After my fiancé’s car accident scrambled his brain, he blocked everyone, deleted all his contacts, and disappeared. He even had someone pass a message to me. "Sorry for wasting your time. I'm going to find my true love." I was already annoyed from being caught in the rain on my way home from a long day at the office. This message just made it worse. My irritation lasted right up until I found a soaking wet man standing on my doorstep. My fiancé, Liam, stared at me with a completely blank expression. "Can you let me stay for the night?" he asked. "I have nowhere else to go." 1 "Aren't you supposed to be…" off finding your true love? The words died in my throat. I suddenly remembered the sheer panic on his parents' faces when they told me he was missing. Right. His brain is broken. Better to just play it cool for now. I let him in. Liam seemed to find the situation as bizarre as I did. He stood awkwardly in the entryway, twisting the hem of his wet shirt. "Aren't you going to ask my name?" he said, looking troubled. "What if I'm a bad guy?" All I wanted was to get back to the files I still had to review. "Fine," I said dismissively. "What's your name?" His face instantly crumpled, his eyes welling up with tears. He looked like a lost puppy. "My name is Liam," he sniffled. "I was in a car accident. When I woke up, my parents tried to force me to marry some stranger I don't even like. I had no choice… I had to run away." As the aforementioned "stranger he doesn't even like," I felt a little offended. My patience evaporated. I turned away. "Oh." I heard hurried footsteps behind me. Long, cool fingers wrapped around my wrist. "I'm so cold from the rain," he pleaded. "Can I stay here for a while? I can cook, clean…" My head was starting to ache. A fiancé with amnesia was still, technically, my fiancé. And it was probably better to have him under my roof, where I could see what he was up to, than out there somewhere, cheating on me without my knowledge. Once I reasoned it out, I nodded. "Fine, you can stay." I pointed to a spare room. "That's the guest room. I'm right next door. Let me know if you need anything. I have to get back to work." Watching Amelia's retreating back, Liam's heart filled with a soft, warm feeling. Running away from his wedding had been the best decision he'd ever made. His quest for true love was off to a fantastic start. He was already inside her house. After I finished my work, I called Liam's parents to let them know he was safe. Terrified of upsetting him again, they begged me to look after him for a little while. Honestly, I just wanted to call off the whole engagement. It was a business arrangement, a merger of two families, not a love match. With him going on about his "true love," I felt more like a third wheel than ever. But my parents talked me out of it. "He's been through a trauma, Amelia. This is a difficult time for him. It's not right to kick a man when he's down." "Fine," I sighed, resigned to the fact that my amnesiac fiancé was now my roommate. I rubbed my temples and pushed open my bedroom door. And there was Liam, standing there with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. The tips of his ears turned bright red. "You… you said I could come to you if I needed anything," he stammered. "I don't have any pajamas." A single drop of water trickled from the ends of his hair, down the hard planes of his abs, and disappeared beneath the towel. The room suddenly felt very hot. I took a step back, forcing my eyes away from his chest. "A boy needs to be careful in a stranger's house," I said, my voice unnaturally high. "Not everyone is as—" I spun around and pulled a set of my dad's pajamas from the closet. He kept a few things here for when he visited. "—upstanding as I am." Liam took the pajamas, his eyelashes casting long shadows on his cheeks. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face. "Oh," he said softly. "You actually have some." Why does he look so sad? Was one pair not enough? Luckily, my dad was particular and had several sets. I pulled out a silk pair and a cotton pair and shoved them at him. "Is this enough? I have men's underwear, too." Liam looked completely dumbfounded. The smile on his face was frozen, and he forgot to even say thank you. The next morning, I woke up to the smell of something delicious. It drifted under my door, and my empty stomach grumbled in protest. I opened the door. There was Liam in the kitchen, flipping something in a pan with one hand. He was wearing one of the frilly, lace-trimmed aprons my housekeeper used, the thin straps a stark contrast against the broad muscles of his bare back. The sight made me even hungrier. He heard me and turned around. The morning sun framed him in a golden halo, and his smile was dazzling. "You're awake! I made breakfast to thank you for letting me stay." I glanced at the time, my heart sinking. "I have a meeting at the office. I'm going to be late." The corners of his mouth drooped in disappointment, but then his face brightened. "Go get ready! I'll pack it up for you. I can drive you, and you can eat on the way." He drove with a speed and