Voices stirred Alistair to consciousness, muted conversation coming from the hallway. He blinked through the haze in his eyes, furrowing his brow as the splitting headache returned. How many days had he been here? How many rounds of painkillers had been injected to deal with these migraines? He swallowed a sour taste in his mouth, blinking as he looked around the dimly lit room.

Austria, they’d said. He was in Austria, originally from England, but living in the United States currently.

They could have made that up, for all he knew. Although, when he spoke, the accent was decidedly British. So there was that tiny piece of evidence, at least.

He fumbled for the wallet on his bedside table, desperate to touch his identification card. It was the only proof of his life, the only way they’d been able to haul him off the slopes and get in contact with his real life.

Real life.

The words hung strangely inside him, like foreign bits in a glass of water. Was that life real, or was it just a collection of memories he didn’t have? The doctors here at this hospital said that his memory could—should—recover. But when? Nobody knew that part. All he had was his name and his country of origin. More details would arrive soon. All he could do was rest and hydrate.

A soft knock at his door made him sit up. Nurses came in occasionally to check his vitals and scribble in charts. A blonde woman poked her head in, early twenties probably, rosy cheeks and a strong nose that made him clear his throat.

“Hello. Come in.” He swept his arm in front of him, as if this were any place other than a hospital room.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Beaumont?” Her thick accent was cute, and he immediately grinned.

“Better, now that you’re here.” He relaxed as she came to his bedside and slid a blood pressure cuff over his bicep. A waft of her perfume reached him.

“You say that to all the nurses,” she responded, grinning.

“Oh no. None have smelled as lovely as you.” He watched as she inflated the cuff, his gaze trekking over her crisp uniform.

Her grin widened. “Now you’re just being a flirt.”

“Maybe I am. Is it working?” The ease with which the words rolled off his tongue gave him hope that this was who he was, his true personality shining through. Sometimes, he felt like this was the key to regaining his memory—seeing where conversations led him, letting inclinations take over. “You should come on a date with me, once I’m out of here. Let me take you out somewhere.”

The nurse smirked, but he could tell she was amused. “Now, now. We have policies here about patients and nurses.”

“I’m not a man to abide by policy,” he said, hoping it was true.

The nurse clucked her tongue as she read the pressure reading, then released the cuff. “Maybe. We will see how you heal up. Maybe we could run into each other on accident?”

He nodded, the triumph of it thrilling through him. He might not remember his childhood, his career, or his future, but he could pick up a nurse in the middle of Austria. “Sounds like a date.”

She sent him a secret smile and then exited the room, leaving him bathed in dim quiet once more. Alistair settled back into his bed. They liked him to walk around and do things, but it was hard with the throbbing headache. Sometimes even the television screen could set off a new round of aching.

He lay back, listening to his breaths while his mind cycled with questions, as it always did. He wondered about his home, what it looked like, who would be there when he returned. The hospital staff told him they had called his emergency contact, but who knew what relationship that would be? They couldn’t tell him, his emergency information hadn’t given details, and it was the only number on him. His cell phone had been tossed somewhere over the side of a mountain. Apparently he’d been skiing solo; apparently this whole trip had been solo.

Who are you to do such a thing? Not even a friend or a sibling?

He sighed, adjusting his position in bed. Maybe he was an only child—that could explain the lack of siblings on this trip. Were his parents dead? There was so much bloody information to find out still; the sheer number of questions felt like a mountain sitting directly on his chest.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed until a firm knock sounded on the door. He blinked rapidly, trying to ready himself for whoever might come through the door. One of the other nurses poked her head in—a relief that he could at least remember things that had happened to him since arriving here.

“Your emergency contact is here, Mr. Beaumont,” she said in a loud whisper.

His whole body perked up. Curiosity stole his voice for a moment. “P-please. Send them in.”

The nurse excused herself, and a moment later, soft steps fell, a woman rounding the corner into the room. Alistair’s throat tightened when he saw her—a gorgeous, mid-twenties brunette with impossibly plump lips and big, crystal blue eyes that widened when she saw him.

“Alistair,” she choked out, approaching him hesitantly. “Darling.”

