Page 8 of Modern Romance June 2025 5-8

Although she should be relieved that she hadn’t punched him, his amusement at her expense was starting to make her wish she had. And the use of the wordchicain that intimate tone was not good for the jumping beans in her still mostly empty belly.

‘Ifought with the thief who robbed you,’ he stressed. ‘After he slapped you.’ His gaze roamed over her face, making her brutally aware of her sore cheek—and the prickle of sensation everywhere else. ‘I am not a violent man,’ he added, which almost sounded like an apology. ‘But the abuse of women is something I will not tolerate.Ever.’

The smile had died, the sparkle of amusement gone from his eyes. Cold fury crossed his expression. The moment felt so compelling she shivered, even though she was the opposite of cold. However overbearing he was, it seemed he had a strong—and unbreakable—moral code…

‘Thank you, then. For helping me,’ she said, feeling guilty now for having snapped at him.

He’d obviously rescued her from the man who had robbed her and hurt her—and brought her to his home, and she had been ungrateful.

‘De nada,’ he said, approval highlighting the golden shards in his irises.

‘If someone could lend me some clothes, I’ll get out of your hair…’ It was obvious he didn’t want her here. So, getting the heck out of his home was the least she could do to return the favour.

But when she went to get up, her legs shaky, his frown returned. ‘Get back into bed,’ he demanded. ‘You can barely walk.’ The edge of authority was so sharp she obeyed him without thinking.

‘But I…’ she tried to protest.

‘What is your name?’ he interrupted.

‘Cerys.’ The answer popped out instinctively.

He nodded. ‘Y tu apellido?Your family name? What is this?’

She opened her mouth, expecting it to appear in her head the same way her first name had… But nothing, absolutely nothing, was there. The panic she had been contending with when he arrived snaked around her ribs and squeezed. She blinked furiously as idiotic tears stung her eyes.

‘I… I’m not sure,’ she stuttered, both frantic and suddenly bereft.

How could she not know her own surname? This was horrendous. She felt as if she had been robbed of something far more precious than her clothes, or her money or her passport…

She pressed her fingers to her lips, realising the full import of the huge empty space in her head…

‘Do you know my name?’ she managed, feeling utterly pathetic now, but also scared. Because why would he have asked her name if he already knew the answer?

After studying her intently for what felt like several hours, but could only have been a few seconds, he shook his head. The intent expression became shadowed—with pity or concern or disapproval, she wasn’t sure, because he masked his emotions so well.

Either way, she felt humiliated. How could she go anywhere,doanything,beanyone, if she didn’t know who she was?

She trembled and sniffed. ‘Oh, God,’ she whispered, staring at her hands, which were clasped so tightly in her lap the knuckles had gone white.

He pressed a large palm to her shoulder. ‘Do not cry,’ he said softly.

She shifted against his touch, and he lifted his hand immediately, but the feel of it still buzzed over her skin—which wasn’t comforting at all really.

‘I won’t,’ she said, determined not to let the tears queuing up in her throat fall in front of him. Because that would somehow be so much worse.

She hated to be dependent on anyone, but what she hated more was to know she needed his support, because deserving his help felt like a test she was bound to fail. She did not know why she knew she had to be self-sufficient, but she clung to the insight because it was a clue—however small—to that blank space inside her.

‘We will let the doctor examine you. And then we will work out who you are.’

His offer wasn’t exactly welcoming, but his tone was so pragmatic and commanding it still felt reassuring. If anyone could find out who she was, she was sure it would be this man. But when he stood up, she grasped his wrist.

‘But what if you can’t…?’ she said. ‘Find out my surname?’

He frowned. ‘You will stay here until I do,’ he said, as if it was obvious.

‘But… Y-you don’t want me here,’ she replied. ‘And if you don’t want me here, I don’t want to be here.’

She couldn’t stay. She had no money. How would she pay him back? And she refused to rely on his charity and largesse, especially as he’d made it clear he found her presence in his home inconvenient at best.

---