Reunited by Their Pregnancy Surprise Read online

  Sam tried to think hard. To force memories to the surface. But he couldn’t. It was as if there was a thick wall in his head, blocking them, and no matter how hard he pounded against it, no matter how ferociously he yelled at it and fought to knock it down, it resolutely remained.

  ‘Then where?’

  ‘We have a house in Beverly Hills now. You found it for us. It’s white. Very neo-classical—columns, balconies, topiaries, big doors…that sort of thing.’

  He tried to imagine it, but was more concerned with the way she’d described it. ‘You don’t seem to like it.’

  ‘I do. It’s just…’ She paused for a moment, looking down at the cover on his bed and straightening out a ripple on the surface. ‘I guess we haven’t made it ours yet.’ She smiled weakly, but then stood up and tried to become more upbeat. ‘But look at you! Only woke yesterday and already you’re pounding the floors of the hospital!’

  He could tell she wasn’t telling him everything. Did she not like their home? Was it a place that he’d liked and pushed her into buying? There was something…

  But he dismissed it quickly as he thought of his triumph without the walker and stood up again, pulling her into his arms, searching her gorgeous blue-green eyes for that quirky happy girl he knew so well.

  ‘I’ve missed you.’

  She wrapped her arms around his waist hesitantly, as if it was something she hadn’t done in a long time, as if she was trying not to make it seem like she was pulling away.

  But why would that be? They’d only been married a short time—surely they were still very physical?

  ‘Kiss me.’

  ‘Sam! The physio said you should be resting. You need to get back into bed!’

  ‘And I will! But only if my wife joins me.’ Sam tilted her chin up and showed her a cheeky grin before he brought his lips to hers.

  The last time he’d kissed her had been… Well, just after she’d accepted his proposal. In his mind, anyway. And he was still full of that celebratory need to show her how much he loved her, despite all that had happened—the car crash, the pregnancy, the head injury, the amnesia. As far as he knew he’d only just slipped that ring onto her finger and he was feeling full to the brim with happiness.

  However…

  They were married. And expecting a baby. So surely they had to be getting along. And, despite his trepidation, his fears and his doubts, there was one thing clear in his mind. His love for Emily. And right now he felt that he needed her. The last few hours had been a lot to take in. To believe he had lost two whole years of his life was…mind-blowing. His pet project—his dream—the Monterey Birth Centre had opened and begun trading all without his knowledge.

  Okay, so technically he’d been there. He’d orchestrated it, arranged it, even shown up to work there, apparently, but that was just what Emily had told him had happened. As far as he was concerned it still hadn’t happened, and whilst he was stuck in this hospital life would continue to carry on without him. He needed to get home. Needed to see the Monterey in action. Needed to think about how he and Emily would tackle their new challenges.

  He pulled back and looked into his wife’s eyes. ‘I can’t wait to get home.’

  She seemed breathless, her eyes glazed. ‘Me too.’

  *

  It took two weeks before the hospital was even prepared to consider releasing Sam. In that time he received lots of welcome visitors—Emily, his parents, his siblings, some colleagues that, to him, were still relative strangers. Those visits were weird. He underwent a barrage of assessments—physiological, neurological, biological. He felt like every part of him had been poked and prodded or had blood drawn from it, and when that wasn’t happening he had visits from occupational therapists, psychologists, neurologists and the surgical team, who’d given him the low-down on his small procedure.

  Most importantly, throughout it all, he had remained stable and his observations had been normal. He was ready now. Anxious to leave the hospital walls and get home. Desperate to get back and see if being there would spark anything.

  No memories had yet returned, despite Em’s frequent visits with accompanying photos and videos of their wedding and the opening of the Monterey. She’d been so keen to show him what they had done. What they had enjoyed. But it had been like looking at photos of a stranger, even though he was in them. It had left him feeling disconcerted. As if he was in a strange bubble.

  The waiting to leave hospital was more than a little infuriating, and over the last few days he’d found himself snapping at various people. The psychology team had reassured him and Emily that this was normal, as he adjusted to his new self and situation, and offered to assess him every month, for as long as he felt the need to talk about it. Mood swings, apparently, were to be expected.

  He wasn’t sure he did want to talk about it. Not to them, anyway. They’d already cottoned on to the fact that he didn’t seem delighted at the idea of becoming a father, and he’d grown to hate his sessions with them, knowing that they would return to the questions he dreaded. He’d even tried sharing his frustration with Emily, but it seemed as if she didn’t know anything about Serena.

  Was that possible? That they’d been married for eighteen months and he hadn’t told her? That had kept him silent on all fronts and contributed to his anger.

  So he was particularly pleased that today the doctors had finally decided that he could return home—with the understanding that he wasn’t to work for a further three months.

  ‘But I can go in and look around? Get familiar with what’s going on?’ he’d asked.

  ‘Sure. But no working. You won’t be covered insurance-wise.’

  And with that dire warning they’d left his bedside.

  And now Emily was at his side in the car, driving them home.

  She seemed really nervous. Edgy. Fidgety. But he put that down to the fact that for the last few weeks the hospital staff had been around to look after him and make sure he was recovering properly. Now that safety barrier would be gone and it would just be down to the two of them.

