Grace
"Do I know you?"
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back. Dane Sterling—yeah, that Dane Sterling, the one People magazine calls the Sexiest Man Alive—freezes. His stupidly perfect blue eyes go dark, way beyond just worried.
A nurse walks in to check my vitals, and Dane steps back, his face suddenly blank like he's on camera again.
"You don't remember me?" His voice—the one that makes women swoon in theaters—drops to this rough whisper. His fingers twitch toward mine before he shoves his hands in his pockets. The nurse gives us a look.
My heart monitor beeps faster. "Should I?" My throat feels like I swallowed glass.
This was supposed to be a stupid joke. Pretend I didn't recognize him for like ten seconds, watch him panic, then laugh it off.
But the way he's looking at me—like I just stabbed him—makes my stomach twist.
Dane usually teases me for being too stiff. Now he's staring at me like I'm some indie movie he can't figure out.
"Memory blanks happen with concussions," the nurse says, adjusting my IV. "Give it time."
"Blanks?" Dane runs a hand through his messy-perfect hair, thumb brushing the scar above his eyebrow—the one from that motorcycle stunt last summer. "So she might not remember... anything recent?"
The nurse nods. "Brains protect themselves after trauma. Could be minutes. Could be years."
Dane's phone buzzes. Probably Ashley again. This time, he doesn't mute it right away. There's this weird little smirk before he shoves it back in his pocket.
"Interesting," he murmurs.
A sharp knock cuts through the room.
"Ah," Dane says, forcing a smile. "Here's someone you'll definitely remember."
The door swings open, and Linus Sterling walks in wearing a suit that costs more than my car.
Last time I saw him, he shredded Dane's Oscar nomination with one look.
Now his eyes land on me, and for half a second, he almost looks... happy before his face goes blank again.
"Grace." My name sounds like a secret in his mouth. I grip the sheets tighter.
Dane claps Linus on the back, fake-smiling. "She doesn't remember us, apparently. But you two—"
"—were engaged," Dane finishes, squeezing Linus's shoulder hard enough it's clearly an order. "Right, Linus?"
Linus's eyes lock onto mine, unreadable, but there's something there.
Amusement? A challenge?
He nods once. "That's right."
The nurse frowns, mumbles something about rest, and slips out. The door clicks shut.
Dane leans against the windowsill, arms crossed, watching like he's waiting for a scene to unfold. Linus picks up my chart, scanning it the same way he did Dane's contract last year.
"Fascinating," Linus murmurs, not looking up. "Brain's fine. Just... selective memory." He lifts his gaze, and for a split second, I see it—the look of a guy handed a loaded gun. "Remember how we met?"
"Linus—" Dane starts.
Of course I remember. But saying so now would ruin whatever game they're playing. I shake my head slow, hoping I'm a better actor than Dane's last co-star.
Linus sets the clipboard down neatly. "You were wearing yellow," he says, stepping closer. His crisp collar smells like expensive laundry soap and something darker—ink, maybe. "Spilled champagne on my watch at Dane's premiere. Said it was an accident." His finger brushes my hospital bracelet.
Dane stiffens. "That's not—"
"Then," Linus continues, voice dropping, his thumb sliding to my pulse point, "you made me drive you to some diner at 3 a.m. because you wanted pie. Ordered cherry. Ate one bite." He leans in, breath warm on my temple as he whispers, "Still hate cinnamon, don't you?"
The monitor screeches.
Dane's phone rings again. Ashley's name flashes. He stabs at the screen to silence it, but Linus catches it.
"Should answer that," Linus says casually. "Unless you've grown a conscience."
"Fuck you." Dane's smile stays plastered on, but his knuckles go white around the phone. "Grace needs familiar faces right now. As her devoted fiancé, you should—"
"I'll stay." Linus's three words land like a slammed door.
Dane exhales sharply—his tell, same as when Linus outbid him for their grandfather's watch. He pockets the phone slowly, like proving he's choosing to leave. "Call me when my assistant feels better."
Assistant? I'm his publicist's assistant, not his. But Dane's loving this. His smirk widens as he backs toward the door, already texting—probably Ashley.
The door clicks shut behind him.
Linus doesn't move until Dane's gone. Then he reaches over and peels the pulse monitor off my finger, smooth as anything.
He raises an eyebrow. "You're worse at acting than he is."
I blink. "What?"
Linus tosses the monitor onto the bedside table with a clatter. "Your pupils dilated when he called you his assistant. And your pulse spiked twice—once when I mentioned the diner, again when Ashley called."
He pulls a silver flask from his jacket, unscrews the cap, and takes a slow sip, eyes locked on me. The smell of whiskey cuts through the hospital air.
"Want to keep playing, Grace?" he asks, voice low and rough. He offers me the flask, metal still warm from his body. "Or should I tell the nurse you're faking memory loss for fun?"
Before I can answer, the door swings open. The doctor walks in, clipboard in hand, nurse trailing behind. Linus instantly morphs into Concerned Fiancé mode—scary how fast he switches.
"Doctor," Linus says warmly, taking my hand like we do this every day. His grip is firm. "How is she? Any updates?"
The doctor—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes—glances at the flatlined monitor and silences it fast. She checks my chart. "Tests look good—just a concussion. Memory blanks happen with trauma. Rest is best now."
Linus nods, squeezing my hand gently. "Of course. We'll make sure she gets plenty." He pauses, then smoothly adds, "We were planning a small wedding in three months. Hate to think of her forgetting our story. Anything we can do to help her remember faster?"
My stomach drops. Wedding? Is he really running with this? I try to pull my hand free, but Linus holds tight, thumb stroking my knuckles—looks sweet to the doctor, feels like a warning to me.
The doctor smiles kindly. "I understand, Mr. Sterling. But pushing could stress her. Familiar faces help jog memories gently, nothing overwhelming."
Linus tilts his head, playing perfect fiancé. "Maybe more scans? Just to be sure—"
The doctor cuts him off gently but firmly. "Rest is best. A few familiar visitors today if she's up for it, keep it light." She nods at me. "Focus on recovering, Grace. We'll check on you soon."
As the doctor leaves, Linus follows her out, murmuring worries like the perfect partner. The nurse lingers, adjusting my pillow.
"Need anything before I go?" she asks.
"My phone," I croak. "Just... want to feel normal."
She hesitates, glances toward the hall where Linus went. "Normally we keep personal items until discharge, but... one quick call." She grabs my phone from a drawer, hands it over sympathetically, then leaves.
The second the door shuts, I dial Ashley with shaky fingers. She'll know how to fix this mess.
One ring. Two.
Someone answers and it's not Ashley.
My jaw drops when I recognize that voice.