After He Lost His Memory, He Loved Me Chapter 01
The day we were supposed to get divorced, my husband lost his memory.
Bad news: we barely had any feelings for each other to begin with, and now we really couldn’t get divorced.
Good news: he forgot the past, which made things easier for me to make my move.
Because let’s be real—I’d been eyeing that body for a long time.
Leo Hall.
Six-foot-one, one hundred sixty-three pounds.
This guy graduated from some Ivy League school, and every single ex-girlfriend of his was all daughters of noble families with outstanding backgrounds.
If it weren’t for the fact that my granddad did his granddad a solid back in the day, this man would’ve been so out of my league I’d have needed a stepstool just to see him.
Because I’m only five-foot-four.
I still remember the day our grandfathers set us up.
He was standing on top of a flower planter, looking down at me with a slight frown.
“Why are you squatting?”
I’d been bent over, probably looking like an idiot, searching through a patch of clovers for a four-leaf one.
I was pissed.
“I’m not squatting.”
His face got even sourer.
“From up here, you look pretty short.”
“Then get down here and look.”
He actually got down.
We stood on the same ground, and he still looked at me through those two perfect nostrils.
“And?”
“And you’ll see that I really am short.”
He said nothing.
The Halls looked down on me.
But they couldn’t go against the old man’s dying wish, so they married him off to me anyway.
Back in the day, his granddad got lost and ended up working on a farm.
He was tight with my granddad and used to come over to our place all the time to eat.
Back then, farmers didn’t have enough food, so him showing up made things even tighter.
My dad was going through a growth spurt at the time.
He ended up starving and giving himself a stomach condition that didn’t get fixed for decades.
When his granddad found out the truth, he had a breakdown and insisted we get together.
Leo didn’t want to, so the old man lay in his hospital bed crying for two solid weeks.
He didn’t finally kick the bucket until after we got married.
To really drive home how much he didn’t want me, this guy slept in the guest room for three months after the wedding.
Every time we talked, he kept a three-foot distance.
More devoted than Penelope, purer than Saint Catherine.
You asking if I felt bad about it?
Nah, not really.
As long as I lived in that house, he paid me my usual salary.
We also agreed that if either of us ever found someone we truly liked, we’d part ways with best wishes.
And if not, we’d just be roommates under one roof.
See?
Aside from not loving me, the guy had no flaws.
So when I found out he’d lost his memory, the first thing I did was move our toothbrushes from two separate bathrooms into one cup.
Tell me—if we can brush our teeth together, how far can sleeping together be?
Truth is, I’m not tall, but I’m not bad-looking.
Back in school, I wasn’t the prom queen, but I was always in the running for class beauty.
And now fate was giving me a second chance.
You really think I wouldn’t land Leo?
Yeah, right.
That night, a black Mercedes van slowly pulled into the garage.
I spritzed on some more perfume and ran downstairs to hand him his slippers.
“Hey honey, welcome back!”
Leo opened the door.
When he saw me, he paused.
He’d definitely already eaten by that hour, but I wanted to be sweet, so I went up to him anyway.
“You must be tired, honey
I made dinner.
Want to eat together?”
“…Yeah, sure.”
Of course, there was no way I actually cooked for him.
Leo sat across from me, looking at the table full of takeout with relaxed eyebrows.
“You went through so much trouble making all this.”
“You went through so much trouble working all day.”
Fake marriage, fake smiles.
After dinner, he went to take a shower.
I set up some mood lighting and let my thin little strap slide off my collarbone on purpose, not bothering to pull it back up.
I waited until he appeared in the doorway, all steamed up.
He gave me a long look.
A flicker of something unspoken passed between us.
“Get some sleep.”
The room went dark.
He’d turned off the light.
I was so mad I jumped right out of bed.
“Where are you sleeping?”
He stopped at the door when he heard my voice.
“What’s wrong?”
I grabbed his arm and pulled him back inside.
“You’re almost thirty.
Have you ever seen a married couple sleep in separate rooms?”
He froze.
The curtains hadn’t been pulled shut.
Moonlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting a long, pale strip across the bed.
The man I’d been craving for so long fell back onto the mattress.
His silk robe was all rumpled from me yanking on it.
Under the messy strands of hair falling over his forehead, his face was perfect, expression completely lost.
“You really want to sleep with me?”
Gotta say… this was a pretty big moment.
I swallowed and threw one leg over his waist.
“Obviously.”
He was quiet for a long time.
“Is that… comfortable for you?”
“Totally.”
“…Alright.”
Nothing happened for a long time.
I cracked one eye open to check on him.
His eyes were already closed, breathing long and even.
Okay, so you’re not comfortable.
Does that mean you couldn’t do something about it?
I closed my eyes and kept stirring the pot.
“Honey, don’t you think it’s a little too quiet in here?”
“Sleep is supposed to be quiet.”
“You’re lacking imagination here.
Sure, we’re sleeping in stillness, but that doesn’t mean we can’t switch to something more dynamic.”
“Why would we need to switch to something more dynamic?”
You know what?
Screw you.
I pulled my leg off his waist, rolled over, and huffed, “You know, after that little fender bender, you’re a whole different person.
You used to call me honey all the time.
Now you’re all cold!”
He was quiet for a second.
Then an arm came around from behind and wrapped gently around my waist.
“Alright.
Sleep well, honey.”
I got excited and kept pushing.
“You also used to call me sweetheart.
Not just honey.”
“Good night, sweetheart.”
“Good night, you big softie.”
Leg over his waist, called sweetheart, and cuddled up to Leo’s arm—I fell asleep completely satisfied.