Chapter 1
1542 Words
CHAPTER 1
THE MAN WHO CALLED HIMSELF MY HUSBAND
The first thing Natalie Parker heard was a man saying her name like he'd been waiting years to say it.
“Natalie.”
Her eyelids twitched.
“Natalie, can you hear me?”
She tried to answer, but her throat felt scraped raw. Something beeped steadily beside her. Her fingers moved against crisp white sheets, and the smell of antiseptic filled her nose.
Hospital.
Fantastic.
She opened her eyes.
A man sat beside her bed.
Not a doctor.
Not a nurse.
A stranger.
He wore a black suit that looked ridiculously expensive for eight in the morning, his dark hair slightly disordered, as if he'd been running his fingers through it for hours. His sleeves were rolled neatly to his forearms. A watch gleamed at his wrist.
But it was his face that made Natalie freeze.
Sharp jaw. Straight nose. Dark, unreadable eyes.
He looked like the kind of man who made entire rooms lower their voices.
He leaned forward when he saw her awake.
For one strange second, relief cracked through his expression.
Then it disappeared.
“Natalie.”
She stared at him.
“Who are you?”
The question landed harder than she'd intended.
His jaw tightened.
“My name is Vincent Prescott.”
Nothing.
He waited.
Natalie waited too.
Apparently, this Vincent Prescott expected that name to mean something.
It didn't.
She glanced toward the door.
“Are you a doctor?”
“No.”
“Police?”
“No.”
“Then why are you in my hospital room?”
His eyes dropped briefly to her left hand.
Natalie followed his gaze.
Her stomach dropped.
There was a ring on her finger.
A delicate diamond ring.
She stared at it.
“What the hell?”
Vincent went very still.
Natalie lifted her hand closer to her face. The ring caught the fluorescent light.
“This isn't mine.”
“It is.”
She looked at him.
He looked back.
“Take it off.”
“Natalie—”
“Take. It. Off.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
“It's your wedding ring.”
The room became strangely quiet.
Natalie blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then she laughed.
It came out weak and breathless.
“No.”
Vincent didn't move.
“No,” she repeated, more firmly. “I don't wear wedding rings.”
“You do now.”
“I'm not married.”
His eyes changed.
Barely.
But Natalie caught it.
That tiny hesitation.
That split-second calculation.
She pointed at him.
“Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“That.”
“What?”
“That weird thing with your face.”
Vincent stared at her.
Natalie stared back.
“Never mind.” She pushed herself upright.
Pain immediately exploded through her head.
She sucked in a breath and grabbed her temple.
Vincent stood.
“Don't.”
His hand reached toward her shoulder.
Natalie slapped it away.
“Don't touch me.”
He stopped instantly.
Something flashed across his face.
Not anger.
Something worse.
Hurt.
Natalie didn't know why that bothered her.
She looked toward the hospital room door.
“Where's my sister?”
“Your sister is on her way.”
“How do you know I have a sister?”
“Because I know you.”
Natalie frowned.
“No, you don't.”
Vincent's expression became unreadable again.
A doctor hurried inside, followed by a nurse.
“Ms. Parker, you're awake.”
“Yes, and apparently I'm married.”
The doctor's gaze moved between Natalie and Vincent.
Then he gave Vincent a look Natalie didn't like.
“Mr. Prescott—”
“Tell her,” Vincent said quietly.
Natalie turned toward him.
“Tell me what?”
The doctor pulled a chair closer.
“Ms. Parker, you've experienced a traumatic injury. Your scans are encouraging, but there appears to be some disruption concerning your recent memories.”
Natalie stared.
“What does that mean?”
“You remember your childhood?”
“Yes.”
“Your family?”
“Yes.”
“Your career?”
“Mostly.”
“And the events immediately before the accident?”
Natalie's mouth opened.
Nothing came.
She remembered leaving work.
Rain.
A phone vibrating in her hand.
A voice.
A car.
Then—
Nothing.
She swallowed.
“How long?”
The doctor exchanged another glance with Vincent.
“How long what?”
“How much don't I remember?”
The doctor hesitated.
“Approximately the last year.”
Natalie went completely still.
A year.
