Cassie Miles - Mysterious Vows

“Leave me alone,” she said. Her words were English. “Don’t touch me.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

But he already had. He had taken her name and her freedom. Though she’d agreed, though she had voluntarily repeated her vows before witnesses, the wedding was a sham. She glared defiantly. “You may have bought a mail-order bride, but I’ll never be your wife.”

“What the hell are you—” He took a step toward her, then stopped. “Never mind. Just come out here, cut the damned cake and let’s be done with this charade.”

“This charade, as you call it, is what you want,” she snapped. “This was your idea.”

“The hell it was. If I had my choice, I wouldn’t be here. Pretending.” He tapped his cane impatiently. “I’m not good at espionage.”

“Espionage?” She switched to Spanish again. This was dangerous. She needed to keep her guard up. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid with me. You convinced Chip Harrington with that wide-eyed innocent act of yours. But you don’t have to trick me. I know the truth.”

“How dare you speak of truth!” It was all a lie. Every word, every gesture. He had contrived to bring her here, to keep her isolated on the island. “Will you force me to stay here?”

“Yes,” he said. “Until I receive different orders, you will stay with me.”

He went to the door and rested his hand on the knob. “We’ll cut the cake, then send everyone home. Pretend that you’re happy, my dear little bride.”

“Never. I will ask the reverend to take me back to—” To where? Where was home? “To a safe place.”

“I don’t know what Chip told you, but you’ve got it wrong, Maria. This island is your safety.” The hard expression in his eyes precluded further discussion. “You will do as I say.”

She could stand and fight, here and now, with little chance of winning. The wedding guests were all Jason’s friends. They would think she had a case of nerves. “Poor thing,” they would say, “she’s homesick.” And she did feel ill. She was weak. Her headache drummed in the back of her head. The muscles in her shoulders and back were taut.

“Maria,” he said. “I’m waiting.”

Later, she promised herself. Later, she would find a way off this cold island. She would regain her freedom.

With her head held high, she went toward him. He offered his arm, and she lightly rested her fingertips on his forearm. His nearness should have repulsed her. Instead she shivered with a purely sensual pleasure. His touch aroused her. Why did she find him so attractive? She should have seen cruelty in his arrogant profile, but instead she saw handsome, chiseled features. The very scent of him excited her. Perhaps she had lost her sense of reasoning along with her memory.

When they left the parlor and went toward the large dining room, the other people seemed dangerous to her. How could she tell what was right, what was safe? Their eyes, as they looked at her, seemed intrusive. Their voices grated on her ears.

“Smile, Maria,” Jason whispered.

Automatically her lips responded.

He led her to a table, to the three-tier wedding cake, and he lifted the knife. He prepared to make the first slice, but Alice stopped him. “You’re doing it wrong,” she said. “Both of you are supposed to hold the knife.”

He took her hand and placed it atop his. His flesh was warm, she thought, and hers was cold. Muerte. Cold as death. She must get away from this island where there was danger all around her, stealing her memories. But where would she go? Who could she turn to when she couldn’t remember her name or what had happened to her?

Her gaze focused on the miniature couple that stood atop the cake. Maria never thought her wedding day would be frightening and joyless.

They sliced the cake.

She tasted the sugary chocolate on her tongue as Jason held a piece of cake to her mouth, and she wanted to spit it out, to spit in his face, in the faces of all these false smiles.

“Now, champagne!” Alice said, directing the ceremonies again. She handed Jason and Maria their fluted glasses. “A toast, Jason.”

He lifted his glass and sunlight from the windows reflected on the rising bubbles. “On this wedding day, I welcome my guests to share in these ceremonies, to eat, to drink, to celebrate. I toast my bride, an admirable and beautiful woman who is far from her homeland, testing her wings, seeking a new life. I hope my home will be a comfort for her. My wish, for you, Maria, is everlasting peace and satisfaction.”

He held his glass toward her, and she tapped the crystal rim lightly before she took a sip.

The guests applauded.

“Maria?”

It was Alice, again. Didn’t the woman give up? Maria couldn’t imagine that there was yet another ritual.

“Maria, you must tell us what you wish for. Jason will translate.”

“No need.” Maria tilted her glass toward them, saluting them. In English she said, “I hope for memories...” Any memory, any chance of regaining her own past. “For fulfillment, for happiness, for freedom...and for truth.”

“For truth.”

She heard the voice of Chip Harrington as he repeated her words. In his eyes she saw a glimmer of recognition.

The bedroom on the second floor was familiar. She’d been there last night. She’d slept in the bed. Maria stood in the middle of the room and tried to remember the details of the layout. The closet was to the right, and it was a walk-in closet with the racks cleaned and empty, waiting for clothing she did not own. She went to the closet door and opened it. Bare floors, barren racks with hangers. It smelled of cedar. There was a window that cast slanting light on the wood floors. It was exactly as she had remembered.

Relief flooded her mind. She had remembered! She clenched her fists, smiled in triumph. Though only slightly, her memory had begun to function again.

A full bathroom adjoined this room, and the tile around the sink was blue to match the flowered wallpaper. She hurried across the room and flung open the door. Right again! But she had to remember more. These were only details. Yet details would lead to full thoughts, then scenes, then a lifetime.

Returning to the bedroom, she stroked the quilted cotton of the green-and-white spread on the queen-size four-poster, then glanced toward the doorway where Jason was standing. Would he demand to sleep here tonight? To consummate their marriage?

Jason closed the door. With slow, tortured steps, he made his way to the green-curtained windows and lowered himself into a rocking chair. His injured leg stuck out straight in front of him. “Eddy Elliot was right,” he said. “You have no accent. You speak English fluently.”

“Eddy Elliot?” Had she met him?

“The senator.”

“Oh, yes. The man with the red face.” The man who had warned her. She remembered him very well.

Her mind was like a vast white canvas with one small corner filled in. She remembered last night and today. Other memories, from other times, appeared like dots in the distance. They would draw closer, she hoped, until the whole canvas was filled with the tapestry of her past.

“Maria!”

She turned toward him. What else would she recall about Jason? How much did she know about him?

He echoed her thoughts. “I don’t know much about you.”

“That’s the problem with a mail-order bride,” she said, masking her fear with flippancy. “You don’t have that nice, long courtship period to discover each other’s secrets.”

The returning memories had given her a sense of power. Ultimately she would recall everything and regain herself. Maria was sure of that. Maria? It wasn’t her name, but it would have to suffice until she heard the clear voice in her head telling her whether she was Danielle or Carolyn or Marta or Heather.