Wedding Party Collection: Don't Tell The Bride: What the Bride Didn't Know / Black Widow Bride / His Valentine Bride

‘Wrong.’ She rolled onto her back and fixed him with a sleepy gaze. ‘Have you seen the clothes in my suitcase? No. And you’re not going to. They’re funeral clothes. I brought the wrong suitcase.’

‘You have a funeral suitcase?’

‘I must have. There’s no other explanation.’

‘Pretty sure I can think of one. You want to hear it?’

‘No, I want to shop. And eat yoghurt,’ she pleaded wistfully. ‘And pastry. Lots of flaky breakfast pastry. I’m starving.’

Now he was starving too.

‘Lena, do you remember where you are?’

‘Istanbul.’

‘Do you know why you’re here?’

‘Honeymoon.’

Okeydokey, then. Time for another trip to the hospital. ‘You want me to get you anything else while I’m out?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Champagne and strawberries.’

* * *

Five hours later, the doctor declared the swelling in Lena’s head much reduced and Trig had declared her memory much improved. She could talk about Damon, Poppy and her father with assurance. She could talk about Jared and the things they’d done in the past. But she had no recollection of getting shot in East Timor, or of her long and arduous recovery, or of Jared going rogue in order to find out who’d betrayed them.

She still thought she was Mrs Lena Sinclair.

The doctor had nixed any long-haul flights for Lena for the next few days, but all was not lost.

The doctor had also banned sex.

‘Got it,’ he’d told the doctor swiftly. ‘No sex. Plenty of rest. Doctor’s orders.’

And then Lena had turned accusing eyes on him and it would have been flattering and funny if it hadn’t been so tragic.

They’d returned to the hotel and Lena had obediently dozed for a couple of hours before declaring herself completely over the hotel-room experience and desperate to take a slow, relaxing walk through the hippodrome next to the Blue Mosque.

‘Is this a honeymoon thing?’ he asked suspiciously. Because it sounded like a honeymoon thing and he wanted to avoid those.

‘It’s a tourist thing.’

‘The doctor said you had to rest.’

‘And I have. Now I need to do something.’

‘The walking will tire you.’

‘How about a Turkish bath, then? Warm water. Relaxation. I hear they even throw in a massage.’

‘Water baby.’

‘I do recall a fondness for water. And doing a lot of leg rehab in it.’ Lena frowned. ‘You said I got shot in the line of duty. I still don’t remember a thing.’

‘Lucky you.’

‘Can you describe it to me?’

‘No.’

She looked at him with far too penetrating a gaze and he thought she would push the issue, but then she shrugged and rifled through her suitcase and held up a brightly coloured swimsuit. ‘So...Turkish bath or unwanted interrogation? Which will it be?’

Which was how they ended up at a Turkish bath house, with him being shepherded through a door to the left labelled men and Lena being pointed to the one on the right that said women.

‘Wait for me when you get out,’ he commanded gruffly.

‘Don’t I always?’

Surprisingly, upon reflection, the answer was yes. He gave her a grin. ‘Rest and relaxation,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget.’

‘I’m on it.’

Once through the man door, an attendant showed him to a shower cubicle and change room. ‘You must shower first,’ the attendant said. ‘And then this door will take you into the bathing area.’

Trig nodded. There’d been pictures of the bath house on the waiting room walls. Rooms full of marble and cascading water. Huge stone slabs where bodies lay prone and masseuses worked their magic. Enough steam to make a belching dragon proud.

Lena’s post-op physiotherapy programme had involved a lot of water-based stretching and exercises and whether she remembered those exercises or not, a warm bathing pool and massage would be good for her.

Trig showered and stowed his wallet and clothing in the locker provided. He picked up a tiny square face cloth from a carefully folded pile of them sitting at the door to the bathing area. No swimwear required, apparently. It said so, right there on the instructions plaque hanging on the wall.

The first thing his eyes were drawn to as he stepped into the room was the high domed and tiled ceiling. The second thing he saw was Lena entering through a door on the other side of the room.

Why on earth would a bathing house have separate change-room areas when the bathing area was for males and females both?

Like him, Lena had only one cloth.

And she didn’t seem to know where to put it.

Only half a dozen other people swam or lazed beneath the cascading water pouring from spouts in the wall. A few men. A few women. No one seemed to be paying much attention to anyone else.

Didn’t matter. Lena stood butt naked with one tiny little cloth that she seemed to want to cover the worst of her scarring with. He crossed to her quickly and held out his cloth.

‘Here. Use it. Cover yourself up.’

She seemed to find his glower amusing. ‘Which bits? Because these wash cloths? Really not that big.’

‘Get in the pool,’ he ordered. The pool would provide at least some protection against prying eyes. And they were drawing attention. He could feel eyes boring into his back. ‘You’d think they might have mentioned when we came in that this was a mixed bathing pool.’