smoothness that allowed me to eat my breakfast in peace. The food was incredible, the sunlight was warm, and for a moment, I forgot all the stress Liam had caused me. Then my dad called. I answered without thinking, and the call automatically connected to the car's Bluetooth. His voice filled the car. "Honey, about that boy you're engaged to…" I jabbed the "end call" button. Liam slammed on the brakes. The delicate crystal dumplings I'd been carefully holding tumbled onto the floor mat at my feet. "You're getting married?" he asked, his voice tight as he started the car again. I stared at the tragic pile of dumplings, my world turning gray. "Not anymore," I snapped. "It's off." "Oh." All my attention was focused on my massacred breakfast. I completely missed the way Liam's eyes crinkled at the corners, a huge, irrepressible smile spreading across his face. I was starting to think this whole "true love" story was a lie he'd invented to get out of marrying me. He never left the house. He just spent his days online shopping for stylish clothes and then parading around the apartment in them, for an audience of no one. His schedule was more packed than mine: deep cleaning on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; experimenting with new recipes on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays; and a day of rest on Sunday. My housekeeper sent me a panicked text. "Miss Amelia, the house has been spotless lately, and the fridge is always full of fresh ingredients. Am I… am I being replaced?" I had to spend ten minutes reassuring her that her job was safe. After two weeks of this, Liam finally asked me an important question on his day off. "What kind of guys do girls like?" Living with him, I’d come to see that he was actually a really nice person. I had started to think of him as a good friend. Seeing him finally get serious about his quest for true love, I was happy to help. "I think they like a guy with a bit of a contrast," I said, getting into it. "Like, you look kind of slim, but then you take your shirt off, and bam, an eight-pack." "Or, like, you're amazing in the kitchen, but you can also mix a killer cocktail." "Or! Your hair is dark and makes you look gentle, but then you turn your head, and whoa, two cartilage piercings—you're secretly a punk!" "Or, or, or…" I was completely lost in the art of the contrast. When I finally came back to reality, Liam was quietly closing the notes app on his phone. He nodded at me seriously. "Got it. So that's what you like." He then announced it was time to start lunch and disappeared into the kitchen. I stared after him, wanting to correct him. Actually, the way you are now is just fine. The right person will like you for who you are. But the words never came out. After my little speech, Liam was suddenly never home. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were for the gym. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays were for bartending classes. It just so happened to be a crazy busy period for my company, so I was rarely home for meals either. One night, after a long negotiation with a partner company, I realized I’d left the signed contract at home. My assistant, Mark, offered to come with me to pick it up so he could work on the revisions overnight. Work was important, so I agreed immediately. And then I remembered my houseguest. Liam and I would have to break our engagement eventually. The last thing I needed was another misunderstanding. I frantically texted him. Liam, are you home? I have to bring someone from work home with me in a few minutes. Can you please hide? Oh, and put away any of your stuff in the living room. I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea about us. I sent a dozen messages. None were answered. My heart was pounding as I opened the door with Mark behind me. To my relief, the apartment was empty, and all of Liam’s things were gone. We went to my home office, I grabbed the files, and Mark left. I finally let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I knocked on Liam’s door. "Liam? Are you asleep? He's gone, you can come out now! And thanks for cleaning up!" There was a loud crash from inside the room, like something heavy hitting the floor. I pressed my ear to the door, my heart hammering. All I could hear was ragged breathing. "Liam! Liam!" I pounded on the door. The lock clicked, and the door swung open slowly. The smell of alcohol hit me like a wall. Liam was standing there, his eyes red-rimmed. "I'm fine," he slurred. "Just knocked over a bottle." "Are you sure?" I stepped closer, sniffing the air around him. "Have you been drinking?" Remembering his quest for love, my inner gossip columnist perked up. "Trouble in paradise? Heartbreak? Do you want to talk about it?" He looked up, all six-foot-something of him looming over me, his presence suddenly intense and overwhelming. My heart did a painful squeeze, and I instinctively took a step back. But he grabbed my hand, his grip tight. "I learned how to make cocktails," he murmured, "but she doesn't seem to like drinking. I got an eight-pack, but she barely glanced at it." He pulled my hand