  Well…nearly three of them.

  Sam swallowed and tried not to think of the baby. Emily was nearly eleven weeks now, and apparently she was booked in for a scan in a few days. He would have to go with her. Act the dutiful husband and hold her hand if she’d let him—he’d noticed a curious reluctance and hesitation on Emily’s part to be physical with him—whilst they squeezed on that cold blue gel and then smile inanely at the images on screen.

  He so wanted to be happy about this. And a part of him was. But whenever he thought about them having a baby he pictured his baby sister Serena and what had happened to her when he’d been left in charge…

  A car horn sounded, pulling him back to reality, and he flinched, looking across at his wife driving the car.

  ‘Aren’t you scared?’

  ‘Of what?’

  He wanted to know if she was afraid of becoming a parent. It had to be a big deal for anyone, right? But something stopped him from asking that particular question.

  ‘Driving. After the accident…’

  She shook her head, her honey-blonde hair shifting around her shoulders like velvet. ‘I was. Not now. But I’m being very careful. We can’t just stop doing things because they make us afraid.’

  Depends what worries you.

  He smiled and glanced out at the streams of traffic. He knew this road. Knew this area. But he had no idea where they were headed except for the fact that Emily was taking them home.

  Home. Would he recognise it? Would it spark a memory? Something—even if it was a little blurry? The doctors at the hospital had told them both that the memories might return, and that they might either come all at once or he’d experience the odd one or two at strange moments, in totally unexpected ways.

  Brains were mysterious creatures.

  Pulling off the freeway, Emily took a slip road and drove for a few more miles through beautiful streets lined with lush green trees and neat sid
ewalks. He saw a young woman walking a poodle that had been groomed to within an inch of its life, trotting along like a dressage horse. He saw beautiful properties, secure within their walls and at the end of long driveways, as they drove on beneath the heat of the sun in their dark saloon car, and then suddenly they were slowing and turning into a driveway.

  He looked up.

  A majestic house sat before him. Perfectly white, it glimmered in the midday heat against the glorious blue sky backdrop. It looked palatial. Like something fit for a film star or a minor member of royalty.

  This is ours?

  He tried to picture himself wanting to buy this and could see its perks. It was prestigious, and screamed quality, with tall oak front doors and what seemed like hundreds of windows flashing reflections of the sun into his eyes as they approached up the long, smooth driveway. It was very different from his childhood home.

  As they neared, he saw grey clothed staff come near the car and open their car doors.

  ‘Welcome back, Mr Saint! So good to see you up and about.’

  He smiled at faces he didn’t know and stepped out, looking around him. Emily appeared to be much more comfortable with her surroundings than he did, and she quickly indicated to the staff to take their bags from the trunk.

  The bags were quickly hurried inside as Sam looked about him at the gardens, which were lush with green leafy trees and all-white flowers and blooms. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘You picked it. Don’t you remember?’

  He heard the trepidation in her voice. The hope that he would remember. He hated disappointing her. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t.’

  He needed control of his life back. Something he hadn’t had whilst he’d been stuck in a hospital bed as a passive observer.

  ‘Let’s go in. All your things are inside—there might be something…’

  Something about the way her voice sounded made him look at her in question. Was it just the amnesia that was making him feel…? I’m in the dark…

  It was a weird sensation, but the doctors had told him he would feel like this. That he was not to ponder on it, or worry about it, that it was normal. It was probably just him being over-sensitive right now.

  Shrugging it off, he took her hand and clasped it tightly, kissing the back of it. Then he smiled at her and nodded. ‘Let’s do it.’

  And they walked inside.

  Sam had imagined that this would be a moment. A moment when a flood of memories would assail him. He would spot something—a chair, a table, a painting or piece of art, perhaps—that would ignite a memory that had lain dormant and hidden behind the wall.

  But, looking around him, he felt—and remembered—nothing. He tried not to be too disappointed. But it was hard. He’d told himself in the hospital that when he got home he would remember. That walking through the door into familiar surroundings would give his brain the nudge it needed to start releasing the information he craved.

  The fact that his brain was failing him—that his memories were refusing to leap to the surface of his mind—frustrated him. He was a man who had always been perfectly in control of everything, and the fact that he couldn’t even force his own brain to do something made him feel angry inside.

  Emily let go of his hand and stepped away from him to lay her bag and keys down on a table. ‘Anything?’

  Gritting his teeth, he shook his head, trying not to be angry with himself. ‘No.’

  She stared at him for a while. ‘Don’t worry. Something will trigger it. I’ll show you around.’

  And she took him from room to room. Sitting room, dining room, library, study, kitchen, utility, staff quarters, the guest bedrooms, the bathrooms, shower rooms, games room… Even all the storage rooms and up into the roof space, which had been converted into yet another guest room. They were all beautiful. Elegantly designed. Minimalist. Expensive and sumptuous.

  Remembered?

  Not at all.

  All the belongings, all the possessions that Emily pointed out, convinced he would remember, meant nothing. He felt nothing.

