After Hours (12 page)

More than an hour later, the two women sat in a private booth in one of the finest Caribbean restaurants in the area. The waiters and waitresses wore colorful outfits, and were extremely friendly, providing Amera and Susan with instant service the moment they sat down. The interior of the restaurant consisted of a mural that was painted on all four walls, depicting the ocean, palm trees and a setting sun. The surrounding helped calm some of Amera’s anxiety.

“So what can I do for you?” Susan asked.

Amera rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know how to ask you this.”

“Just say it fast.”

“Ineedyoutoshowmehowtobeawifeforafewdays.”

Susan blinked. “Okay, that was
too
fast. Try again just a little slower.”

Amera took a deep breath then said, “I need you to show me how to be a wife for a few days.”

“A wife?”

“Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but it’s something I have to do.”

“Why?”

“It’s for a good cause.”

“Charity?”

Amera tried not to laugh. Curtis certainly wouldn’t like to be considered a charity case. “Something like that.”

“It’s easy.”

“Not for me. I’ve never been in a relationship with a man, except for business, and I don’t know where to start.”

“What about the one person you loved?”

“That was different and a very long time ago,” Amera said, embarrassed that she’d even mentioned it.

“Well, first you have to know what kind of wife you want to be.”

Her eyes widened. “There are different types?”

“Of course. Women become wives for many different reasons. And marriages come in different flavors: open marriages, sexless marriages, childfree marriages...”

Amera thought for a moment then said, “I’m in a sexless marriage of convenience.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yes, why did you say yes? Then we’ll know the role you need to play. Is he a rich older man nearing his grave with adult children to contend with?”

“No, his father wants him to get married.”

“So, it’s for image?”

“Yes.”

“Then it shouldn’t be that hard. I’m sure he has staff that will keep their ears and mouths closed and you’ll just attend functions together. Smile, lightly touch his sleeve every once in a while, make him feel smart and successful.”

“But I don’t have to, he already is.”

“A man can never feel too successful.”

“But what do I do when I’m alone with him?”

Susan narrowed her eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Amera looked out the window and let her shoulders droop. She had to be honest. She turned back to Susan and said in matter of fact tone, “My boss suffered a major head trauma, and has some sort of amnesia and now thinks I’m his wife.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? Why doesn’t anybody see this as funny?”

“I think it’s kinda sweet.”

“Curtis Bishop is anything but sweet.”
Except when he kisses me, which shouldn’t have happened and I shouldn’t keep thinking about it.
“But he’s not himself, he keeps wanting to hold my hand,” Amera said determined not to tell her about the kiss. “Is that normal?”

“Depends on the man.”

“I’ve never seen him this way. Crystal, his ex-girlfriend, who was too afraid to even show up for his proposal, probably knows, but I can’t go to her. This is beyond my skill set, I don’t know what to call him. I’ve called him ‘sir’ for so many years that calling him ‘Curtis’ feels unnatural. The word gets caught in my throat. And I don’t know how to look at him

anymore or---”

“How long have you known him?”

“Five years.”

“What kind of wife do you see him with?”

“A cool, sophisticated beauty who travels a lot to keep as much distance from him as possible. They have separate beds and separate lives.”

Susan nodded. “Then be that woman.”

Yes, I could do that
, Amera thought feeling relieved. She was panicking for no reason. He didn’t need a lovey-dovey wife, just a showpiece. An accessory, available when necessary. He wouldn’t expect anything more. He wasn’t that kind of man. The man lying in the hospital bed with the vulnerable eyes and soft mouth was
not
Curtis, but a wounded man under heavy medication. Once he was out of the hospital, she knew what to do and she was ready for her new role.

***

Owen had to stop himself from whistling as he walked down the hospital corridor that night. A hospital was not the place to be in such a good mood, although the holiday lights and decorations seemed to glow even brighter. It was going to be fun to see what Amera would do. He glanced down at the pajamas Bishop had wanted, he could have had someone else send them, but he wanted to deliver them himself. Seeing Bishop this disoriented had become amusing.

Owen walked into Curtis’ room surprised to find the bed empty. Instead he found Curtis standing by the wall. “Are you sure you should be up?”

“I’m fine.”

“I came to drop off your things. Your wife will pick you up tomorrow.”

Curtis spun around, sending Owen a look that sent chills through him. “My what?”

“Your...wife,” Owen said, his voice involuntarily rising in a question.

Curtis frowned.

Owen softly swore, gripping his hands. “Your memory is back?”

“Not all of it, but I certainly remember I don’t have a wife.”

Owen took a step back. He had to call Amera right away and warn her.

“Wait,” Curtis demanded walking towards him. “That was real? It wasn’t just a dream?”

“What?” Owen asked taking another step back.

Curtis pointed to a chair. “Sit.”

Owen hurried over to the chair and sat.

Curtis folded his arms. “Brief me.”

“You have to understand that she did this because she was worried about you and at first--“

“Did I ask for a prologue? I said fill me in.”

“You woke up asking to see your wife, when you saw Amera you thought it was her so she decided to... you know...”

Curtis lay on the bed and clasped his hands behind his head. “Be my wife.”

“Yes.”

“Why is that so hard to say?”

Owen forced a laugh. “Because I know you’d never choose her.”

He let his arms fall. “Yet you went along with it.”

