DEMI
The shower hisses softly over my body, like a white curtain of heat. I rake through my wet hair with trembling hands, struggling to blank my mind from all the thoughts jostling for front row. As the water runs down my spine, one thought pervades the rest; the brief mont earlier today when I ran into one of the Rollins quads outside the Honey Pot where Anna works.
At first, I thought it was Ashton because I have beco used to his penchant for finding ways to invade my space. For a fleeting second, my heart had leapt as though it knew him before my mind did. But then the tiny details started to stand out, to poke holes in my mory. Those subtle, relentless clues made it difficult for to lie to myself.
The hair stood out first. It wasn’t the dark, soft curls that make my breath hitch each ti it fell over Ashton’s forehead when he leaned close. This brother’s hair was a pale gold, catching the sunlight like fine threads of fire.
The cologne wasn’t Ashton’s either. It was sharper, and more deliberate. It was the unmistakable scent that used to cling to a room in the Rollins Mansion I tried not to stray into; rich with bergamot, amber, and sothing darker. My ex-husband, Ashley Rollins’ room.
I rember that scent saturating his walk-in closet. Oh, his closet. I rember rows of immaculate suits, each shade of gray and navy carefully curated. The clink of his watch and bracelets when he reached for a shirt. Even his fingers carried traces of the rings he loved; tight, bold knuckle bands that left faint indentations on his skin.
And when he lifted his hand earlier today to reach for , I saw the faint marks still there. It was definitely him. Ashley. I knew it then but I pretended not to.
When his eyes t mine, I let confusion cloud my face. I let the small frown settle in as if I couldn’t tell which exact brother stood in front of . I said Ashton’s na and to my relief, Ashley bought into it, regarding with pitiful eyes.
I couldn’t risk a mber of that family finding out that my mories are returning. If Ashley Rollins caught on, he’d run straight to the mansion with the news—and chaos would follow.
I can’t have that. I need more ti.
***
I step out of the shower, wrap myself in a towel and stare at the fogged mirror until the ghost of my reflection stares back at . I can’t tell which version she is—the woman who once lived in the Rollins mansion or the one who woke up weeks ago with a hollow space where her past should’ve been.
I throw on a robe and make myself a cup of black coffee, hoping the bitter taste can ground .
I should feel better now that my mories are returning. And in a way, it does. Ashton and Anna have both assured that they love regardless of what I rember or not, that there’s no pressure to beco who I was before my mory loss.
Yet, regaining my mory still feels...heavy. Because the truth is... I am not sure who I want to be. One part of is ecstatic to chart a new course for my life, free of the guilt of disappointing my parents. Maybe I could go to college or spend a year exploring a new city to discover parts of that never got to see the light because I was so consud by my revenge.
Then there’s another part that’s scared of missing out on a good thing; Anna’s friendship, Ashton’s love, going to therapy to help make peace with my past choices and recognize that my deceased parents always wanted my peace and happiness above all else.
I sip the coffee slowly, staring out the window as thick clouds gather in the gray sky.
Three months.
That’s what I promised Ashton. Three months to figure out what I wanted, to clear my head, and to rember without drowning in my past.
And yet... every ti I think of him, I hear the sound of that woman’s voice on the phone. God, it stung. I shouldn’t care this much. No, I shouldn’t care at all but sohow, I do. What’s more concerning is how territorial I feel about him. Could it be the swarming mories in my head that have successfully painted a HD picture of what we used to be? Could my feelings for him be back too?
I swallow the scalding coffee and set the mug down. Anger. Jealousy. Sha. They all twist together until I can’t tell them apart. I am angry at myself for feeling so confused about my identity and my feelings. I am jealous of a woman who could possibly be in Ashton’s life. I am ashad to admit that despite the second chance to rewrite my story, I find myself pining for the choices or (mistakes) the old Demi once made.
Shit. I am such a fool. How could I repeat the cycle? One gasp away from loathing myself, I opt for much needed distraction.
Anna’s doing a double shift at the Honey Pot, so I text Naomi instead.