  A simmering rage bubbled away beneath the surface of his neutral face. And for some reason he felt anger towards Emily. As if it was somehow her fault that he couldn’t remember. He knew it wasn’t. It was just because she was the closest person to him and he so desperately wanted to remember for her delight. Her joy. Plus, it would also prove to him that he could somehow conquer the two years that had been taken from him. Two years of missed birthdays and celebrations. All of it. He could somehow claim it back.

  There had to be something. Something that would bring back who he was. All that he had lost and then, hopefully, somehow he would have the strength to tackle the next great challenge that awaited them both.

  Awaited him.

  Because how could he be a father when he couldn’t even remember creating their child?

  ‘And this…’

  Emily swept another door open. Another opportunity for his mind to let him down. He wasn’t sure he wanted to look—wasn’t sure he wanted to face that part of himself again—but he did, because Emily was being so supportive.

  ‘…is the master bedroom. Our room.’

  He stepped in, his gaze instantly drawn to the large king-sized bed in the centre, a mix of blindingly white bedding with gold-accented cushions. There were so many of them! Did they have to throw them all off the bed to get—?

  Emily pinned to the bed, gazing up at him, smiling wickedly, her hair spread out in wild abandon across the gold cushions, the tassels weaving into her hair, making it seem as if she had strands of pure gold in it. His lips trailing down her neck, feather-light, her laughter, her—

  The sudden onslaught of memory caused Sam to reach out a hand to steady himself.

  ‘Sam—you okay?’ She caught up to him and laid a hand upon his arm, her face full of concern.

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine, I—’

  A gold cushion being thrown at his chest from across the room. Emily growling with irritation, stalking away from him, yanking the bedroom door open so hard it left a small dent in the wall. ‘I hate you!’

  Sam blinked and looked behind him. At the wall. There was a small dent.

  ‘Sam? Have you remembered something?’

  He met her gaze. ‘You were angry with me.’

  She blanched. ‘What?’

  ‘In this room—you threw a cushion at me…one of those off the bed. I was over here.’ He stepped over to the part of the room that he’d seen in his memory. ‘You threw it and you stormed out of the door and yelled from the corridor that you hated me.’

  Emily looked awkwardly at the floor and he could see that she was biting her lip.

  What had happened to make her say she hated him? She hadn’t said he annoyed her, or irritated her, she hadn’t said, I really don’t like you sometimes, Sam. She’d said ‘hate’.

  What had they been arguing about? Had he done something wrong? Had she? ‘What was that about?’

  She grimaced. ‘I’m not sure.’

  He pictured the look on her face as she’d stormed away. ‘You seemed pretty serious.’

  Emily swallowed and sat down on the edge of the bed, fidgeting nervously. She patted the bedspread beside her and he sat down, waiting for her explanation.

  ‘Things have been…tense sometimes.’

  ‘Sometimes?’

  ‘A lot.’

  She seemed embarrassed to say it. As if she was letting him down by telling him this. But even though it was hurtful to hear he’d rather have the truth.

  ‘What about?’

  She sighed and her shoulders sagged. ‘Family stuff. We had got to a point where we were hardly talking. When we did, we argued. Over and over again.’

  ‘We were that bad?’ He hated to ask, but Emily wasn’t making it sound as if things had been good between them.

  ‘We crashed the car arguing.’

  He stared hard at the floor. ‘God, Em, I’m really sorry.’

  He felt the distance bet
ween them then. Even though they were next to each other on the bed she wasn’t leaning into him for comfort—she wasn’t seeking his support. She was stiff and straight beside him, eyes downcast.

  How had things got so bad between them, so quickly? Was this why she looked startled each time he tried to hold her hand or kiss her?

  ‘At least you remembered something…’ she muttered.

  He stared at the pristine white carpet on the floor. ‘Yeah. I guess I did.’

  *

  Emily led Sam into his private office, hoping that this room above all others would mean something to her husband.

  This was such a weird situation for them both. She knew this man. And yet because he couldn’t remember the last two years it felt to her, in a way, that she was leading a stranger around their house. Seeing the way he looked at things in wonder and surprise, seeing things familiar to her but brand-new to him.

  Hadn’t he stood in this very doorway and kissed her? Hadn’t he sat at this desk for many hours, talking on the phone, arranging galas and press nights for the Monterey? Hadn’t they had one of their worst arguments in here? Leading to the first time Sam had stormed from the house, tearing down the driveway in the car so hard he’d left tyre marks?

  He’d had a memory come back. A bad one. It was a scary sign. Good that he was remembering, but bad because of what it might mean for their relationship now.

  It was clear that their problems weren’t just going to disappear, the way his memories had. Whether he remembered their issues or not, Sam was still the same man and she needed to remember that. The issue here wasn’t just the amnesia. They still had the problems of their marriage to solve, and if they were going to do that then they would have to start communicating and working together. Something they hadn’t done for a long time.

  She watched as he entered, noting the way his fingers trailed over the large glass-topped desk, the way he picked up the Murano glass paperweight that they’d bought in Paris, the way he stared hard at the picture of himself and Emily standing in front of the Monterey on the day of its Grand Opening. Their smiling faces, the green-garbed staff standing behind them, all with their hands in the air cheering.