When Gabe called to inform me that Damien was joining us for dinner, I thought that Gabe had changed his mind and that we’d finally tell him the truth about me. But my hopes were dashed when Gabe refused point blank.

So here I am, seated at a table with my husband, pretending to be a stranger to him, my stomach fluttering in the hope that seeing me will spark a return in his memory.

Damien takes the reins of the conversation. “Gabe tells me that this is your first visit to London.”

“Well, I visited once before but that was too short, for a day only,” I reply, truthfully.

His gaze doesn’t waver from me and the flutter in my stomach turns to full on somersaults. Swallowing, I ask, “How are you doing? Everything okay after your statement to the media?”

Instantly, the shutters fall over his eyes and his expression hardens. Shit! Have I crossed a line? No! I chide myself for thinking like that. I’m going to be the bold and confident woman that he fell for once before. I refuse to be anyone other than who I am. Lifting my chin, I wait for him to reply.

He exchanges a glance with Gabe who sips from his whiskey glass and says, “It’s all over the Internet and the news, Damien. Don’t be upset if everyone is curious. You called it upon yourself.”

The waiter arrives with my wine and I take a sip.

Damien looks at me directly. “Well, to answer your question, I’m doing as well as I can under the circumstances. But don’t make this an inquisition because I won’t answer. I didn’t come here to talk about myself, so this topic is off limits.”

My chin juts out and my nostrils flare. “And I didn’t know making small talk with someone was considered an inquisition. So, please don’t be rude.”

Gabe’s brows shoot up to the ceiling. But at this point I don’t care. Damien may have lost his memory but that gives him no right to be impolite to me. The Damien I know would never have been rude to the friend of a friend, as I am to him right now.

Damien’s eyes widen and his lips curve into a slight smile. “Apologies, Aaliya. It’s just that I’m tired of everyone asking questions to which I have no replies.”

I lower my chin. “Apology accepted, Damien.”

Gabe cuts in. “Aaliya is an interior designer from India. We met at a conference five years ago in Mumbai.”

Damien’s head snaps to look at him. “You’ve been to India?”

“A few times, Damien. I’m sorry you don’t remember that.”

Pain crosses his face and his lips pinch together. Damien stares into his whiskey glass before he exhales and takes a quick sip.