Page 158 of A Forgotten Promise

“Thank you for your vote of confidence.” I miss the silence before she returned.

She chuckles now. “What I’m saying is that she is tough, toughened by people in her life and by her career. A weaker man would never get through her walls, so I guess I do approve.”

I never wanted her approval, but fuck, I didn’t realize how much I needed it. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You better treat her like the fucking queen she is.”

I smile; these women will be the death of me. But Celeste’s words quicken my pulse, regardless.

Returning my gaze to Saar, I tense. Am I imagining it? Her breathing is more labored. Her hand is twitching.

Celeste perks up, noticing the change as well.

“Fuck, my head hurts,” Saar rasps, and I gasp, a mixture of relief and a different level of worry lodging inside my chest.

“Saar,” Celeste whispers. “Let me call the doctor.” Celeste stands to reach for the call button.

I grab Saar’s hand, taming my need to squeeze it too tight.

Her eyelids flutter like she is trying but failing to open her eyes.

“Baby.” I swallow a sob and kiss her forehead.

Saar frowns and finally pries her eyes open. The dark blue of her eyes is the most mesmerizing sight I’ve ever seen—even though her pupils are dark, still dilated from the medication.

She blinks a few times and then looks around, probably not sure where she is. Her eyes land on Celeste, and the panic on her face subsides slightly.

Mine, on the other hand, reaches a new high when she rasps, “What the fuck is he doing here?”

Chapter 29

Saar

I’m married?

I’m fucking married.

To Cormac Quinn, no less.

What a nightmare.

The confusion that settled in the moment I opened my eyes hasn’t left in the past forty-eight hours.

And being married to that jerk is not even the biggest revelation. Vito Conti stole all my money and shot me?

And my father stole my trust fund. I’m broke and married.

What a nightmare.

And I’m a podcaster. Apparently being shot increased the number of downloads of the two episodes I released so far.

I listened to them both, hoping the missing pieces would come together. It was my voice, my ideas, but I don’t remember saying those words.

Lost.

That’s how I feel. At least everyone left now. After I threw them out because I need to think. I need to remember.

Retrograde amnesia caused by trauma. Fuck. It’s confusing.

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