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Alia released a whimper. That’s all she’d been doing her whole life. Staying strong. Bearing up under pressure. Surviving by sheer force of will.

But Julian had cast her a lifeline more than once so she would stay strong for him. And for Khristos, who had given her this chance to make Yaya’s life comfortable in the waning months of her life. She would even stay strong for that man she had proxy-married, who had seemed so helpless for days and now seemed truly daunting. Incensed.

Khristos had said she only had to pretend to be his wife while he was unconscious. Once Spiro woke, he’d promised, she wouldn’t have to misrepresent herself any longer.

She did, though. She had to continue making people believe she was Spiro’s wife. Even Spiro had to believe it, for his own protection.

From behind the door, she heard a choking noise.

“Spiro!” She leaped to her feet and threw herself into the room.

CHAPTER TWO

The curtain raked open and Alia stared at him, face pale.

“He asked me to remove his feeding tube.” The doctor dropped the apparatus into a bin.

It had been an unpleasant sensation that had left Spiro’s throat stinging.

“Are you all right?” She stepped close and set her hand on his twitching arm.

The doctor had elevated him to a half sit. He was almost eye level with her now. He hated himself for liking the fact they were a few centimeters closer. He hated how much he had missed her touch on his arm. It was a type of seduction. Not sexual, but beguiling in its way. He wanted more of it.

His most rational mind told him she couldn’t be trusted. She was delusional. There was no way they were married.

Nevertheless, he was disturbingly relieved to have her back in the room. She was a touchstone of sorts. A bridge between the dark and the light.

Or she was an illusion, like a mirage in the desert, drawing him deeper into danger.

“Who…” He lifted the cup with the straw he’d been given. His hand shook. Swallowing hurt and his muscles were infuriatingly weak.

The doctor had said he’d had a head injury. They’d put him into a medically induced coma for two days, as a precaution against a brain bleed that thankfully hadn’t manifested. He’d also had a mild lung infection from ingesting seawater. He was over the worst of that, but he’d been slow to regain consciousness. Confusion and exhaustion were to be expected.

Spiro had been able to recall his own birthday, though. He knew who was running their country. He had seen the correct number of fingers the doctor held up and he’d known the names of his brother and mother. As for this woman…

“Who are you?” he managed to ask.

There was a flash of distress in her eyes before she pleated her brows with injury.

“Your wife.” Was there a hint of uncertainty in her tone? “Alia.”

No. He had no wife. Despite the photo of them on his nightstand, she was a stranger. A lying, scheming charlatan. Whether she was in league with his stepfather or not didn’t matter. She was exactly like him.

The longer he was awake, the more Spiro realized how helpless he had been for eight days. Adrenaline flooded his arteries, trying to send him back in time to undo his accident. To wake up sooner. To propel him from this bed and retake control of his life.

But his limbs were bags of wet cement. It was all he could do to lift the cup and take another sip of water.

“You don’t remember your wife?” the doctor asked with concern.

“She’s not my wife.” The words rasped his throat. “I’ve never seen her in my life.”

“You warned me there could be memory loss,” Alia said to the doctor.

“Chunks of time. Not a person.” He frowned. “Especially someone so close to him. This is highly unusual.”

“But you only just woke up.” She rubbed Spiro’s arm in reassurance, abrading his skin. “I’m sure everything will come back to you soon. What happens now?” She looked to the doctor.

“Observation for a few days.” The doctor was still frowning. “Rehabilitation exercises. That shouldn’t take too long. This was a relatively short coma and you were very strong coming in. I expect you’ll bounce back quickly. Physically.”