Page 25 of Devil Wears Nada
“I know,” I said, tightening my arms around him. “I don’t know how to say goodbye.”
“Then don’t,” he replied, raising his head to look at me with those otherworldly eyes—eyes that would soon believe they had always been human. “Say ‘until we meet again.’ Because we will, Lucas. I believe that with everything I am.”
I kissed him then, pouring all my love, all my hope, all my faith into that one last contact. “Until we meet again,” I whispered against his lips.
As the first true light of dawn touched our bed, Van smiled at me with perfect love, perfect trust. “Remember for both of us,” he said softly.
And then the light seemed to intensify, swelling to fill the room with impossible brightness. I closed my eyes against the glare, feeling Van’s body still pressed against mine.
When I opened them again, the light had faded to normal morning sunshine streaming through our window. And Van was still there, still in my arms, still beautiful beyond words.
But as his eyes fluttered open, I saw immediately that something had changed. The otherworldly shift of color was gone, replaced by a steady human blue. And his expression, as he looked at me, held confusion rather than recognition.
“Hello,” he said, his voice the same yet somehow different. He glanced around the room, then back at me, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “I’m sorry, this is awkward, but… who are you? And where am I?”
My heart shattered into a thousand pieces, but I forced a smile. “I’m Lucas,” I said, my voice remarkably steady considering the circumstances. “And you’re safe. You’ve been… ill. The doctor said temporary amnesia might occur.”
It was the first explanation that came to mind, and Van—this new Van without our shared history—seemed to accept it, though his brow remained furrowed.
“I feel fine,” he said, sitting up and examining himself. “Physically, at least. But my memory…” He looked at me with genuine distress. “I can’t remember anything. Not my past, not how I got here, not even my full name.”
“It’s Van,” I said softly. “Just Van.”
“Van,” he repeated, testing the name. “That sounds… right, somehow.” His eyes found mine again, searching. “Are we…?” He gestured between us, our naked state making the question clear.
“We’re close,” I said, unable to lie completely. “Very close. But don’t worry about that now. The doctor said your memory might return gradually, or it might not.” I swallowed hard, forcing myself to continue the fiction. “Either way, you’re welcome to stay here until you figure things out.”
“That’s very kind,” he said, with such genuine gratitude that it nearly broke me all over again. “I don’t know why, but I feel… safe with you. Like I can trust you.”
His soul remembers, even if his mind doesn’t,I thought, clinging to that hope.
“I’m glad,” I said aloud. “Now, how about some breakfast? You must be starving.”
As I moved to get up, Van caught my wrist, his touch sending the same electricity through me it always had. “Lucas,” he said, my name sounding new in his mouth, “thank you. For whatever we were to each other, for taking care of me now. I’m grateful.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the stranger who held my heart—the stranger I would have to find a way to make fall in love with me all over again.
Behind me, I heard him get up, heard his footsteps as he explored the apartment that contained so many traces of our life together. I wondered what story his mind was creating to explain it all, what past he now believed was his.
“Lucas,” he called from the living room. “These designs are extraordinary. Are they yours?”
I joined him, finding him examining the sketches for our collection spread across the coffee table. “They’re ours, actually,” I said, deciding in that moment that while I couldn’t tell him thesupernatural truth, I wouldn’t erase our creative partnership. “We work together. You have an exceptional eye for design.”
“We do?” He looked surprised, then pleased. “That explains all the fashion materials. And why this place feels like… like home, somehow.”
Hope flickered in my chest, small but persistent. “Yes,” I said softly. “It is home. For both of us.”
Van smiled then—not his old smirk, but something newer, more human, yet still unmistakably him. “I think I’d like to remember that,” he said. “Will you help me?”
In that moment, looking at him in the morning light—still beautiful, still Van, even without his memories—I made a decision. I would not give up. I would not surrender to despair. I would help him remember, not the supernatural past that was now forbidden to him, but the essential truth of us—the partnership, the creativity, the love.
“Yes,” I promised, my resolve strengthening with each word. “I’ll help you remember everything that matters.”
Epilogue
Six months later
“Lucas! Where did you put the blue silk samples? The courier will be here in twenty minutes!”
