number. If you run into any trouble, find a place to hole up, lock yourself in if you can, and call me.” He shuts the cabinet. “We need to do this now.”

Adrenaline surges through me, and my stupid hands start to shake. I shove them in my pockets, and Kayden grabs me, pulling me to him, his hands solidly on my waist. “I know you’re nervous, but in ten minutes, we’ll be out of here, on our way to ending this.”

“You make it sound so simple. We’re dealing with a mobster, remember?”

“That’s why we have to erase the path that leads him to us.” His fingers gently wrap my neck. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You have my word.”

I don’t have time to digest his promise, or why it matters to me so much, before he releases me and wastes no time crossing the room to open the door, glancing over his shoulder to say, “Three minutes,” before he disappears.

I waste at least five seconds of the first minute staring at the door he’s shut behind him before I dart for the sink and open the purse, setting it on the counter. Searching through the selection, I grab a bottle of foundation, and that’s when I realize that I’m avoiding the mirror. Grinding my teeth, I unscrew the top of the bottle and face myself, but rather than see me how I am now, my mind’s eye shows me Ella. Red hair. Smiling. My eyes alight, my spirit fearless. Fearless. I was. I have to be now.

Spurred into action, I slather on the makeup base, and one by one, I apply eye shadow, lip gloss, and mascara, my memory supplying exactly how I like each item to look. Lastly, I finger-fluff as I spray my hair for volume, hating the way the dark shade washes out my coloring. I step back from the sink and give myself a quick, critical inspection. My hair is full and shiny. My lips are a pretty, pale pink that matches the eye shadow I’ve applied, while my lashes are stroked long and thick with mascara. Satisfied I won’t be easily recognized, especially in my street clothes, I toss everything back in the purse, getting antsy about Kayden’s return, and almost expecting that fire alarm to go off. Leaning on the sink, I stare at myself in the mirror and try to complete my name. “Ella . . . Ella . . . what?”

My mind replies, but not with my name. Suddenly I am in another small bathroom, applying makeup to the pretty brunette in my memory, laughing at her as she complains about a red lipstick I want to use on her. And then I hear my voice speaking to her. “Don’t be a prude, Sara.” I suck in a breath, my chest burning with the memory. Sara. Her name was Sara. Is Sara. Is Sara. She’s not gone. I am. And I love her. And miss her. But I don’t know how to find her.

A knock sounds behind me, followed by two more that confirm it’s Kayden at the door. I grab my purse, throw the strap over my neck cross-body style, and face forward as Kayden decides not to wait for me and enters. “We’re clear to leave,” he says, his eyes flickering over my face, lowering to my lips, where they linger.

I hold my breath, waiting for his approval. He reaches for me, heat radiating from his palm to mine, as he drags me to him, aligning our bodies. “You’re the one who is beautiful,” he declares, his voice silky on my frayed nerve endings. “But I want to know who Ella really is,” he adds. “And I promise you, I will. Soon.”

The compliment sends flutters to my belly, while the promise sends a rush of unease through me that I do not understand, but have no time to analyze. Still holding my hand, Kayden is already leading me into the next room, and while he’s focused on our exit, my attention lands on the bed that has been my prison, straying further to the journal on the table, and suddenly I have to have it.

Tugging my hand free of Kayden’s, I dash around the bed before he can stop me, grabbing it and stuffing it into my purse, the one thing that belongs to me when I have nothing else. My goal achieved, I don’t linger or allow myself time to consider why I so needed this little detour. I rush toward the man I’d declared beautiful only days ago, about to take a huge leap of faith and put my life in his hands.