Page 94 of The Forgotten Queen
Her dark eyes shifted to his. “I want to tell you about them, but they don’t make sense.”
“Maybe I can help you figure them out. I have an excellent imagination. Remember?”
“Okay.” She turned her body toward him, leaving one hand on the stone wall. “I’ve had a recurring dream that I’m standing at a wedding.” She paused. There was the hesitation he’d been looking for. “My wedding.”
“Is itourwedding? Perhaps a nightmare?”
She smiled. “No. At this wedding, I’m sinking and suffocating, and I feel like I can’t get out. And then that’s it.”
“Do you know who you’re marrying?”
“Maybe. There have been other dreams. Dreams with a faceless man. He has dark curly hair, but every other detail is fuzzy.”
Great. A faceless man. Who can compete with that?
“What is the man doing in your flashbacks?”
“Nothing, really. Sometimes he walks away from me. Sometimes he asks me questions.”
“What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know. Usually, my dreams and flashbacks are tied to certain emotions—happiness, fear, anxiety. But lately, I’m starting to wonder,” she bit her lip the way she always did when she was nervous, “if I’m already married to someone else.”
It was a gut punch.
No, athroatpunch.
The karate chop of all punches—something that hit the windpipe, knocking the air right out of Marx.It was a possibility he’d never thought about, but it didn’t make sense. Why would his father arrange something with a woman who was already married?
He forced a smile. “Are you worried that you’re cheating on the faceless man?”
“No, that’s not my concern.”
“Because we’ll get you back to him once we figure out who you are. We can find him.” Marx tried to ignore the burning jealousy inside his chest. Sydria wasn’t his, but he didn’t necessarily want her to be somebody else’s.
“Maybe he doesn’t exist.” She sighed. “Maybe these are just random dreams that my mind conjured up and not memories at all.”
“Maybe.” Marx put his hand on her shoulder. “But don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you for not freaking out on me,” she said.
Oh, he was freaking out—inside—but he didn’t plan on letting Sydria see that.
“What happened to Palmer?” she asked. “You never talk about him or how he died.”
Marx’s expression sagged as he thought back to that day and the guilt that followed him everywhere. He wanted to tell Sydria what happened, but if he let her in, let her see therealMarx McKane, what would she do? Would she be disappointed with him like everyone else? If she really knew him, would she still like him?
His gaze met hers. Her eyes said that it didn’t matter how many times he’d messed up, or how many things he’d done wrong in his past. She would forgive him. Her kindness was unconditional. She loved with her whole heart, and at that moment, Marx wondered what it would be like to haveallof Sydria’s love, not fragments of it or facades of it, but her whole heart.
Marx bet it would feel amazing.
He looked down, shuffling his feet against the cement floor. He was ready to show her a side of himself that she’d never seen before.
“Palmer and I went rock climbing. There was this new place that I’d heard about. An island of rocks west of here with a narrow space, a slot you could climb through. I wanted to try it out. So we rode our PTs an hour down the shore and paddled a raft out to the island, about two hundred yards offshore.” He looked up, skipping his eyes over the view of Cristole. “The rock formations were amazing, and just like we’d heard, there was a slot between two rocks only wide enough to fit our bodies. We started free climbing. We didn’t need any ropes because the space was so narrow. I got ahead of Palmer.” He shrugged. “I’m competitive and didn’t want my little brother to think that he was a better rock climber than me. There was a grinding noise, and Palmer yelled out in pain. He’d placed his hand in a crevice, causing a boulder to shift, pinning his forearm, and crushing his fingers.” Marx glanced quickly at Sydria but kept going with his story. “I climbed down to where he was and tried to help him, but I couldn’t lift the rock off his arm. After a half-hour of trying, we noticed the water had started to rise. The tide was coming in. I didn’t want to leave him, but I needed help.” Emotion filled his eyes as he thought back to that day. “I panicked, but Palmer remained calm, reassuring me that he’d still be there when I got back. He said there was no one that he’d rather have rescue him than me.” He shook his head, remembering that moment like it had just happened. “I climbed down, took the raft, and paddled as hard as I could back to the shore. I rode my PT to the nearest town and brought back as many men with me that I could. I was only gone forty-five minutes, but by the time I came back, the tide had come in, and the water had risen so high, he was submerged.” He let out a sharp laugh. “Four inches. That’s all I needed. There were four inches from the top of the water to his nose.”
He looked at Sydria, unable to hide the bitterness from his eyes. “How does a grown man—an experienced swimmer, hiker, climber—drown in four inches of water?”
Sydria placed her hand on his arm, squeezing tight. “I’m so sorry, Marx.”