to his ear. "I even got the piercings. Amelia, did you even notice?" The words hung in the air, and then all the fight seemed to go out of him. He wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder, his entire weight pressing down. "You're just drunk, Liam!" I said, my patience snapping. I smacked the back of his head, not gently. He whimpered into my ear. "Amelia, my head hurts… Amelia, my heart hurts… Amelia, I like… I like…" His breath was hot against my ear, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. My fiancé was holding me, whispering another woman's name. It was a bizarre feeling. My body was heating up from the contact, but my heart was growing colder by the second. My phone buzzed, pulling me out of my thoughts. It was Mark, with the revised contract ready for my review. Work couldn't wait. Worried that Liam would throw up all over my apartment, I half-dragged him into my office. He was a dead weight, clumsy and docile. I got him to the armchair in the corner. "Sit," I commanded. "Okay," he mumbled, collapsing into it. But as I turned away, his hand shot out and grabbed my sleeve. "Where are you going?" "To work." Five minutes later, I looked up from my desk. He was staring at me, his gaze intense and hazy. Ten minutes later, he had somehow managed to get up and was now standing by my bookshelf. On the top shelf was a detailed model airplane. A gift from him, after our engagement. "You kept this?" he asked, his drunken fog momentarily clearing. "Yes," I said. Wait. How would he remember giving that to me? "You remember?" I asked, unable to stop myself. He didn't answer directly. His eyes were shining. "So you remember." So you remember. What did that mean? I finished my work, but I couldn't sleep. The first time I met Liam wasn't at our arranged engagement dinner. I had just taken over my family's company. I was young, and the older, male executives didn't take me seriously. I’d spent an entire afternoon on the phone, trying to delegate a task, an argument that followed me from the airport lounge all the way onto the plane. I finally hung up, frustrated, as the flight attendant announced the final call to turn off all electronic devices. As my phone went dark, I felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of loneliness. A wave of self-pity washed over me. Why were they making things so difficult? A lump formed in my throat, and my eyes started to sting. I fumbled in my oversized bag for a tissue, but it was crammed with notebooks, files, and a heavy laptop—a perfect metaphor for my life. Before I could find a tissue, a tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. Through my blurry vision, a hand appeared from the side, holding out a tissue. The wrist was adorned with an expensive-looking watch, the cuff of the suit jacket perfectly pressed. "I think you might need this," a deep, steady voice said. I looked up and met a pair of kind, intelligent eyes. Resting on the tissue was a single mint. I wiped my eyes and popped the mint into my mouth. The cool sweetness spread across my tongue, calming the storm inside me. After the flight, I walked into my meeting and absolutely crushed it, winning over every single one of the skeptical executives. I never forgot those eyes. Until, weeks later, I walked reluctantly into the private dining room for my arranged engagement dinner. A man who was laughing and talking with my father looked up, and our eyes met again. Oh, I thought. So his name is Liam. And I thought, If it’s him… then I’m willing to try. So you remember. The drunk Liam, upon saying this, was filled with a secret joy. That airplane model was from a competition they had entered together as kids. He’d made one, and Amelia had made one. His mother had told him, post-accident, that he had given his model to his future fiancée. He had thought he must have been an idiot. How could he have given away something so important? As a child, he’d been a chubby, shy boy with a stutter. The other kids made fun of him, and no one wanted to be his partner for the model airplane competition. Except Amelia. She was vibrant and competitive, her mind bursting with ideas. But when he haltingly tried to express his own thoughts, she never interrupted. She would just watch him with her big, bright eyes, listening patiently. Sometimes, she would praise him. "Liam, that's so smart! What a great idea!" Other times, she would frown and correct him. "No, that won't work! The plane will never fly like that!" They won first place. It was the first time in his life he had ever won anything. Slowly, he started to find his voice. The other kids forgot about his stutter. But Liam never forgot. He would always imagine a pair of bright, round eyes watching him, encouraging him. Amelia's eyes. That secret, childhood crush had taken root and grown over the years, finally blossoming the morning he woke up from his accident. When he heard he was being forced into a business marriage, his world had collapsed. He felt a strange sense of gratitude for the accident; it had shaken him awake. It wasn't too late.
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