Her eyes moved toward Vincent.
He hadn't moved.
He looked like a man attending his own execution.
Natalie slowly raised her left hand.
The diamond ring suddenly felt much heavier.
“A year?”
“Yes.”
“And this man…”
She pointed at Vincent.
“…says he's my husband.”
The doctor nodded.
Natalie's stomach twisted.
She looked at Vincent again.
He didn't look smug.
Didn't look amused.
Didn't even look relieved anymore.
He looked exhausted.
Like he'd been carrying something heavy for a very long time.
Natalie hated that.
She hated that his face made her feel something she couldn't identify.
“So,” she said slowly, “I'm married.”
“Yes.”
“To him?”
“Yes.”
She stared at Vincent.
Vincent stared back.
“Why?”
His eyebrows drew together.
“Why what?”
“Why did I marry you?”
Silence.
Natalie's pulse began hammering.
Vincent looked away.
That was the answer.
Or at least part of it.
“You don't know.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
“It's complicated.”
Natalie laughed again, but there was nothing funny about it.
“Oh, that's excellent.”
Vincent's jaw flexed.
“Natalie.”
“No, seriously. That's fantastic. I wake up in a hospital, discover I've apparently lost a year of my life, discover I'm wearing a wedding ring I don't remember putting on, and then my mysterious husband tells me our marriage is complicated.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“You've always hated simple explanations.”
Natalie froze.
Something about the sentence struck her.
Not the words.
The familiarity.
The way he said it.
Like he'd said it before.
Many times.
She stared at him.
Vincent seemed to realize what he'd done.
His expression closed.
Natalie noticed.
Of course she noticed.
She had spent seven years as an investigative journalist.
Her entire career was built around noticing what people tried to hide.
“Interesting,” she murmured.
“What?”
“You knew exactly what to say.”
Vincent didn't respond.
Natalie's gaze dropped to his hands.
No wedding ring.
She looked back at her own.
“Where's yours?”
His eyes flickered.
“I'm wearing it.”
She stared at his bare hand.
“Where?”
Vincent reached into the pocket of his suit jacket.
And pulled out a ring.
Natalie's breath caught.
Her ring.
Not the one on her finger.
A matching band.
He had been carrying it.
“Why isn't it on your hand?”
Vincent looked at the ring.
Then at her.
“Because you asked me not to wear it.”
Natalie's heart skipped.
“I asked you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His thumb moved slowly over the edge of the ring.
“You said you didn't want anyone knowing.”
Natalie stared at him.
A secret marriage.
A billionaire CEO.
A missing year.
And a husband who apparently knew a version of her that she couldn't remember being.
For the first time since waking up, fear slid coldly down her spine.
She looked toward the window.
Rain streaked the glass.
“Vincent?”
“Yes?”
Her voice came quieter this time.
“What happened to me?”
He didn't answer.
Natalie turned back.
His face had gone completely blank.
And that frightened her more than anything else.
Because Vincent Prescott wasn't surprised by her question.
He was afraid of the answer.
Natalie slowly curled her fingers around the wedding ring.
“Tell me the truth.”
Vincent's eyes met hers.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then his phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen.
Something in his expression changed.
He stood immediately.
“What's wrong?” Natalie asked.
“Nothing.”
There it was again.
That smooth, controlled lie.
Natalie's eyes narrowed.
“Vincent.”
He ignored her and stepped toward the window.
Natalie watched him answer the call.
“Speak.”
A pause.
His shoulders stiffened.
Then he said quietly:
“Is she awake?”
Natalie's blood went cold.
Vincent slowly looked over his shoulder at her.
Their eyes met.
And Natalie knew, with absolute certainty, that whoever was on that phone wasn't asking about the CEO's wife.
They were asking about her.
Vincent ended the call.
Natalie stared at him.
“Who was that?”
He slipped the phone into his pocket.
“Nobody.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
“That's the second lie.”
His expression changed.
And Natalie smiled without humor.
Maybe she didn't remember her husband.
Maybe she didn't remember their marriage.
Maybe she'd lost an entire year.
But she remembered one thing perfectly.
She knew when someone was hiding something.
And Vincent Prescott was hiding everything.
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