"Hey, it’s Demi Branson. I was wondering if you were free tonight. Would love to grab dinner with you." She replies almost instantly.
"I would absolutely love that. Text the address?"
Relief flutters through , followed by sheer excitent. Nothing like a girl’s night out to fend off the thoughts of chaotic life. I head for the closet when a sharp knock echoes at the door. My heart jumps. Lucien? He’s been checking on more often lately, especially when Anna isn’t around.
I skip to the door, tugging my robe tighter around my body but at the sight of the visitor, I freeze.
It isn’t Lucien. I can’t believe my eyes.
"Mrs. Rollins?"
Elizabeth Rollins stands in the doorway, immaculate as ever. A pearl brooch gleams at her collar, and her perfu wafts into the small apartnt. Behind her, black suited n flank an SUV.
Like a whiplash, mories of her in the mansion fleet across my mind like turning pages of a dusty paperback: her benign smile whilst she defended (a new bride) before her sons; her sadness whenever the dinner table was brimming with tension between the quads and their father; her disappointnt when she caught kissing Ashton instead of my husband; her hostility towards after my identity as Camile Branson’s daughter was revealed etc.
I clutch the door knob tightly to steady myself and break my dizzying spiel.
"Demi," she says softly. "May I co in?"
I don’t move. Every nerve in bristles as more mories flicker like film reels. Her voice carries that sa poised warmth as Aunt Elizabeth’s, and like the latter, it also hides sothing underneath.
I hug my robe tighter and continue to stare at her, speechless. She studies in turn, eyes sweeping over my face.
"I had to see for myself if the rumors were true." Her gaze softens but I still don’t drop my guard. "I didn’t co to fight, Demi. There’s been enough of that in the family." She flashes her hands. "I am here to make ands... for the wrong you suffered under my roof."
Standing there, she’s the epito of peace if it ever wore designer clothing but I say nothing in reply. Honestly, my brain’s fogged up. I don’t know if I can trust this woman’s words. My silence unsettles her; she fidgets with her clutch before trying again.
"Do you rember the first thing you asked when you beca my daughter-in-law?"
I stare at her, my heart pounding. I know exactly what she’s trying to do. She’s trying to fish for cracks in my mory. Before I can respond, a firm hand slides over her shoulder, moving her aside.
"Ashton," she breathes, startled by his sudden appearance.
My breath catches in my throat as his dark curls bounce with every crane of his neck. He stands behind his mother with a grim expression, and his jaw drawn tight. In his eyes, restrained anger simrs just beneath. Lucien is with him, hands casually in his pockets, though his eyes flicker toward in quiet concern.
The latter walks up to and gently guides gently inside but I struggle to tear my eyes off Ashton. He says nothing to . Even his eyes are hard to read. He just turns to his mother, takes her arm, and leads her away from the door. Their conversation by her car and her n is hushed but Ashton’s temper is definitely frayed. It’s the kind of tone a man uses when his patience has run out.
For the first ti, I wonder what she’s done to make him so angry. Is it her boldness in visiting ?
So far, my mories of Elizabeth Rollins stop at the mont she told to fake a pregnancy for Ashley and raise his child with his side chick for the sake of the family. The humiliation of that mory burns so fresh that my eyes sting. I blink quickly, brushing at the tears before they fall. Lucien notices anyway.
"Are you all right?" he asks quietly. His voice is steady.
"I’m fine," I lie. "How co you arrived with Ashton? I didn’t know you two were... cordial."
"We’re not. We just happen to have a mutual goal."
Before I can ask what he ans, the door opens again. Ashton steps inside, his expression softened but still shadowed by annoyance. He ambles towards .
"I’m sorry about my mother. She shouldn’t have shown up here."
"It’s fine, Ashton" I murmur. "I’m fine."
He looks past briefly to Lucien. "Can you give us a mont? I need to talk to Demi alone."
I stiffen. Alone? I’m not sure I am comfortable with that just yet, not with the awkwardness of our last call looming in my head or the anxiety caused by hiding my regained mories. One look at Lucien tells I can’t count on him to range between Ashton and I. Lucien gives a reassuring nod before stepping out.