He watched her eagerly, desperate for clues about his life. She’d called him “darling.” She had no British accent. She was too hot for words. Are you with this woman?

“H-hello.” He gobbled her up as she came to the bedside, reaching out to take his hand in hers. The touch of her skin against his sent a jolt through him, something warm and delicious. Please be my girlfriend. Please don’t be my sister.

“Do you remember me?” Her voice came out soft, raw. “Do you know who I am?”

As she waited for his response, she bit her bottom lip. Something about the movement shuddered through him, as though he’d seen it a million times before. No, he didn’t know who she was—but he knew that he knew her. Somehow, this woman was familiar. And that was all he needed.

“I’m not sure,” he croaked. “You feel so familiar though.” He squeezed her hand, studying the contours of her face. She looked smooth and feminine, the type of woman he’d love to have curled up in his arms by the fireplace, before this was all said and done.

She jerked her head into a nod, dragging her fingertips up the side of his arm to the cuff of his hospital gown’s sleeve. That touch wasn’t strictly friendly; his bodily reaction wasn’t either.

“I’m Jess,” she said, her striking blue eyes searching his. “Your fiancée.”

He swallowed hard, absorbing the details of her face, wishing it would trigger the landslide of memories he’d been desperate for. “Wow. I’m engaged.”

She cracked a smile, her thumb stroking the bony part of his wrist. Maybe that was something she’d always done. Had he found solace in that maneuver? Maybe there was an inside joke there, something he’d normally respond with whenever she touched him that way. The onslaught of missing memories, of his missing life, bore down on him. He drew a deep breath.

“This has been so confusing,” he murmured, jerking his gaze away from her. And then what if she wasn’t his fiancée? She could be a vagrant off the street for all he knew. But those lips…you know this face.

“I cannot even imagine,” she said sincerely, her American accent ringing harshly in the quiet room. “Do you remember what happened? Do you remember anything at all?”

He blinked dumbly, looking to the plain white sheet covering him as though it might hold some clues. “I don’t. They said other skiers found me. I was by myself. I must have run into a tree…or something.”

“You came by yourself,” she said, sounding a little exasperated. “Like you always do. You say it clears your head.”

“Cleared it a bit too much this time,” he said.

She shook her head, the hint of a smile on her face. “Well, at least we know your personality hasn’t changed.”

Relief flooded him. She could never know how important it was to hear those words. The single biggest fear lurking inside him was that he’d somehow irreparably shifted and would never be able to recapture the person that he had once been.

“Where did you fly from today?”

“Seattle.” She squeezed his hand. “Where we live.”

“Together?”

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

He furrowed a brow. “Shouldn’t we be living together if we’re engaged?”

“It’s in the works, Alistair,” she said, a coy grin creeping onto her face. “You always want to rush things. My lease ends in six months; we agreed that I’d start making the transition soon.”

“When is the wedding?”

“We haven’t set a date,” she said, fingering the sleeve of his gown. “We were thinking sometime next year.”

He nodded, sighing heavily as he looked her over again. His fiancée. What if he didn’t remember her by the wedding? Should he still go through with it? These were the questions that made his headache worse. But the quandary did present one significant upside. He’d chosen the most gorgeous girl on the planet. His body prickled with curiosity, a hot desire streaking through him. He needed to relearn this woman all over again…and it was one of the best tasks facing him since the accident.

“I want to go back to the hotel,” he said, his gaze settling on her juicy lips. He was suddenly so desperate for a kiss from her that he lost his train of thought for a moment. “We can rest and watch movies and order ridiculous menu items from room service.”

She hefted with a laugh, her eyes shining like she might cry. “You really haven’t changed. One time you surprised the office staff at work with poached pears and deep-fried leeks.”

“God, how pretentious,” he mused.

“Exactly what you said then.”

He grinned for a moment. That, at least, was a good sign. It felt like hitting the marks. He was still Alistair, whoever that was. “Am I horribly pretentious?”

“Not as bad as the rest of your family,” she whispered with a smile.

The rest of his family. His eyes widened. “Who are they?”

She drew a deep breath. “We have a lot to cover, sweetie. Let’s get you out of here and back to the hotel. Then you can start relearning your life.”