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“Get me out of here.”

CHAPTER THREE

Spiro awakened in a rush, urgent to get back to…something.

His memories still held gaps, which disturbed him, but at least he recognized the bedroom of his villa. For a few seconds, he was almost convinced that his jumbled thoughts were the remnants of a bad dream.

Then he tried to get out of bed and a hiss of agony left him.

How did a wheelchair to a car, then another wheelchair into his bedroom, leave his muscles feeling as though he’d run a marathon?

Thankfully, his villa was equipped with a service elevator. The nurse had been able to get him into his suite without his needing to climb the stairs.

It was good to be home, even if his feet ached when they took his weight and he had to brace against the wall as he inched himself into the bathroom. He dropped his briefs to the floor and had the best shower of his life, wincing as he washed the sutures in his scalp.

When he was done, he air-dried as he brushed his teeth. By the time he was in the adjoining dressing room, he was exhausted, but beginning to feel human again.

He was hungry. His stomach contracted as he heard the sound of dishes clanking onto the table on the terrace.

He reached into a drawer for a pair of clean briefs and was dumbfounded to find a half dozen pair of women’s cotton underwear neatly folded alongside his own. A pale pink sports bra and three pairs of socks were lined up beside them. Jeans and T-shirts were folded into the next drawer and a handful of dresses hung alongside his shirts.

What the hell?

He pulled on loose linen trousers with a short-sleeved collared shirt, then added a pair of sunglasses since even the recessed lighting in the dressing room made his eyes hurt.

He walked into the bedroom, but only got as far as the armchair before he had to sit and catch his breath.

“Good morning.” Alia came in from the terrace with a ridiculously sunny smile.

Was he supposed to just accept this nonsense? Accept her? As his wife?

“I came to check on you and heard you were in the shower so I had breakfast sent up.” She pulled a rumpled throw from the bed and folded it with quick, practiced movements. “Do you want me to help you shave?”

“No.” He rubbed the stubble on his jaw. It was only a day’s worth so someone had been shaving him. Her? What a disturbing thought.

She was such a sprite-like person. Not childlike, though. He judged her to be in her mid-twenties and, despite her petite stature, she had ample breasts and a narrow waist with round, feminine hips. Not that she made the most of her figure. Her cheap sundress of yellow flowers on a blue background was shapeless and so well worn he could see the shadow of her curves through the thin cotton, if not the curves themselves.

He had a sudden fantasy of lifting that dress away so he could see her properly. He would run his hands over her smooth skin and weigh the warm swells of her—

“Are you hungry?” She set the folded blanket on the footstool and plumped both pillows while she efficiently made the bed.

“Have you been staying in here?” He had a vague recollection of her hand arriving on his arm when he’d shifted restlessly in the night. That touch had relaxed him instead of alarming him, which was bizarre. One of the reasons he’d been adamant about leaving the hospital was because he didn’t like people in his space—especially when he was unaware of it. That’s how things went missing.

“Until last night, I was only showering and changing in here because this was where Khristos had your staff put my things. I slept in the guest suite with Yaya, but you did just get out of hospital,” she reminded him. “Your staff would have wondered about us if I didn’t sleep with you, since a wife typically sleeps with her husband.”

“You’re not my wife.” How many times did he have to say it?

She opened her mouth, read his mood and her shoulders dropped.

“I’m afraid we are married. Can we?” She waved at the terrace. “I help Yaya eat so I haven’t had breakfast, either.”

He flicked his wrist for her to go ahead of him, not wanting her to see how much effort it took for him to rise and follow her.

Food would help. He’d swallowed a few bites of watery lentil soup at the hospital last night, before he was discharged. He’d been made to walk down the hall a short distance and prove he could feed himself and use the bathroom unattended.

Once here, it had taken everything he had to get himself stripped and into his bed, but he was properly hungry this morning and looked forward to his housekeeper’s cooking.

And coffee.