Chapter 2

After messing around, the day slipped away, and before I knew it, it was already evening.

I thought Quentin would at least act like a gentleman—maybe let me have the bed or take the couch himself, since I'd lost my memory.

It turned out I was way too naive.

"Why should we sleep in separate rooms?" Quentin looked at me with an innocent face, like I'd just asked some impossible riddle.

I opened my mouth, struggling for words. "Because, well, I don't remember you right now."

"So just because you don't remember me, we're not husband and wife anymore?" Quentin countered, his tone carrying a barely noticeable trace of hurt.

That was not what I meant. Ugh, I could never win an argument with him. Seeing Quentin about to put on that pitiful puppy-dog look again, I hurried to open the master bedroom door first. "Alright, alright, we'll sleep together. No big deal."

However, the real awkward part was still ahead.

As soon as Quentin got into bed, he just slipped his arm around my waist from behind like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I instinctively tensed up, about to pull away, but his deep voice sounded right in my ear, "You used to love it when I held you like this. You said it made you feel safe and helped you sleep like a baby. What, just because you don't remember now, you can pretend you never said that, huh?"

I squeezed my eyes shut. God, if only I could forget everything! Maybe I'd at least get my own room.

Whatever, when getting stuck in this situation, I just had to go with it. It was not like I could help the whole amnesia thing.

But as it turned out, he wasn't making it up. With Quentin holding me like that, I slept soundly all night—no dreams, just pure rest. When morning came, I woke up feeling totally refreshed.

So for the next few days, I stopped making a fuss about his little displays of affection. After all, if I was enjoying the perks of his arms around me, I couldn't exactly complain. I just had to accept my fate and go with the flow.

A week later, I got a notice about our college reunion. The whole thing had been set up months ago, and after my accident, I never thought I'd be able to make it, but there I was, just in time.

When word got out that I was out of the hospital, everyone got all fired up and wouldn't take no for an answer. They just had to see for themselves how I was doing. I couldn't turn them down, and truth was, I did want to catch up with my old classmates, so I said yes.

At the reunion, I got a full-on national treasure treatment. Everyone kept fussing over me, handing me snacks, and making sure my glass was always filled with juice. Nobody even dared to offer me any alcohol.

Everything was going smoothly, and just as things were wrapping up, it suddenly started pouring outside.

Quentin texted me, saying he was on his way to pick me up. Figuring my old classmates had already known I was married, I told him to come straight to the private room.

But when his tall figure showed up at the door and walked over to me, I was all ready to introduce him with a grin, only to realize the vibe in the room had suddenly gotten a little strange.

Especially our old class president—he just stood there, mouth agape, pointing at Quentin, then at me, looking like he'd seen a ghost. "Margaret, you, you're married? To him? Seriously? How does that even work?" He was so shocked that he could barely get the words out.

The other classmates' faces were just as dramatic—shock, confusion, and gossipy curiosity shooting glances my way.

The whole room went dead silent, except for the sound of rain pounding against the windows and the low hum of the air conditioner.

The air was thick with the smell of grilled meat, the rich scent of wine, and a jumble of perfumes, but then, all of it faded into the background.

Everyone's eyes were locked on us like spotlights, that mix of surprise, disbelief, and a little bit of 'waiting for some drama to unfold' making me feel seriously uncomfortable.

My cheeks were burning up, and my heart skipped a beat.

I frowned and glanced up at Quentin, who was cool as ever, not a hint of emotion on his face, but his hand around my waist gave a little squeeze.

"Yeah, we got our marriage license a while ago. Haven't had time to hold the wedding yet, but once we pick a date, you guys are all getting invites, so you better show up!" I plastered on a smile, hoping to shatter the awkward silence.

But everyone just looked even more awkward—shooting each other glances, clearly dying to say something but holding it in.

Before I could get a word in, Quentin gave everyone a polite nod, then half-hugged, half-guided me out of the private room.

Once we got in the car, I still had no clue what was going on.

"That was so weird," I muttered.

"Weird how?" Quentin asked, starting up the car.

I said, "Why were they all so shocked when they heard I was married? Did I seriously never mention it to anyone?"

Quentin's grip on the steering wheel tightened, and for a few seconds, the only thing we could hear was the steady swish of the wipers. Finally, he said, "You were crazy busy when we got our marriage license. You didn't want any extra drama, so you kept it totally under wraps—figured we'd tell everyone when the wedding happened."

"Really?" I couldn't help but be a little skeptical.

"Yeah." He sounded totally sure.

After hearing that, I just let it go. It seemed I was a pro at keeping secrets before I lost my memory.

When we got home, it suddenly hit me that there was an even bigger issue. In this huge place we called our marital home, I didn't see a single wedding photo on the wall. Heck, there wasn't even a casual snapshot of me and Quentin together.

Why was that? Was he the one who didn't want any, or was it me?

That night, just before bed, I brought it up to Quentin. He was tucking me in, and his hand paused for a second, but then he quickly went back to normal.

"Because you were always so busy, Miss Workaholic Margaret," he said, lying down and pulling me into his arms, his chin resting on top of my head, his voice full of laughter. "You were way busier than I. After we got married, I was left home alone all the time, and you didn't even have time to show me any love, so how would you ever have time for wedding photos?"

His words made my cheeks burn instantly.