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“Take me off everything.” Spiro looked impatiently at the IV tube leading into the back of his hand. “Discharge me. I’ll recover at home.”

“Kyrie, no,” Dr. Gedi protested. “Not until we’ve finished assessing you. You need a care plan in place. A nurse—”

“I’m telling you I won’t stay here. Give me my phone so I can call my driver.” He held out his hand, not used to his orders being countermanded.

“Kyrie—”

“It’s fine,” Alia cut in with a bright smile. “We have a medical team in place at the villa. My grandmother is in late stages of dementia and needs continuous care. The nurses were hired knowing they would likely have a second patient.”

“Your grandmother is in my villa?” She was? Was he still in a coma? Was this a bizarre dream brought on by whatever drugs they’d given him? None of this made sense.

“I know. I resisted when you suggested it.” Alia patted his arm and smiled as though they were so well known to each other, they had unfinished conversations between them. “But you were right. I can’t care for her alone. Not anymore. I definitely couldn’t do it when you needed me here. She’s confused because she’s in a new place, but otherwise she’s very comfortable. Thank you.” She brushed his hair off his forehead and set a light kiss there.

He told himself the surge of electricity that went through him was fury, because even though she sounded tender and sincere, her audacity astounded him. Truly.

“We’re not married,” he asserted, stating it for his own sanity as much as to protest what felt like yet another override of his autonomy.

“You don’t remember because it was done by proxy. Khristos stood in for you.”

“Quit saying that,” he bit out, then asked the doctor, “Don’t you have protocols against unhinged people claiming to be related to unconscious patients?”

“Your brother introduced her as your wife.” Dr. Gedi said with the first signs of doubt. “I understood the marriage was rushed because of your condition and the fact she—”

“I have the paperwork in my handbag,” Alia cut in. She began fishing through an oversize tote. “I’ll never again complain about the disadvantages of a tiny village. The mayor was so understanding, not making us wait for the license. She knows how things have been with Yaya and could tell your brother was very worried about you. Julian made sure the registration was sent in. We should have the certificate within a week or two.”

She gave the stapled pages to the doctor. The doctor glanced over it and handed it to Spiro.

“Everything seems to be in order,” Dr. Gedi said. “But if you’d rather another family member represent you, we can arrange that. Perhaps your mother?”

“No. I’m going home.” Spiro tried to make his eyes focus on the printed pages, but his vision was still hazed. How in hell could he be growing tired? He’d just woken up from an eight-day nap.

He stared at what looked to be an authentic municipal stamp declaring him married and a falling sensation accosted him. He was sitting firmly in this hospital bed, yet he was dizzy and spiraling through space. There was no way this was real. He would remember if he had become so deeply involved with someone that he’d proposed. He would remember her.

Not that Alia was a memorable person. She was on the mousy side. Pretty in a wholesome way, but not the tall, sophisticated, independent and assertive type of woman he typically dated.

Hell, if he had wanted to erase someone from his mind, it would have been his stepfather, not his lover.

None of this made sense.

And yet, she continued acting like his wife, squeezing his arm and saying, “It would be nice to have you at home. I don’t like being away from Yaya all day and I hate leaving you here alone at night.”

We’re not married, he wanted to yell, but the door pushed open and a new voice accosted his ears, one that made him close his eyes in dread.

“My handsome boy! You’re awake!”

* * *

Had she been waiting in the car? How had Spiro’s mother got here so fast?

If Alia found Lambros odious, she found his wife, Daphne, cloying and narcissistic. Which was an uncharitable view to have of one’s mother-in-law, but so it was.

Spiro winced as his mother stained his cheek with her coral lipstick.

“Lambros tells me your mind is gone.” She spoke slow and loud. “Tell me you remember me. I’m your mother.”

Daphne was exquisitely dressed in a designer pantsuit. Despite being well into her fifties, she had no gray in her black hair and no sign of wrinkles beneath her flawless makeup.

“You. Out,” Spiro said in his grit-filled voice as he pointed at Lambros.