She unfolded her legs and rose, no longer content to sit. “And do you agree with his opinion?”

Franco lifted one bushy white brow. “I wouldn’t presume to agree or disagree with Prince Armand, except on medical matters. However, the engagement is bound to annoy your brother, who feels personally responsible for your welfare.”

“And my feelings?” Abruptly her calm vanished. She turned to where the doctor now stood beside her bed, his hands locked comfortably behind his back. “Are they considered? This—this pretense that all is well, this farce that I’ve had a whirlwind romance with the son of my father’s friend. They infuriate me.”

She snatched up a mother-of-pearl comb from her dresser and began to tap it against her palm. “The announcement of my engagement was made only yesterday, and already the papers are full of it. Crammed with their speculation, their opinions, their chatty little stories. Everywhere I go there are questions and flutters and sighs.”

The impatience was obvious and, to the doctor, familiar. With his fingers still linked behind his back, he remained silent and waited for it to run its course.

“Just this morning while I’m trying to organize for the ball, I’m asked about my wedding dress. Will it be white or ivory? Will I use my dressmaker, or go to Paris as my mother did? My wedding dress,” she repeated tossing up her hands. “When I have to finalize a menu for fifteen hundred people. Will I have the ceremony in the palace chapel or the cathedral? Will my good friends from college be in the wedding party? Will I choose the English princess or the French countess as my maid of honor—neither of whom I remember in the slightest. The more we try to gloss over and hide what’s real, what’s true, the more absurd it becomes.”

“Your father is protecting your welfare, Gabriella, and his people’s.”

“Are they never two separate things?” she demanded, then tossed the comb back on the dresser. “I’m sorry.” Her voice calmed. “That was unfair. Deception is difficult. It seems I’m involved in it on so many levels. And Reeve—” Brie broke off, annoyed with herself for permitting her thoughts to travel in his direction.

“Is attractive,” Franco finished.

With a slow, cautious smile, she studied her doctor. “You’re an excellent physician. Dr. Franco.”

He gave her a quick, dapper bow. “I know my patients, Your Highness.”

“Attractive,” she agreed. “But not in all ways likable. I don’t find his consistent dominance particularly appealing, especially in the role of fiancé. However, I’ll play my part. When my memory returns, the American can go back to his farm, I can go back to my life. That’s how I feel, Dr. Franco.” She put both hands on the back of a chair. “That, simply stated, is how I feel. I want to remember. I want to understand. And I want to get back to my life.”

“You’ll remember, Gabriella.”

“You can be sure?”

“As a doctor, nothing is ever sure.” Bending, wheezing a bit with the movement, he picked up his bag again. “As someone who’s known you from the cradle, I’m sure.”