Great. The one ti I need him to stick to character, he breaks it. The air feels heavier once he’s gone, with Ashton staring deeply at . I shift uncomfortably, suddenly feeling naked under the robe.
"Ashton, I have an appointnt I can’t be late for," I say quickly, retreating into the bedroom. "I need to get dressed."
Contrary to my hope, he follows, cautiously. "I take it you’re still upset about our last call."
"I’m not," I cut him off. "You don’t owe any explanations about your personal life. How many tis do I have to repeat myself?" When I whip my head, he looks like I’ve struck him. I grab my robe and instantly, he excuses himself.
"Demi, I’ve got to tell you sothing. I don’t want you to get scared or anything but there’s been a leak," he says from behind the door. "The dia knows about your mory loss and typically, it’s making blog headlines. I thought it’d be better if you maybe left Danvarr for a few days. I’ll talk to your uncle—"
He trails off in surprise as I swing the door open. "I’m not leaving," I tell him flatly. "I’m sick of everyone deciding what’s best for . If I have to go anywhere, it’ll be on my own terms."
He runs a hand through his hair, exasperated. "You might not rember how an and nasty the dia can get, Demi, but you’ve been through this before. Every ti they caught wind of anything on our family..." He sighs deeply. "I don’t want you getting hurt."
"I can handle dia gossip," I interrupt. I recall nothing of the period he is referring to but I know I am tough as nails. How hard can it be?
"Demi..."
"And if it gets too much for , I’ll tell you but I’m not running away."
He looks at , his eyes burning with sothing between admiration and desperation. It takes a minute to realize I am holding his hand. Wincing, I pull back. Before he can speak, Lucien reappears and gives us a cool look.
"Ashton’s right, Demi."
"What?" I can’t believe they are actually agreeing on sothing.
"Think of it as a mini break, not an escape. It’ll help with your recovery."
I shake my head. "A little dia blizzard won’t kill ."
Then, before either of them can argue, I raise a finger signaling the end of the conversation. "I’m eting a friend for dinner and I can’t be late. Thank you both for your concern but I’ll survive." With that, I return to the bedroom to finish dressing.
***
When I step out, sothing flutters in my belly at the sight of Ashton reclined on the sofa. He’s still here? He leaps to his feet and takes a long look at , the kind that can make a woman feel hot all over.
"Uhm, where’s Lucien?"
"He left at my behest. I’ll drive you." He replies authoritatively with a sexy finality to it that makes forget to protest.
The car ride is quiet, save for a soft lodious music being played at a low volu. I sit with my arms crossed, eyes glued to the window as the city slides past in streaks of gray. I just can’t help but wonder what Ashton could have said to Lucien to make the latter ditch for the night.
I can’t say I hate Ashton’s company; I just feel a little weird being alone with him especially with most of our old mories fresh on my mind. He tries to make small talk by asking about Anna, about my recovery but all I can give are one-word replies, because I am too scared to give away any clue that my mories are back.
He sighs softly. I can feel his eyes on , but I refuse to et them. When we pull up outside the restaurant, I thank him curtly and step out but he doesn’t drive away. He insists on walking to the door but I decline.
"What’s wrong? You don’t want your date seeing you arrive with another man?" Though he has a silly grin on his face, I get his underlying question. He’s trying his best to know the gender of my ’friend’.
"Exactly." I affirm to his horror. "I don’t think my date would like that." I find it comical to play him until I see the change in his deanor. Too late. I thank him once again and continue to the restaurant, half hoping that he’s matured enough to not take it personally.
Inside, I wait for Naomi. Ten minutes turn to thirty, and then a whole hour goes by but she doesn’t show. I leave her several texts and even call her twice but no single reply.
The embarrassnt creeps up slowly like heat beneath my skin as the waiters frequent my table to ask for my order. People co and go but I remain, fidgeting as so stares deepen, like they know . Annoyed and fed up, I finally stand to leave with my tail between my legs but a familiar voice stops .
"Mind if I join you?"