“For your sake.”

Curtis nodded. “What was your plan?”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“Tell me.”

“She’d take you home and help you rest until your memory returned.”

“Who else knows?”

“Just us. Your mother stayed with you the first night.”

Curtis stiffened. “My mother came? You told her?”

“She had a right to know--”

“She gave up her rights years ago. Who else did you invite to laugh over my body? My brother too?”

“We thought you might not make it.”

“Thought or hoped?”

Owen wisely ignored the question. “The moment you were conscious, they didn’t come back.”

“And my father?”

“We kept him abreast of your status.”

Curtis’ gaze sharpened. “Did you tell him that I thought Em was--”

“No,” Owen said quickly. “We knew you wouldn’t want him to know or anyone. I told you it was just us. We were thinking of your best interests.”

Curtis flashed a cruel smile. “You’re a terrible liar.” He pointed at him. “Mentally, I was as helpless as a lamb and you were ready to lead me to the slaughter.”

“No, she was--is--very worried about you and I wanted to help her.”

Curtis opened his mouth to make a caustic remark, when a series of memories flooded his senses. He remembered Amera trembling, the look of fear on her face, the tone of her voice as she described her blood soaked gloves that she’d pressed against his head. “Her umbrella.”

“What?”

The image of it came and went without revealing its significance. He gripped his hand into a fist. “There’s something important I have to remember.”

“Let me call Ms. Thurston and tell her that--”

“No. Don’t tell her anything.”

“But--”

Curtis squeezed his eyes shut and swore.
I have to keep her safe.
“I have my reasons.”

Owen nodded slowly, clearly concerned about Curtis’ sanity.

Curtis tapped the side of his head. “There’s something about that night that’s trapped in my mind, but I can’t reach it. She’s the key to something important, but I don’t know what.”

“But couldn’t you just tell her--”

“No,” Curtis said, in no mood to explain himself. He didn’t like feeling inadequate. He didn’t like not having the answers. He pulled on his lower lip then stopped, the memory of a kiss coming back to him. The feel of Amera’s warm, wet mouth pressed against his. The scent of her skin, a feeling of possessiveness consuming him. Had he really liked it that much or had he just imagined liking it? He’d have to find out.

Owen shook his head. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

It’s all I can think of.
“It’s just for a few days. You work with her and make this charade work and let me worry about the rest. Make her job as seamless as possible.”

“What about your father?”

“I’ll deal with him when the time comes. I’m trusting you to keep this between us.”

“Right.”

“I don’t want you to warn her in away. I’ll know if she’s changed.”

“Right.”

“Because if you do tell her, I’ll redefine the word bastard in ways you could never imagine.”

***

Owen set his glass on his coffee table, while the melodic voice of Judy Garland singing “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” floated through the room. He sniffed at the irony of her words. This was going to be the worst Christmas ever. He shifted his gaze to the bottle of Scotch he’d almost depleted and rubbed his blurry eyes, feeling miserable. He hadn’t been able to sleep. Amera was in danger and there was nothing he could do about it. It was all his fault. He never should have encouraged her to pretend to be Bishop’s wife. Now he couldn’t even warn her. She’d thought she’d be able to manipulate him and instead she was the one being manipulated.

Owen lifted the Scotch bottle to pour himself another glass then stopped as a thought struck him. Unless
he
was the one being manipulated. He set the bottle down, his fuzzy thoughts slowly becoming clear. What if this was all just a cover-up? Bishop had truly sounded worried about her. Bishop never worried about anybody. And his response had been strange when Owen mentioned that Bishop would never have chosen her as a wife. He drummed his fingers on his knee. There was something going on between them. There had to be. He’d seen them in the office--the lowered voices and hushed tones, the secret guarded looks.

He snapped his fingers. Yes, there was definitely something there. Maybe Bishop had let the truth slip and now was trying to cover it up by lying. Bishop didn’t want his father to know, that definitely meant he was protecting Amera from something. Bishop only protected things that were important to him. Owen sighed then smiled, feeling his misery disappear. A secret romance. That’s what they were trying to hide. He didn’t have to worry about Amera anymore, she would be okay. He’d help them both with their little charade until they were ready to let everyone else know the truth. He was a sucker for a happy ending.

Owen lifted his glass as if offering a toast. “Don’t worry you two. Your secret’s safe with me.”

This was going to be easy, Amera thought as she sat in the back seat of the car with Curtis. Getting him discharged from the hospital had been quick and efficient and except for a light, quick, unexpected kiss she was still trying to recover from, he hadn’t tried to hold her hand or be near her. She fought to get her warring thoughts under control. In the cold, harsh light of a brand new day she tried to only see the implacable man she’d known for years. She had the schedule all set. She’d already told the kitchen staff to prepare a light lunch. Once he was home, she’d let him rest then casually mention her proposal again, just to get it out of the way.

Her phone rang just as she was silently rehearsing what she would say. She frowned at the number. It belonged to Bill Homer at the factory. “Hello?”

“You have to come quick. There’s been an accident at the factory.”

“All right. I’ll be right there.” She hung up then spoke to the driver. “Change of plans. We have to go to Valdan. Please call the kitchen and let them know to hold lunch.”

“Why?” Curtis asked.

“There’s been an accident. Bill wasn’t more specific.”