Chapter 3

Julian came to the hospital himself the next day.

He was in a charcoal suit, holding a bouquet of white tulips.

He frowned the second he walked in.

"Why aren't you dressed?"

I looked down at my hospital gown.

"This is a hospital."

He acted like he hadn't caught the sarcasm.

"The Whitmore Museum Foundation is holding a fundraising gala tonight.

"As the future Mrs. Cross, you need to be there."

Suddenly I understood why he'd sounded so entitled on the phone yesterday.

That was probably how the last five years had gone.

He made the plans.

I went along with them.

"I'm not going."

Julian finally looked at me.

"Just because you lost your memory?"

"Because I was just in a car accident."

"The doctor says you can go home."

"Being able to go home doesn't mean I have to go to a gala."

He set the flowers down.

"Nora, the wedding is ten days away.

"If you act like this, everyone's going to think something's wrong between us."

"Isn't something wrong?"

His expression darkened.

I didn't argue with him.

Instead, I asked, "Is Camille going?"

Julian stopped short.

"Who told you about her?"

I just looked at him.

In that moment, a few fragments of what I'd heard outside the fitting room flashed through my mind.

The wedding dress.

"Nora's the right choice."

"Camille will have the baby first."

My head started to hurt.

I pressed my fingers to my temples.

Julian came over to steady me.

I flinched away without thinking.

His hand stopped in midair.

"Don't touch me."

His expression turned ice-cold.

"You never used to be like this."

I gave a short laugh.

"So what exactly did you like about the old me?

"That I did what I was told?"

He didn't answer.

In the end, I went to the gala anyway.

Not for him.

The fundraiser happened to be connected to the Old Harbor District preservation work my parents were about to restart.

I wanted to meet a few fund managers.

Julian, though, clearly thought my showing up meant I'd given in.

In the car, Camille Hart was sitting in the passenger seat.

She was 34, wearing a long cream-colored dress, and her belly was already starting to show.

When she saw me, she gave me a sweet smile.

"Nora, I heard you lost your memory.

"You poor thing."

I sat in the back.

"Thanks for your concern."

Julian kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

The old me would probably have been upset about who got the front seat.

I just thought the back was quieter.

The gala was held at the Seattle Museum of Modern Art.

Julian was one of the major donors.

After I arrived, people from the host committee kept coming over to greet "the future Mrs. Cross."

Camille, meanwhile, was introduced as a special advisor at Julian's company.

A very respectable title.

Yet she stood closer to him than I did.

When the auction started, artworks and project naming rights came up for bid one after another.

Camille liked a set of 19th-century glassware.

Julian raised his paddle.

Then she said the harbor district's arts program for mothers and children sounded wonderful.

Julian pledged five hundred thousand dollars on the spot and asked for an annual scholarship in Camille's name.

Everyone around us applauded.

Someone asked me quietly, "Doesn't that bother you?"

"It's his money," I said. "He can spend it however he likes."

They gave me a slightly odd look.

They probably thought I was putting up with way too much.

Actually, my mind was on something else.

How much funding did my parents' project still need?

I even took out my phone and saved the contact details for two fund managers.

The seventh time Julian looked my way, he finally couldn't take it anymore and came over.

"You're very quiet tonight."

"What do you want me to do?"

"At least don't act like you don't know me."

"I really don't have any memory of us."

His jaw tightened.

"Your memory will come back."

"That doesn't mean our feelings will come back with it."

The look in his eyes changed instantly.

Just then, Camille called him from the backstage prep area.

Julian went straight to her.

I didn't follow.

20 minutes later, I went to get some materials from the organizers and walked past the backstage dressing room.

The door was half open.

Camille was standing in front of the mirror.

She'd already changed out of her gown.

A pale, flesh-colored fake belly lay on the table.

Next to it was an appointment slip from a medical center.

I only meant to glance at it.

But I saw the date.

The slip was dated six weeks earlier.

The visit type was listed as [Follow-up after pregnancy loss].

I stopped.

Camille saw me in the mirror.

The smile dropped right off her face.

"What did you see?"

"Nothing."

She shut the door.

"Are you going to tell Julian?"

"Why would I bother?"

Camille obviously didn't believe me.

"You chased him for five years.

"And you're just going to let it go?"

"I don't remember anything that happened in those five years."

She stared at me.

"Really? That's for the best, then."

I ignored her and turned to open the door.

Camille grabbed my arm from behind.

"Wait."

"Let go of me."

"You have to promise you won't tell."

"Why should I promise you anything?"

I shook her off.

Just then, the power went out backstage.

The emergency lights came on.

Staff outside were shouting that a temporary set had tripped the circuit and telling everyone to get out through the service corridor.

Camille went pale.

Suddenly she came after me.

"Nora!"