eleven

Fifteen minutes later, I’m dressed in the black jeans and tee I picked out earlier, and have paired the outfit with a pair of fur-lined lace-up boots. Opting to leave my purse behind, I exit the bathroom and head for the door, pausing long enough to stuff the phone I attacked with bubbles into my pocket. I reach for the doorknob and just happen to glance down, my gaze catching on a latch of some sort. Frowning, I squat beside it and slide it from the wall to the door. I smile, a full-blown, happy smile. The door locks. I have no idea why this pleases me so, but it really, really does.

I’m lighter on my feet as I head into the hallway, admiring the lantern-style lights along the path I missed on the first walk. I pass two closed doors, wondering if the rooms beyond them are in use, planning on a little exploration of the place later, if Kayden doesn’t mind. I reach the spot where the hall unites with the archway to the living area, and I step inside the opening, the ceiling transitioning from high and flat to high and conical. The room is large, with modern brown leather furnishings that marry with the medieval architecture with unexpected elegance.

My nostrils flare with a spicy, wonderful scent, drawing my attention to yet another archway. I walk in that direction, passing a small desk on the way, and pausing as I reach the entrance of a kitchen. It’s rectangular, with stunning gray cabinetry and a granite island to my right that stretches for several feet, under a stainless-steel hood. But décor and castles aren’t what’s on my mind. It’s Kayden, standing to my left, his back to me, while he seems to stare into the darkness beyond a floor-to-ceiling window. Tension ripples off him; his broad shoulders are bunched beneath the navy T-shirt he now wears, and I’m certain that he’s at war with his memories, which he’s declared his enemy.

“You must be Ella!”

My gaze reluctantly leaves Kayden and lands on a fifty-something dark-haired woman, who rushes toward me. “Ciao, sweetie. I’m Marabella. So nice to meet you.” She hugs me, her presence inviting and warm, while I sense Kayden’s attention is hot and heavy.

“Ciao,” I say, as she releases me. “Nice to meet you.”

“I hear you have amnesia,” she announces, “and you need stability and my good food to heal.”

I laugh. “Yes. I do believe that’s what the doctor ordered.”

She gives me a critical inspection. “Good thing, too. You’re too skinny.” She eyes Kayden. “Have you been starving her?”

“Who’s starving who is debatable,” he answers dryly, his eyes landing on me for several beats before he lifts the cup of coffee in his hand toward Marabella. “So far this is all you’ve fed me.”

The comment is directed at Marabella, but my stomach flip-flops with the certainty he’s talking to me, though she doesn’t notice. Instead, her eyes light and fall on me, as if he’s just made a suggestion she finds perfect. “Would you like a cappuccino?”

“Yes, actually,” I say. “That would be delightful.”

That light in her eyes brightens and she disappears around the island again, leaving me with the full impact of Kayden’s attention, a thick, heavy blanket that is both inviting and suffocating at the same time. I don’t know what this man does to me, but it’s undeniably intense. Inhaling, I face him, my eyes meet his, and the air charges, the possibilities between us a live wire that both entices and confuses me.

I walk to the table, stopping directly in front of him, my hands resting on the back of a leather chair. “You said you don’t play games.”

“I don’t.”

“I disagree.”

He arches a brow, his hands resting on the chair opposite me. “Meaning?”

“Your comment. Your look. Who’s denying whom?”

“I’d say it’s mutual.”

“You implied it was me denying you.”

His eyes sharpen, a hint of shadows in their depths, there and gone in an instant. “This is a conversation better had alone,” he says, lowering his chin to indicate the file on the table. “You left it in the car,” he adds, disapproval etched in his tone.

Our verbal sparring is forgotten, a burn starting in my belly. “I guess I did.”

“You do know—”

“Don’t say it’s important. I know it is. I just . . . becoming Rae Eleana Ward feels like the end of Ella, of me, and I don’t want that to happen. Which really is ridiculous since I don’t even know who ‘me’ is.” My fingers dig into the leather of the seat. “Obviously that means I don’t want her back.”

He sets his coffee on the table and moves to the high-backed leather seat to my left, and pulls it out. “Come join me.”

His voice has softened to a gentle caress that manages to soothe a few of my frazzled nerves and makes me feel just a little less alone. I wet my lips and nod, claiming the seat, and allow him to scoot me forward. I wait to see which of the seven chairs he will choose, relieved as he sits next to me. “Here you go,” Marabella announces, setting a cup in front of me, waiting expectantly for me to taste it.

Lifting the cup, I sip the warm beverage, a rich coffee taste exploding in my mouth. “Hmmm,” I murmur. “Delicious.” I take another sip. “Really delicious.”

She tilts her head to study me, snickering as if she is amused by a joke I’ve missed. “The salads will be out in a minute,” she says, glancing at Kayden and speaking to him in Italian before hurrying away.

Frowning, I set my cup down, wondering what amused her so. “Look at me,” Kayden says, laughter in his voice, and the very fact that he’s gone from moody to amused has me obeying.

My head turns his direction and he grasps my wrist, pulling me close and leaning into me. “What are you doing?” I ask, as he reaches up and strokes my lips with his thumb, sending my heart into a race.

“Wiping the foam off your lip, as instructed by Marabella.”

Heat rushes to my cheek. “Please tell me it wasn’t a mustache.”

“Just a small one.”

“How embarrassing.”

“The part where I wiped the foam from your lips instead of kissing it away like I wanted to? Or the part where Marabella told me to?”

My eyes go wide. “She told you to kiss me?”

“Yes,” he murmurs, his breath a warm fan on my lips where I want his mouth. “She told me to kiss you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Hmmm. I was afraid I wouldn’t stop, and that would have been embarrassing.” He smiles. “For you and Marabella.” He releases me, wicked heat in his stare as he drags the folder in front of him. “Let’s see what you remember. Remind me. When’s your birthday?”

I blink, stunned by the sudden shift from warm to cold. “You’re going to give me whiplash to go with my concussion.”

His expression turns somber with his mood. “Yes, well, I don’t have a choice but to give you whiplash. Gallo came by here looking for you while we were at Matteo’s. He’ll be back again, and we need to be ready. So I repeat. When’s your birthday?”

“July twentieth.”

“What year?”

“Nineteen eighty-eight.”

“When did you arrive in Rome?”

“February . . . I’m not sure of the day.” I reach for the folder.

He closes his hand down on it. “The first of February,” he supplies. “Who are your parents?”

“Parents,” I repeat, the word knifing through my heart. “I don’t know.”

“Carrie and Michael Ward. Killed in a car accident a year ago. You inherited a sizable amount of money from them.”

“I don’t mean the fictional ones. I mean my parents. I think they’re dead, but what if they aren’t and they’re worried about me?”

His hand covers mine where it rests on the table, his touch vibrating through me. I stare at his hand, this man who is my self-appointed protector, and yet there is a wall between us I can’t climb. “Then we’ll find them,” he says, drawing my gaze to his. “You have my word, but your safety has to come first, as I’m sure they would want as well. I need you to be ready for Gallo.”