‘I missed you, Carlotta.’ Her stomach tightened at the pet name only he used, a nod to his Italian DNA. ‘I know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, but…’
Wait? What? ‘Wedding?’ she whispered and his face twisted in confusion.
‘How long have I been here? We didn’t have to cancel, did we?’
‘But Matteo, the wedding was nearly a year ago. We’re already married!’ And about to get divorced, she nearly added, but stopped as she saw the shock on his face. ‘Don’t you remember?’
* * *
Matteo Harrington scowled at the determinedly pleasant doctor. ‘I know who the Prime Minister is and I can count to ten. There’s nothing wrong with me. I am just missing a few memories, that’s all.’
A few crucial memories. Like getting married. Like being married. How could it be June already? Over a year since he had swept Charlie off her feet. He’d known the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. They’d known. Even though the vivacious girl in her bright clothes and the rainbow stripes in her hair was completely unlike his usual type, she’d felt like coming home, warming him with her smile and enthusiasm for life, and by some miracle she felt the same way. Matteo had never believed in fate before.
But he couldn’t remember a thing about their marriage. Not how Charlie had looked as she’d walked down the aisle, about the small, intimate reception at her local pub, attended by just a few close friends and her grandmother and cousin. Not the honeymoon…
A man should remember his honeymoon!
‘What happens now?’ Charlie asked, her face white, lips bloodless no matter how much she worried her usually lush bottom lip. ‘Will he get his memories back?’
The doctor sighed. ‘Amnesia is a lot rarer than the soaps would have you believe and every case is individual. In time, yes, most localised amnesia like this does resolve itself and I see no reason why this won’t—but there are no guarantees.’
‘So he may never remember?’ Charlie whispered, even paler if such a thing was possible.
‘It’s unlikely but can’t be discounted. More worryingly, Mr Harrington has suffered a severe concussion, no doubt a contributory factor, and the combination of the two means he needs to be kept quiet and allowed time to recover. No work, no sudden shocks. Peace and quiet is my prescription. Let his memory return in its own time.’
‘No sudden shocks…’ Charlie repeated, her voice pensive, but Matteo didn’t have time to dwell on why that particular instruction had struck her; instead he homed in on the most important part.
‘No work? Impossible. I’m the deputy CEO of Harrington Industries, Dr Lewis, I can’t just rest and leave it to look after itself.’
‘You want to get better? Then no emails, no work calls, no contracts. I suggest seclusion and no distractions until the concussion is healed. Longer. Give those memories a chance to come back on their own. My very strong recommendation is that you go on holiday. Take it easy. Or you might make things a lot worse.’
‘Impossible,’ he said flatly. ‘I will, of course, try and cut down, but…’
He stopped as Charlie took his hand in hers, her fingers sliding through his. ‘Matteo, you nearly died.’ He could hear the wobble in her voice and hated that he was responsible for it. ‘If the knock had been just an inch, less than an inch…’ She paused and swallowed. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Listen, for once. There are things more important than work. You are more important.’
The echo of her ‘for once’ reverberated around his aching head, as if he had heard those words before. He shot a keen look at his wife. There was so much about her, about his marriage, he didn’t know and the enormity of that struck him. He was always in control, always knew exactly what he wanted, when and how. This accident hadn’t just physically weakened him; the loss of his memory had put him on the back foot, an intolerable situation. Returning to work, to order, would help him regain that control.
But then Matteo saw the tears brimming in Charlie’s eyes and his conscience stirred. He looked up at the doctor. ‘How long?’
‘For you to stay quiet? At least two weeks. Allow your body, your brain some rest, Mr Harrington. Switch off and your memory will most likely return quite naturally. But push yourself too hard too soon?’ She shook her head. ‘My strong advice is don’t.’
He sighed. ‘Okay. You win. I’ll do my best to rest.’
He felt Charlie relax beside him, heard her gasp of relief. ‘Really?’
‘Will it make you happy, cara?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then let me discharge myself and we will head home. I think we’ve trespassed on the good doctor’s time long enough, don’t you?’ He started to pull himself to his feet, trying to hide his wince of pain as his broken ribs protested and his head swam.
‘I would prefer you to stay in overnight for observation,’ the doctor said and Charlie nodded.
‘Besides, Matteo, we need to figure out where is the best place for you to recover. I don’t think you should return to London. Far too tempting for you to start browsing the internet or watching the news and before you’d know it you’d be back at work.’
‘True,’ he conceded. ‘Your house—I mean, your grandmother’s?’ Because, of course, Charlie would long have left the quirky cottage to move in with him. To his surprise she firmly shook her head, her expression unreadable.
‘Too noisy. There’s building work going on.’ She chewed her lip again and then turned to the doctor. ‘Can he fly?’
‘It’s not advised, but a short distance should be fine. No reading, no looking at screens, no bright lights and if you can lie flat then that would be best.’
‘Then how about Italy? Matteo owns a villa overlooking Amalfi. Would that work?’
‘Amalfi?’ The doctor smiled. ‘I honeymooned on the Amalfi coast. I can’t imagine anywhere nicer to recuperate. As long as you take the journey