Ashton stands in the doorway, hands in his pockets, wearing a small hesitant smile that starts to undo .
"It doesn’t have to be a date," he adds quickly. "Even if you are dressed like you just stepped out of a dream."
I blink at him, startled. I hadn’t dressed up for anyone—just a soft beige dress that cinches at the waist, a cream shawl, and the gold earrings Anna let borrow. It’s simple but he looks at like I’m sunlight after a storm.
He sits before I can protest, and waves the waiter over.
"I didn’t leave," he admits. "I was waiting outside. Thought you might need company."
I roll my eyes but my chest feels warr than I want to admit. I guess he gets to have his lick back by enjoying the fact that I got stood up. Thankfully, he spares further embarrassnt by not bringing it up. Actually, that lasts about ten seconds before all eyes start drifting to our table.
"Ignore them." He lays a gentle hand on my shaking ones.
"You get this a lot?" I ask, then suddenly get overwheld by the flooding mories. Of course he does. He’s Ashton Rollins. His face is a headline waiting to be written. Demi might be old news but paired with a face like his, I see why the caras would be out. People want to have a headstart on new rumors.
Halfway through our al, Ashton leans back and stares at . "Let’s start over."
I raise an eyebrow. "Start over?"
He nods, smiling faintly. "Hi, I’m Ashton Rollins. One-fourth of a chaotic family empire. I have trust issues, a short fuse, and a terrible sense of timing but I’m learning." His tone is hopeful and there’s softness behind it that weakens my defenses.
I can’t help laughing. The sound surprises . It feels strange but good.
"Your turn," he says.
I play along. "Hi, I’m Demi. I’m... still figuring out who I am. I make bad coffee but great excuses. Also, I’m trying to rember how to breathe when life keeps throwing curveballs."
"Nice to et you, Demi," he says quietly and my heart aches at the sincerity in his voice.
Then the flash of a cara interrupts the mont. One, two, and a dozen. The hum of whispers turns into a wave of noise; paparazzi, their flashes slicing through the glass. Ashton’s face hardens. He ignores the waiters apologizing for the interruption and takes my hand, pulling toward the door. Outside, voices swarm us.
"Demi! Is it true you lost your mory?"
"Are you back with the wrong brother?"
"Ashton, care to comnt on the affair rumors?"
Ashton shields with his body, pushing through the chaos until we reach the car. My pulse pounds in my ears as we drive away, the city lights blurring behind the raindrops beginning to fall.
"I’m sorry," he says finally with his voice low. "You didn’t deserve that. You’d have peace if you’d never t my family."
I stare out the window, saying nothing. The rain starts to pour, tapping against the windshield in relentless rhythm. And instantly, I feel it—the tightness, panic, and one particular familiar mory flickering too vividly.
My hands begin to shake. Ashton notices imdiately.
"Demi?" He pulls over, worry etched across his face. "Hey, what’s wrong?"
"I’m fine," I whisper, but my breath trembles. God. Just drive! Don’t stop in the rain and make it worse, I silently pray.
He leans closer, searching my face and the closeness...God, his scent, the rain, the dimness of the street light all hit like a tidal wave of déjà vu.
It’s the sa setting...like the first ti we...
My breath catches as his hand cups my cheek.
"Demi? Talk to . Are you okay?"
I let out a low gasp, and that’s when he sees it in my eyes—the recognition, the heat. Slowly and deliberately, he moves to tuck a strand of hair off my sweaty face, behind my ear. His thumb grazes my cheek again. Then, almost without thought, his lips find mine.
It’s soft at first, a little hesitant even. Against my better judgnt, I cave in. Ashton pours himself into the kiss too and suddenly, I’m trembling for all the wrong reasons.
When he pulls back, he’s studying my face, eyes searching mine.
"Feels familiar, doesn’t it?" he murmurs, his breath ghosting against my lips.
I swallow hard, my heart hamring. I can’t speak or look at him. This feels painfully familiar.
His hand finds my chin and gently, he turns my face toward his.
"Tell ," he whispers, "Tell you rember..."
Reviews
All reviews (0)