“How do you feel?” I ask softly.
“I’m… My head hurts.” Frowning, she looks around the room. I’m glad I ordered some orchids and lilies. It looks slightly livelier than it would have otherwise. “Where am I?”
“You’re in a hospital. There was a concussion…some other injuries.”
“I see.” She slowly raises one hand and touches her temple. Her expression grows thoughtful for a moment, her brow furrowing. Then she turns to me, her gaze roaming over my face as though she’s seeing me for the first time.
My gut churns. Did she actually hear what I said earlier?
But the question that slips from her lips blows everything away.
“Who are you?”
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth
Maybe I’ve shocked him with the question. It’s difficult to say; my head still hurts, and my whole body aches like I had a kicking match with a kangaroo…and lost. He stares at me like I’m joking, then blinks once, like he’s snapping out of hypnosis, and calls for a doctor.
My doctor, supposedly. Dr. Raydor.
He enters my room, white coat like a snow flurry, a nurse trotting after him. He seems like a nice man, his bedside manner businesslike but not impatient. He moves with the type of professional confidence that says he knows what he’s doing and I should trust him. I like his darkly tanned skin, his soothing voice as he asks me about my condition. I don’t mind too much when he flashes a penlight into my eyes. After all, that’s just him doing his job.
I want to be a good patient, so I concentrate on answering all his questions as thoroughly as possible, although it’s not always easy. How am I supposed to respond when he asks me to rate the pain I’m feeling, one being none and ten being terrible? It seems so subjective. A wimp might consider what I’m feeling at around eight, but I think it ought to be about four or five. I don’t want anybody to think I’m being a baby.
Stoicism. A Pryce does not complain or whine. We merely disapprove.
So I mustn’t whine. But how do you show disapproval for pain?
“She asked who I was. That can’t be—”
“Mr. King,” Dr. Raydor says, “sometimes people become disoriented after a head injury—”
“But not remember who I am?”
“Did you tell her who you were when she asked?”
“Uh…I don’t think so.”
The doctor scowls at the response.
“No. I wanted to call you and make sure she’s all right. You said there’s nothing physically wrong with her, but I knew it. I should’ve realized something was wrong when she didn’t wake up for almost a week. A physically fine person does not—”
The doctor’s heavy frown amuses me, but at the same time I’m a tad irritated with them talking about me like I’m not even there.
“If you’re going to discuss me, you should include me in the conversation,” I say.
“You aren’t well enough.”
I raise an eyebrow, while Dr. Raydor sighs and checks a few things on his chart. “Your fiancé says you don’t seem to remember him.” He looks at me. “Still no recollection?"
My jaw drops. “Fiancé?” I stare at both men, my eyes wide, then I look down at my finger, bemused. Seriously, do they think I’m that naïve and silly? “Where’s the ring?”
“Lost in the sea,” my fiancé answers.
Dr. Raydor nods seriously.
“We’re engaged…” I say to myself slowly, then tilt my head to look at him. “I don’t know your name.”