tighter.
He was tall, the sort of tall that made Evangeline feel small as he held
her close enough for her to feel that he was shaking, too. She didn’t imagine
he was as terrified as she was, but clearly he didn’t feel as confident as he
looked. “You have me—and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
“But I don’t remember you,” she said. She was a little reluctant to pull
away. But it was all so overwhelming. He was overwhelming.
A deep line formed between the stranger’s brows as she pulled back. But
he replied patiently, his voice low and soothing as he said, “My name is
Apollo Acadian.”
Evangeline waited again for a flare of recognition, or even just a tiny
spark. She needed something familiar, something to hold on to that would
keep her from collapsing back onto the ground, and Apollo looked at her as
if he wanted to be that. No one had ever looked at her with so much
intensity.
He made her think of a hero from a fairytale. Broad shouldered with a
strong jaw, dark smoldering eyes, and clothing that spoke of the sort of
wealth that conjured images of treasure chests and castles. He wore a high-
collared dark red coat with rich gold embroidery covering the cuffs and the
shoulders. Beneath it was some sort of doublet—at least she thought that
was what it was called. The men at home in Valenda dressed quite
differently.
But clearly, she wasn’t there anymore. The thought brought a new wave
of panic that made her words come out in a rush.
“How did I come to be here? How did we meet? Why don’t I remember
you?” she asked.
“Your memories were stolen by someone who’s been trying to tear us
apart.” Something flickered in Apollo’s brown eyes, although if it was anger
or pain, she couldn’t tell.
Evangeline wished she could remember him. But the harder she tried,
the worse she felt. Her head hurt and her chest felt hollowed out, as if she’d
lost more than just her memories. For a second the agony was so deep and
so brutal, she clutched her heart, half expecting to find a jagged hole. But
there was no wound. Her heart was still there; she could feel it beating. Yet
for a devastating moment, Evangeline imagined that it shouldn’t have been,
that her heart was supposed to be as broken as she felt.
Then it hit her, not a feeling but a thought—a sharp, fragmented one.
