“I’m Maria,” she says pleasantly, stopping at the end of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone turned off the switch to my brain,” I say, holding nothing back.

“That’s quite normal after a head trauma,” she assures me. “How about your back? Can you move okay?”

I flex a bit, and grimace. “I can. I just don’t want to.”

“I’m not surprised,” she says. “You have a pretty nasty lump between your shoulder blades.”

I don’t care about my back. I care about my memories. “When will the doctor be in?”

“He’s on his rounds now,” she says, “but he’ll be by soon to discuss your recovery. Now let’s check your vitals.”

She moves toward Kayden’s side of the bed and he stands reluctantly—or maybe I’m imagining it because I don’t want him to leave. He might be a stranger, and I might hate feeling like a burden, but he’s also all I have right now.

Moving into Kayden’s spot, Maria reaches for the blood pressure cuff and wraps my arm. “So far, your vitals have been looking good.”

It’s then that Kayden steps to her left, hovering over her shoulder, seeming to supervise her actions, and I swear the look on his handsome face is intense, almost possessive—which is a ridiculous thought. He barely knows me. I barely know him. He’s not possessive. Protective, maybe, of the woman he saved. Yes. That has to be it. That’s why he’s still here.

“How’s your pain?” Maria asks, shifting my attention back to her.

“Fine, unless I move.”

“That should start easing up by tomorrow,” she assures me, going silent for a moment to operate the blood pressure machine before confirming, “Still right on target.” She removes the cuff and picks up my chart by the bed.

“What about memory loss?” I ask. “Is that normal?”

“It happens,” she says, her tone matter-of-fact, dismissive even.

“But it’s not just a few mental hiccups,” I clarify. “It’s a complete meltdown.”

“It’s probably not as bad as you think,” she says, “but let’s do a little test.” Her pencil is poised to write on my chart. “Let’s fill in the blanks. I need your full name, birthday, and address.”

I laugh without humor. “I’d like to know those things myself.”

Her brow furrows. “You don’t know your name, birthday, or address?”

“That’s what I am telling you. My memory is gone. I don’t know my name. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t remember what happened last week.”

She narrows her gaze. “What is the last thing you do remember?”

“Waking up here.”

“No,” she amends, “I mean, what do you remember before right now?”

“Nothing,” I say. “There is nothing but now.”

She stares at me, her expression cautiously blank; more beats pass as she says nothing. Then she glances over her shoulder at Kayden and speaks a few sentences in Italian that are obviously about me. He replies rather shortly, almost as if he’s reprimanding her. But she is undeterred, launching into more Italian.

“English, please,” I plead, unable to take one more thing I don’t understand, especially since it’s about me, and to a stranger. How is that okay?

“I’m sorry,” Maria apologizes, setting the chart back on its clip.

“What did you say to him?” I ask, glancing at Kayden. “What did you say to her?”

“I told him I’m going to have the doctor in to speak with you in a few minutes,” she replies.

“And I told her we’d prefer sooner than later,” Kayden adds.

“Do you need anything before I go?” Maria asks.

“To know what’s wrong with me,” I say, not believing for a minute that either of them has told me everything that was said. “Why can’t I remember who I am?”

“Some temporary memory loss with a head injury isn’t unheard of,” she says.

“So this is temporary?” I press, hoping for positive news.

“Most likely, but the doctor is the one we need to speak with.” She reaches down and squeezes my arm. “Everything is going to be fine. Try not to worry.”

“How do I not worry when I don’t even know my name?”

“I know it’s scary, but I’m certain we’ll figure it all out. I’ll go hurry the doctor along. Do you want anything in the meantime? Water? Something to eat?”

“Water would be good,” I say, dying for a drink, but I amend my request: “It’s not urgent. After you find the doctor, but thank you.”

“We have water,” Kayden announces, moving to a tray on top of a rolling table at the end of the bed and indicating a pitcher. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Just a little at first, so you don’t get sick,” Maria warns, heading to the door where Kayden delays her departure and, ignoring my request for English, says something to her in Italian. Maria gives him a quick, clipped reply and, seemingly satisfied with her answer, he steps aside and allows her to pass.

“I’ll be back soon,” she calls to me, breezing out of the room.

Kayden fills a cup with water, and I can’t help but notice a tattoo on each of his wrists. The left one extends beyond the edge of his watch, but it’s the right one that catches my eye: a box with words trailing up his forearm, none of which I can make out. I’m still trying when he sits next to me, and I’m not sure if I’m more aware of his powerful thigh pressing against mine or those piercing eyes giving me an intense inspection.

He hands me the water, our hands and gazes colliding, and I am jolted with the impact, feeling it in every part of me. Afraid he’ll see my reaction, I tip up the cup and start to drink. Oh, God. The first drop on my tongue is liquid gold that has me gulping as fast as I can.

“Easy,” Kayden warns, his hand coming down on mine again, heat radiating up my arm as he eases the rim from my lips. “Remember what Maria said. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I’m still thirsty,” I object, licking the last droplet of liquid bliss from my lips as he takes the water from me.

“A little at a time,” he warns, setting the cup on the table beside the bed, acting more like a friend or family member than a stranger, like someone who cares when I seem to have no one who does.

Nervous energy has me wiping my mouth, aware that this is a moment when I should suggest he has better things to do than stay here. But I don’t. I can’t. I cling to him, the only person I know right now, embarrassingly worthy of the pity he swears he won’t give me. “What did you say to Maria when she was leaving?” I ask.

“That I expect you to get the best care possible.”

He makes the statement like he’s in charge of my care. For a moment it’s comforting, while in the next moment I know it’s a façade I can’t afford. “As much as I appreciate that, I need the cheapest options, not the best. I have no money.”

“Money’s the last thing that should be on your mind. Healing comes first.”

“We both know that’s not true. I have to walk out of here and survive, when I don’t even remember where I live or where I’m staying.”

There’s movement outside the door, and Kayden stands as Maria enters with a tall man in a white coat, his thick hair graying on the sides.

“Signorina,” the man greets me, crossing to stand beside my bed across from Kayden. “I’m your physician, Dr. Mortello. I’ve been caring for you since your admission some hours ago. I understand your head injury has left you with extensive memory loss?”

“That’s correct,” I say. “What does that mean?”

“Your CT scan showed a clear concussion, and most likely you’re simply encountering side effects from the swelling of your brain. Still, I prefer to err on the side of caution. We’re going to send you for an MRI and draw more blood to run some additional tests.”

More tests mean more money, but Kayden’s right. I can’t think about that now. “If this is from the swelling,” I ask, “how long until I recover my memory?”

“There’s really no solid answer to that question,” he replies. “Each patient is different.” A nurse appears in the doorway and speaks in Italian, then he tells me, “They’re ready for you now.”