Chapter 1

After three phone calls and two bagels, I finally hop in the bathroom to take a long, hot shower and try to figure out what I’m going to do with my day. William was probably off studying at his favorite coffee shop; I think he’s going to school to be some kind of doctor. Usually, we avoid the “what-do-you-want-to-do-when-you-grow-up” conversations; he gets pretty frustrated when I start asking too many questions. Maybe it’s too early for him to grow up; I know it is for me. I mean, I can hardly believe I’m getting married.

In between soap and shampoo I realize I never grabbed a towel, so I quickly rinse and jump out, dripping wet. I hunt around for something to dry off with but can’t find a clean towel anywhere. Swearing underneath my breath, I run down to the basement and grab some dirty ones out of the pile, trying not to gross myself out too much. Here’s hoping they’re not moldy because that would be pretty gross.

“Sophie?” I hear William ask in a small voice.

I try not to laugh; I must look absolutely ridiculous standing there stark naked in a smelly basement, inspecting a bunch of damp towels. ‘Course, he doesn’t look any better hunched over an old desk with piles of books, dusty shelves, and strange-looking vials all around him.

“Wow, that scholar look isn’t really—”

“What are you doing down here? I thought you were working,” he whines. “Good Ferrous, would you put some clothes on?”

Giggling, I try to give him a hard time as I root around for some clothes, performing the “smell test” to ensure they were worthy. “Yeah, and I thought you were studying but it looks like you’re taking a break?”

“I am studying,” he says defensively. “Why don’t you head back upstairs and do what you’re supposed to do?”

There’s something about the tone in his voice that tells me we’re going to fight, and for what? Because I caught him studying in the basement? Unless…

“Are you watching porn?” I ask him, feeling bolder than usual. I’m a bit tired of his “do this-do that” attitude.

“What?” William grumbles. I can tell he’s frustrated with me because the tops of his ears are turning pink; I wonder how long it will take before I really piss him off.

“You heard me, are you watching porn?”

“Why the hell would you ask that?”

Apparently? Not long.

“Sophie, You know I’m studying, because I always study. Can’t you see the books, the slides and the computer right in front of me? What do you think this is? Magic?”

What. An. Ass. “You know William, I might believe you if, for once, you’d just open up your notebooks and show me what you’re working on.”

I’m not sure what forces me to ask him the question, but in my mind it’s a good one. All those years of studying and I’ve never once heard him say he’s studying for a test or that he got an “A” in some -ology class.

“What? No! You’re crazy, Sophie. What’s gotten into you?”

“Show me what you’re working on,” I demand. What’s so bad about his studies that he can’t even let me see what’s under the microscope?

“No.”

At this point I’m pretty pissed off; arguing just to argue is one thing, but arguing because you’re a complete and total jackass is another. I take everything I have with me, my dignity and my pride, and I march barefoot over to his desk. Yes, my feet are really cold, and I’d much rather be wearing clothes that a bunch of damp towels, but I’d rather ride this out than walk away mad.

Standing there, right in front of him, I half-expect William will stop being a jerk and do something extraordinarily cute like tell me he’s sorry or offer to make it up to me, but he doesn’t do any of those normal things that boyfriends (let alone fiancés) are supposed to do.

“Don’t come any closer, Sophie!” he yells as he frantically tries to cover up his books, papers, and slides. “You do and I swear you’ll regret it.”

“Look William, I may not have my memories but I still deserve to be treated with respect,” I bite back.

“You won’t like what you see, Sophie. I know you,” he tries to convince me. “Remember when I told you that you would hate cell phones but you just had to try one? You haven’t used one since.”

“Are you still arguing with me, William? You tell me every day you’re going to go and ’study,’ that you have another test for whatever the hell kind of doctor you want to be. Instead I find you in the basement with a pile of books, a laptop dinosaur and a 50 cent microscope?”

“How do you know how old my computer is?” he asks, his voice dull and flat.

“The magazines, silly. Do you think I don’t pay attention to the pictures?”