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

‘I hear you,’ she said solemnly. ‘I do, but, Adrian, ask yourself this: when has anyone ever carried you?’

* * *

Lena couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact moment in the bath house when the conversation had turned from teasing to her pleading with Trig to understand her thoughts and feelings when it came to relying on others for things she ought to be able to do for herself.

She did rely on him when she needed to.

She’d relied on him yesterday—for memories and form-filling-out, for safety, and she’d let him carry her and rejoiced in the act; she remembered that part quite well. She was relying on him now, for information and companionship. What more did he want from her? Did she really try to hide her weaknesses from him?

They lasted an hour in the hot pool and beneath the cascading falls of water. There was a ledge you could lie on beneath one of the cascades and let the water beat down on you, and it did it with exactly the right amount of pressure. She made Trig try it but he preferred the more directed pressure of a side spout. Neither of them took up the masseuse’s offer to soap them up and wash them down.

Maybe next time.

An hour and twenty minutes after they’d entered the bath house, they stepped out onto the street, squeaky clean and smelling ever so faintly of roses. Lena liked smelling of roses. She liked Trig smelling of roses too.

She came down the bath-house steps, feeling freer in her gait than she had been in days.

‘You’re walking easier.’ He didn’t miss much, this husband of hers.

‘I know. Turkish baths are my new favourite place. And I know I suggested we look for rings after this, but I’m having second thoughts.’ Never let it be said that she couldn’t admit to weakness. She could work on that. Work on it right now. ‘I’m tired, my head’s beginning to throb and all I want to do is curl up on that hotel bed with a plate of fruit and a movie.’

‘Lena West, are you admitting that you’re not up to shopping with me?’

‘I am. And I hope you’re impressed and it’s not Lena West. The name’s Lena Sinclair.’

She did love a man with a wide and blinding smile.

They hailed a taxi and when they reached the hotel foyer they dropped by the restaurant and ordered a plate of fresh fruit and pastries, and hot coffee and tea to be brought to the room. She was getting used to this hotel now. The foyer and the lifts, the long walk from the lifts to the room.

She got halfway down the corridor before deciding she could use some more help. Especially if it involved being up close and personal with a husband who smelled ever so faintly of roses.

‘Ouch,’ she said and stopped. Trig stopped too. ‘Could be I need a little more help.’

‘With what?’

‘Walking. I have this burning need to be in our room right now, and we’d get there a whole lot faster if you carried me.’

‘Burning need, huh?’

‘Scorching.’

He swung her into his arms. Damn, but she loved his smile. ‘You feeling any less worthy there, princess?’

‘No, I’m feeling kind of smug.’

‘I’ve unleashed a monster.’

‘Pretty sure I’ll get the asking-for-help balance right eventually. Right now I’m feeling so breathless all of a sudden. I may need mouth-to-mouth.’

He got her to the door and got her inside.

And kissed her senseless.

The food arrived ten minutes later. Ten minutes during which her husband had avoided being on the bed with her for all he was worth, offered to run her another bath, twice, opened his computer and scowled at his emails and generally set her on edge with his inability to settle. He downed two cups of thick, fragrant coffee in rapid succession and stared at the walls as if contemplating climbing them.

‘Got an email in from your brother,’ he said finally.

‘Jared?’

‘Damon. He’s got us seats on a flight out of here in three days’ time.’

Lena sat up straighter so she could look her take-charge husband in the eye. ‘What happens if my memory comes back before then?’

‘Then I guess we cancel and continue on to Bodrum.’

‘What’s in Bodrum?’

He hesitated, just for a second. ‘Boats.’

For the first time since waking up on the floor of Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar, she wondered if her husband was lying to her.

‘Seems like a long way to come for something I know we have a lot of at home.’

‘Diving’s not bad either.’

‘Maybe if we were talking about Sharm El Sheik, down the bottom of the Sinai. Which we’re not. We’re talking about the Bosphorus.’

‘Your geography’s improving,’ he murmured. ‘That’s got to be a good sign.’

Her spidey-sense was twitching too. Lena didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

‘You’re awfully worried about when I get my memory back, aren’t you?’

Her husband’s eyes grew carefully guarded. ‘Not really.’

‘Did we have a fight?’

‘We often fight. Usually for no good reason.’

‘So we did have a fight.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘There’s something you’re not telling me. What don’t I know?’

Trig ran a frustrated hand through his already dishevelled hair. ‘I don’t know what you don’t know. Right now, I don’t think either of us have a handle on what you do and don’t know. There’s stuff you’re repressing.’

‘The bad stuff?’