Page 50 of My Dark Prince
Briar
I didn’t buy the hoarder excuse.
Oliver had exited the womb a minimalist. Well, as minimalist as a nepo-billionaire could be. For as long as I remembered (literally), he kept his cars pristine, his room neat and bare, and only a single black card in his wallet, unlike the one the hospital had returned to me, stuffed to the brim with coupon cards, and pennies, and wrinkled dollar bills.
Even now, without the help of dozens of staff, his house remained spotless. Twenty-thousand feet and not a single thread out of place. I filed this into memory to investigate the south wing as soon as Oliver stopped fussing around me.
He’d left me alone only for a pee break and to swap into a cute dress from the closet. (I, however, had apparently left a mess in the master bedroom. Shirts, and shoes, and jeans everywhere. I had the decency to apologize and promised to clean it up in the morning.)
At seven o’clock sharp, Oliver escorted me to dinner on the first-floor patio, overlooking the lake. Two uniformed servers materialized from nowhere and flanked us.
One of them bowed, her hands folded at the base of her stomach. “Miss Auor, it is so good to have you back.”
I frowned as Oliver pushed the chair out for me. “Thanks.”
She’d pronounced my last name with an O, not an E. Was she new? Did I scare off her predecessor? Roaming the world without memories was like navigating a ship without acompass and GPS. No accomplishments to take pride in. No mistakes to reflect on. A clean slate that somehow felt dirtier than a checkered past.
“You can just call me Briar,” I added. No way would my present self be stuck-up enough to ask my employees to address me by my last name.Orhave them wear uniforms.
“The serving staff is new.” Oliver rounded the table after I slid into my seat, claiming the one across from mine. “We normally do takeout, but Doctor Cohen recommended a healthy diet.” He paused, clocked my expression, and added, “And the agency I hire my staff from requires uniforms.”
I relaxed against the canvas backrest.
The server bowed again, lower this time. “My apologies, Briar.”
It wasn’t lost on me the privileged life I led. That many in my situation would have more than gaping memory lapses and occasional headaches to worry about. Hospital bills, and work shifts, and childcare.
I tried not to beam at Oliver. “Have I ever told you what a dreamboat you are?”
Most men wouldn’t be able to deal with this situation. Oliver handled it with grace. I’d lucked out with him as my partner.
He kept his eyes trained on his wine glass. “You have.”
“Well, I mean it. I am so lucky to love you. Speaking of, when was the last time I told you I love you?”
“You said the words right before the accident.” He added something under his breath that I couldn’t make out. It sounded like, “More or less.”
The other server drew the silver dome from my plate, unearthing my dinner. A massive Porterhouse, asparagus, buttery mashed potatoes, and some kind of white sauce. The second the scent of meat crawled up my nostrils, I leaned over the marble railing and vomited right into the rose bushes.
“Compliments to the chef, who managed to make my fiancée sick before she even took a bite.” Oliver rushed over to me, gathering my hair between expert fingers and pullingit up. “Get this food away from her,” he barked at his staff. “Are you okay, Cuddlebug? Is that the migraines?”
“No.” I shook my head, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “It’s not that. I’m … this is wrong.”
“Wrong?” He reached for an asparagus on his plate, chopping it with his pearly white teeth. “Baby, this cow was grass-fed $500 organic bouquets. Let me assure you, this is the best steak you’ll ever eat.”
“It’s not that.” I shook my head, stumbling away from the table. “I’m … I think I’m a vegetarian.”
He stared at me wordlessly, his mouth open, his face blank.
I hugged myself, my entire brain rioting. “Or maybe even vegan?”
How could my fiancé not know I didn’t eat meat? And why was the south wing off-limits? Nothing made sense. And Ireallyneeded a healthy dose of sense right now.
At his silence, I pleaded for him to give me a reasonable explanation with my eyes. “How could you not know that?”
He winked, trying to lighten up the mood. “You never seemed to have a problem with my meat.”
“Ollie.”
