Page 118 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

It took half an hour to get from the hospital to Maplehurst, and Ruth Leith kept up a steady flow of chatter for the entire journey.

Clemmie, who appeared lost in her own thoughts, didn’t say a word, and Joaquin, who produced a polite grunt or nod when required, was also mostly quiet as guilt continued to ride him—hard.

He was not in the habit of second-guessing his decisions, but his choice of following the medics’ advice and letting this charade play out did not sit easily with him.

All well and good to wait for her to remember—but when would that be? He could not see his explanation that he had been following doctors’ orders by not filling in the blanks cutting much ice with Clemmie. She was going to be as mad as hell and he couldn’t blame her.

And what if she never remembered?

By the time they drew up at the gatehouse at the end of the manor’s drive, Joaquin had learnt several things from the one-sided conversation. The most frequently mentioned being that short engagements were the best.

Clemmie, who hadn’t said a word for the entire journey, seemed to come out of her trance-like state as the car came to a halt.

‘We’re here.’

‘No, don’t get out, darling,’ her mother said, leaning forward from the back seat to press a kiss to her daughter’s cheek. ‘Stay in the warm. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Joaquin watched the confusion in Clemmie’s eyes slide into realisation before her lashes fell to conceal panic.

‘Of course. I’ll...see you, Mum.’

Having seen Ruth into the cottage, Joaquin slid back into the car.

‘You thought you’d be staying here with your mum, didn’t you?’ he said.

She turned in her seat and grimaced. ‘Sorry. I just don’t feel... I wonder why I didn’t tell Mum about our engagement?’

He shrugged. ‘It wasn’t something we discussed.’

‘Sorry, this must be hard for you too.’

‘There is no need for you to be sorry.’

There was plenty of need forhimto be sorry. He fought the need to tell her the truth; was that a selfish need to offload his guilt or genuine remorse? asked the cynical voice in his head.

He still didn’t know how he’d managed to get himself into this situation.

Yes, you do. You said nothing.

‘Thedoctor asked me what the last thing I remember is.’

‘And whatisthe last thing you remember?’ he asked, even though the doctor had told him.

‘Dismantling the Christmas display at work. The pre-schoolers had made some lovely collages in one of the craft sessions we have at the library. I thought that was last week, but Mum has told me it was last month. I’m missing more than a whole month—or big bits of it. I’m scared, Joaquin. What if I never get that time back?’

Glancing at her stricken face, he pulled the car over, its wheels sending up flurries of gravel. He switched on the interior light, which illuminated her pale face and the bruises on her forehead and cheek, and felt a wave of protective warmth that made him want to reach out and drag her into his arms.

She shook her head. ‘Sorry. I am not going to fall apart and cry on you. I’m not that sort of person. At least I don’t think I am.’ She gave a wild little laugh. ‘Who knows? I might be. I mean, nothing could be weirder than being engaged to you.’

She looked at the heavy ring on her finger and felt nothing.

‘Don’t overthink it, Clemmie...don’t force it.’

Her eyes lifted. ‘Overthink? I can barely think at all.’

Joaquin felt a fresh surge of protectiveness, and extended his hand to push back the curls that had fallen across her brow. ‘Do you still have a headache?’

He retracted his hand, his face clenched in a pained grimace when she went rigid.

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