Evan popped his head out of the bathroom, rubbing his wet head with a towel. A plume of steam rose above him.

“Did Jen leave?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I gestured at the album on my lap. “She just dropped this off.”

“Did she now?” Anxiety creased his forehead. “Did you two look at it . . . together?”

“A bit of it.” I averted my gaze, and he let out a puff of air mixed with an embarassed chuckle.

“Sorry. I should have warned her. I probably should have warned you, too. When she asked for an album, it was the first one that popped into my head, and I haven’t exactly been thinking straight this week.” He stepped out from the tiny bathroom, and only then did I realize that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, only his jeans, and he hadn’t bothered to zip or button those yet.

I might have had amnesia, but there was nothing wrong with my eyesight. And I would have had to be blind as a bat to miss the massive erection that threatened to punch a hole through his boxer briefs at any moment. He caught me staring and looked down.

“Ah, I’m so sorry, Annie. First the pictures and now . . . You must think I’m some kind of sex fiend getting turned on in a hospital. It’s just that I’ve been so terrified that we might lose you, and then with the relief of you waking up today, I think things are . . . working again.”

“It’s fine,” I said, perhaps a little too quickly. It was actually better than fine. Between the hot ass shot and the opportunity to check out the frontal package, I was ninety-nine percent sure I had accidentally wed a Grecian god.

“All right.” He slipped on a shirt and settled into the chair next to me. “Questions.”

“Questions.”

“And chocolate.” He grabbed a Lindt truffle out of his bag and put it on the tray next to the empty sandwich bag.

Strike that. One hundred percent sure.

“Umm”—I patted the album—“how long have we been married?”

“Six weeks.”

“That’s not long.”

“No, we’re newlyweds.” He grinned when he said it, and it was the first time his face had totally relaxed since I’d first seen him.

Newlyweds.

And now we were strangers.

“So we dated for, what, two months?”

“Two and a half.”

“That’s fast.”

“Yep. It was. It was also love at first sight.”

Yeah, well, I had loved lasagna at first sight, too. But I hadn’t married it. Yet.

I opened the album back up and flipped to the front, pointing to different shots while he filled me in on the when and where and what of each one.

“Ringing any bells?” he asked.

“Nothing yet.”

“Well, you heard what Dr. Anand said. Don’t try to force anything. It’ll come when it comes.”

I zoomed through the wedding pages, unable to look at them again without fear of tearing up. I also flipped past the nude shot of him, hoping to spare us both a moment of embarrassment but instead, the next page doubled it.

“Wait, Annie.” Evan reached out his hand to stop me from looking at the page, but it was too late.

There was a series of timed shots of the two of us. Our legs were twined together like a pretzel, his hand cupping my breast, and his lips dipping down ready to take my nipple in his mouth and suckle it. I had a look of sheer ecstasy on my face.

I had always wondered what it would be like to take pictures of me having sex with someone, but I’d never been brave enough. Or foolish enough, depending on how you looked at it. But brave or foolish, I’d never been with someone with whom I’d felt safe enough to capture our moments of lovemaking. And that’s what these were. I could see it on my face. I loved him.

But I didn’t know him. At all.

“I forgot those were in there. I didn’t mean for you to see those yet,” said Evan. “I’m sorry. This is the last thing you need as you’re recovering.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry. And I’ll be the judge of what I need in order to recover.”

Evan’s face split into a grin.

“There’s the spitfire I know.”

“Well, this spitfire could actually use a nap.”

“Of course. Rest up.” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “I have a vested interest in you getting your underwear privileges back.”

I let out a bark of a laugh. I do believe my husband was flirting with me.

“I’ll be out in the waiting room if you need me,” he said and patted me on the foot.

After he left, I opened the album one more time. The shots after the super smexy ones were of me alone, more classical boudoir. I squinted at the last page. I really needed to find that lingerie I was wearing in them because it made my boobs look spectacular. I fanned myself. This probably wasn’t wise being strapped up to a heart monitor.

I flipped to the last page, bracing myself for who knows what. But it was just a blank end page. I couldn’t help but feel a little let down. I started to close it, but then I noticed that there was a ragged, torn edge sticking out of the spine. I plucked at it and frowned in the direction of the door.

There was a page torn out. I blushed at the mere thought of what could have gotten censored.