The Wife He Couldn't Forget - Yvonne Lindsay

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those featherlight kisses on his forehead.

      “I made spaghetti Bolognese, your favorite.”

      She helped him stand and they walked arm in arm into the dining room. It looked vastly different from the drop-cloth-covered space he remembered. He looked up at the antique painted glass and polished brass library lamp that was suspended from the ceiling.

      “I see you got your way on the prisms,” he commented as he took his seat.

      “Not without a battle. I had to concede to the ugliest partner desk in all history for the study upstairs to get this,” she said with a laugh.

      He smiled in response. There it was. The laugh he felt had been missing from his life for so long. Odd, when it had only been nine weeks since his accident. It felt so much longer.

      After dinner Xander propped himself against the kitchen counter while Olivia cleaned up. He tried to help, but after a plate slipped from his fingers and shattered on the tile floor, he retreated in exasperation to the sidelines to watch.

      “Stop pushing yourself,” Olivia admonished as she swept up the last of the splinters of china on the floor with a dustpan and brush.

      “I can’t help it. I want to be my old self again.”

      She straightened up from depositing the mess in the kitchen trash bin. “You are your old self—don’t worry so much.”

      “With Swiss cheese for brains,” he grumbled.

      “Like I said before, we can plug those holes with new memories, Xander. We don’t have to live in the past.”

      Her words had a poignant ring to them, and he felt as if she wanted to say more. Instead, she continued tidying up. When she was done, she looked at him with a weary smile. Instantly he felt guilty. She’d been doing a lot of driving back and forth from here to the hospital and helping when she could with his physical therapy. And he knew that when she was painting, she’d often work late into the night without eating or taking a break. Why hadn’t he noticed the bluish bruises of exhaustion under her eyes? Silently he cursed his weakness and his part in putting those marks there.

      “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for an early night,” Olivia said with a barely stifled yawn.

      “I thought you’d never ask,” he teased.

      Together, they ascended to the next floor, too slowly for Xander’s liking but an unfortunate necessity as his tiredness played havoc with his coordination.

      “Did we change bedrooms?” he asked as Olivia led him to the guest room at the top of the stairs.

      “No,” she answered, a little breathlessly. “I thought you’d be more comfortable in here. I’ve become a restless sleeper, and I don’t want to disturb you.”

      “Livvy, I’ve been sleeping too long without you already. I’m home now. We’re sleeping in the same bed.”

       Four

      Sleep in the same bed?

      Olivia froze in the doorway of the guest bedroom and watched as Xander made his way carefully down the hall to the master suite. She followed, then halted again as she watched Xander strip off his clothes and tumble, naked, into the side of the bed that had always been his. He was asleep in seconds. She watched him for a full five minutes, unsure of what to do. In the end, she grabbed her nightgown from under her pillow and slipped into the en suite bathroom to get ready for bed. By the time she’d washed her face and brushed her teeth her heart was pounding a million miles a minute.

      He’d done so many things automatically in the few short hours since they’d returned to the house. It had been reassuring and frightening at the same time. It showed the damage from his injury hadn’t destroyed everything in his mind, but it certainly raised questions, for her at least, about how long she’d have before he might remember everything.

      Olivia gingerly slid under the bedsheets, trying not to disturb Xander, and rolled onto her side—taking care to stay well clear of him—so she could watch him sleep. She listened to one long deep breath after another, finding it hard to believe he was actually here. His breathing pattern changed, and he suddenly rolled over to face her.

      “What are you doing all the way over there on the edge? I’ve missed you next to me long enough already.” His voice was thick with sleep; he reached an arm around her to pull her toward him and snuggled her into his bare chest. “You can touch me. I’m not made of spun glass, you know.”

      And with that, he was asleep again.

      Olivia could barely draw a breath. Every cell in her body urged her to allow her body to sink into his, to let herself soak up his warmth, his comfort. He felt so familiar and yet different at the same time. But the steady heartbeat beneath her ear was the same. And, right now, that heart beat for her. How could she not simply relish the moment, take pleasure in it, accept it for what it was worth?

      Gold. Spun gold. Jewels beyond compare.

      How many achingly lonely nights had she lain here in this very bed since he left her? Made futile wish after wish that they could lie here together, just like this, again? Far, far too many. And now, here he was. All her dreams come true, on the surface at least.

      They said you couldn’t turn back time, but isn’t that effectively what his accident had done?

      She sighed and relaxed a little. The moment she did so her mind began to work overtime. If his memory came back, would he forgive her this deception? Could he? She’d basically kidnapped him from the life he’d been leading before the accident. Brought him here to resume a life he’d chosen to leave behind.

      She’d never been a deceitful person, and now it felt as if a giant weight hovered above her, held back by nothing more than a slowly fraying thread. One wrong step and she would be crushed; she knew it. Doing this, bringing him home, acting as if nothing bad had ever happened to them? It was all a lie. She felt it was worth telling—would he feel the same way? Only time would tell.

      Olivia drew in a deep breath through her nose, her senses responding to the familiar scent of the man she’d already lost once in her life. She wasn’t prepared to lose him again. She had to fight with all her might this time. Somehow she had to make this work.

      She shifted a little and felt Xander’s arm close more tightly around her, as if now he had her in his arms he wouldn’t let her go, either. It gave her hope. Tentative, fragile hope, but hope nonetheless. If, in his subconscious mind, he could hold her like this, then maybe, just maybe, he could love her again, too.

      * * *

      Olivia woke to an empty bed in the morning and the sight of Xander standing naked in front of their wardrobe with the doors spread wide-open.

      “Xander?” she asked sleepily. “You okay?”

      “Where are my clothes?” he asked, still searching through the rails and the built-in drawers.

      “I put them in the spare room when I thought you’d be convalescing there.”

      He made a sound of disgust. “Convalescing is for invalids. I’m not an invalid.”

      Olivia sat up and dropped her legs over the edge of the bed. “I know you’re not,” she said patiently. “But you aren’t at full strength, either. What is it that you want? I’ll see if I can find it for you.”

      At least she hoped she’d be able to find it for him. She hadn’t brought everything of his from the apartment. What if he had something he particularly wanted to wear and she’d left it behind? Now he was home it would be a lot harder to go back to his apartment and get more of his things. She castigated herself for not thinking about that sooner.

      “I want my old uni sweatshirt and a pair of Levi’s,” Xander said, turning around.

      Olivia’s

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