Chapter 6

After coming back from Quentin's school, I felt spaced out, like my soul hadn't caught up with my body.

The word "childhood friend" kept swirling around in my head like some curse.

There was no way things between Quentin and me were as simple as he made them sound—the whole childhood sweetheart thing, growing up side by side and just naturally ending up together. There had to be some secret I didn't know about, or maybe something I'd forgotten.

Our marriage license was legit, no question about it. But everyone, including my classmates, his coworkers, and even this girl who liked him, all said the same thing: we were childhood friends, just like brother and sister. And from the way they talked, it sounded like we were the ones who'd told everyone that.

So that had to be true, too.

But if we truly were just friends, then why did we get married? And why did both our parents know about it and go along with it?

That was just way too messed up. Way too complicated.

I flopped onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling like my brain was about to explode.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that if I kept pretending to be "married" to him with this massive question hanging over my head, I'd probably end up going crazy.

So when Quentin came out of the bathroom after his shower, I took a deep breath, my heart pounding. If I kept this up, I was going to lose it. Then I mustered all my courage and blurted out, "We should sleep in separate rooms."

Sure enough, his ridiculously handsome, fresh-out-of-the-shower face immediately took on that pitiful puppy-dog expression again.

"Stop!" I quickly raised my hand to cut him off. "Don't give me that look! I just mean we should sleep in separate rooms for now. You know I can't remember anything. It was okay before, but lately, the more I interact with people, the more questions I have. Could you give me a little time and space to clear my head and think things through by myself?"

Quentin just stared at me, his eyes swirling with emotions I couldn't decipher. He didn't like the idea, but in the end, he didn't say a word.

But that same night, I'd barely settled into the guest room when he pushed my door open.

I clutched my blanket, shooting him a wary look. "What, what do you want? Didn't we agree to sleep in separate rooms?"

Quentin stood in the doorway, holding... Weren't those my pajamas? Why was he holding my pajamas?

"I'm not going back on my word," he said, giving the pajamas a little shake, sounding almost like he had every right. "I just came to get one of your pajamas."

"Why do you want my pajamas?" I asked, totally baffled.

Quentin came over to the bed, clutching my pajamas, and looked down at me. His voice was husky and barely a whisper. "Without your scent, I just can't fall asleep."

"Uh... sure, I guess," I mumbled, because honestly, what else could I say?

He took my pajamas but didn't leave right away. Instead, he stood at the head of the bed, giving me this smoldering look, one that was starting to feel a little dangerous.

"Or..." he drawled, "how about you give me the one you're wearing right now?"

"No way!" I shot back without even thinking, yanking the blanket up to wrap myself even tighter.

See? I knew he was up to something! But honestly, even with my amnesia, we still had that weird unspoken connection, like, I could always sense when he was about to try something sneaky.

Quentin looked like he'd just been shot down, and in the end, he could only grab my spare pajamas and shuffle out of the room, looking all sulky and dejected.

The first night we slept in separate rooms, I couldn't sleep at all.

The next few nights weren't much better. I kept tossing and turning, my mind flipping back and forth between Quentin's wounded puppy look and Eloise's adamant words, "She's just your childhood friend!"

Was I totally wrong about everything? Was I really so used to having him next to me that I couldn't even fall asleep without his arms around me?

Before I could even wrap my head around it, someone suddenly appeared—like a knife slicing right through the tangled mess between Quentin and me—and yanked loose a thread that shocked me to my core.