“I don’t…” I have no answer. I’m so confused, but unfortunately, my body is not. It knows more than I do about my connection to this man. “I’m tired,” is all I can say before I do something I probably shouldn’t.
Lucas steps back and goes to the door. “I’ll cook you something first. Pasta?”
My stomach growls at the thought of pasta—I love pasta.
And I wonder if I loved him.
How could I not?
He seems so…
… perfect.
So why was I engaged to another man?
Chapter Seventeen
Lucas
By the time I return, she’s asleep. I lay my hand on her shoulder as the doorbell rings. Who the fuck could that be? No one comes here.
Her chocolate eyes open and find mine. “Sorry, I must have fallen asleep.”
“I could get used to you this way.” She gives me a puzzled look. “Polite. Nice.”
“Was I not nice to you?” she asks.
“Oh, you’re the only woman who could talk back to me, and you knew it.” The doorbell rings again, and I place her food on her lap before I go check to see who’s here.
When I get there, I’m surprised at who I find on the other side.
“Do you plan to invite me in?” Keir asks. He’s standing there by himself, which is very unlike him. He always has someone with him.
“No, I think not,” I say, stepping out.
Keir steps back and raises a brow. “Have you seen her?” he asks. I think about lying to him, but it’s been two long years of not seeing her. I listened to him to begin with, but not any longer. If he thinks for one second, I will stay away again, he’s fucking dreaming. So I answer with one simple word, “Yes.”
“Lucas.” We both turn to her in the doorway with a bowl in her hand. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you had company.” She turns to leave.
“Chanel, come meet someone.” Keir eyes me but says nothing. She walks to the door and steps close to me as she looks at Keir. “Chanel, this is Keir. He’s my boss.”
“Oh, your boss. I thought you were your own boss?”
“I am, but we all have people we answer to. Keir is my person.”
Keir appears confused, understandably. This Chanel is not the one he’s used to.
“Chanel had an accident and has lost her memory,” I explain.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Keir states.
“Yeah, they say it may come back. Here’s to hoping.” She shrugs her shoulders.
“Yeah, hoping,” Keir says and locks eyes with me.
“Did you need anything?”
“Oh, yeah…” she bites the inside of her cheek, “… I spilled the pasta on your bed. I didn’t mean to, it’s just…” She lifts her hand, and it shakes a little.