His voice rises. “You’re going to take her to that island of yours? What have you been smoking while waiting in that hospital?”
“She needs peace and quiet.”
“Bullshit. The island isn’t the only place she can have those.”
“She can’t return to L.A. We don’t know who tried to hurt her.”
Antoine shuts up at that. He hates failure, and us not knowing is definitely failing as far as he’s concerned, even though it’s really not his fault. There aren’t any witnesses—not surprising, given the horrible storm—and there isn’t any security camera footage. We’re at an impasse until Elizabeth regains her memory.
But it doesn’t take long before he recovers. “That’s why she has that Russian. Let him keep her safe. That’s what he’s paid to do.”
Officially, Tolyan is Elizabeth’s assistant. Neither Antoine nor I believe that. I’ve seen the man. He doesn’t look like the type who can bang out at least a hundred words per minute and alphabetize files neatly into stacks. But he certainly seems like the type to enjoy breaking a few knees just because, and in certain situations, those skills are more valuable than creating a day’s agenda.
I look away, dismissing Antoine.
“Come on, what’s the real deal?” he says, making another attempt at appealing to my sanity.
“I need to make things right.”
“And your brilliant plan is taking her away? What about giving her the painting back?”
I shake my head. “Not enough.”
“You gotta be shitting me. And she said okay?” Abruptly he stops, his eyes going wide. “You told her you’re her fiancé.”
“Hey, the doctor said it, not me,” I say. “Besides, the engagement is your lie, not mine.”
“You aren’t pinning that on me. I only did it so you could be informed of her condition. What you’re doing is torpedoing the line.” Antoine puts his hands together over his chest, then snaps his elbows straight, arms angled outward. “Nuclear fucking bombing a line you shouldn’t even be thinking of getting near.”
You and my conscience both, buddy. Still, I shove both of them away, not interested in listening to naysayers. “The island is perfect. It gives us the privacy to sort everything out, and nobody can get to her without me knowing about it.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Until she gets her memory back.”
Antoine shakes his head. “There you go, irrational and impulsive about her. That’s how you got into trouble ten years ago.”
I scowl. “We aren’t the same people—we aren’t kids anymore.”
He throws his hands in the air. “What do you think she’s going to do when she regains her memory? Be grateful and give you whatever it is you’re looking for?” He gives me a hard, piercing look. “You hated her for the last ten years because she lied about her age.”
I bristle with indignation. Shouldn’t he be on my side? He knows what I’m trying to do here. “That could’ve landed me in jail and ruined my life,” I say, mostly out of irritation.
“All she did was using a fake ID, something almost everybody in America has done at least once. Including your sister, in case you’re wondering.”
“Leave Kristen out of this.”
Shrugging away my warning, he continues, “Are you going to have her sleep with you, while she believes you’re her fiancé? Have her feel bad that she doesn’t remember anything sweet and romantic that must’ve happened between you two lovebirds?”
My jaw tightens as his words remind me of my lie—that the island is where I proposed.
“That’s some fucked-up shit. It’s a helluva lot worse than what she did to you, and a helluva lot more insidious than your original plan of taking the damned portrait from her. You’re taking advantage, lying when it’s not necessary for your own benefit. Mark my words—at some point, she will remember everything. And you aren’t going to get whatever it is you want to get, assuming you even know what you want anymore.”
“Shut up.” I shoot him that lame-ass comeback because he’s right. Unless I’m careful, I’ll end up taking advantage whether I mean to or not, and that cannot happen. Usually I know exactly how to get what I want. Not with Elizabeth, though. With her, my emotions and thoughts swing from one extreme to another so fast that my head spins and I’m not sure exactly how to proceed.
But the primary concern at the moment is keeping her safe. I cling to that, because it’s better than admitting I might be screwing things up.
Chapter Nine