He reached across the table and slipped his hand over hers. For a moment he stroked his thumb across her knuckles and then he gently squeezed.

“I really am sorry. I’m being a selfish bastard. I know this has to hurt you and that none of this is easy for you. Forgive me.”

Her heart squeezed at the sincerity in his eyes. It was all she could do not to throw herself into his arms and hold on for all she was worth. She wanted to whisper to him that she loved him. She wanted to beg him never to let her go. But all she could do was stare across the table in helpless frustration.

“What if you never remember?” she asked, voicing her greatest fear.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

She leaned back in her seat, slipping her hand from underneath his. The heaviness in her chest was a physical ache, one that clogged her throat and made it hard to breathe.

“What have you packed?” she asked lightly, forcing a smile.

He looked confused by the abrupt shift in conversation. “I haven’t yet.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We leave in the morning and you don’t know how long you’ll be gone. Aren’t you leaving it to the last minute?”

He grimaced. “I wasn’t sure what to pack. You mentioned things like swimwear and flip-flops.”

She laughed as some of the tension in her chest eased. “Well, it’s too cold to swim. The weather is still quite warm but the water is chilly. But we can buy you shorts and flip-flops like we did before. We can’t have you wearing suits all the time, and your expensive loafers will just get ruined.”

“I’m trusting you,” he muttered. “Since you swear I did this before.”

“And it didn’t kill you,” she teased. “When I was done with your makeover, you looked more relaxed and less like a stuffed shirt.”

“You’re implying I’m stuffy?” he asked in mock outrage.

“Oh, you were. Totally stuffy.”

“I don’t want to stand out this time. I’d like to keep my…problem…as private as possible.”

“Of course,” Bryony murmured.

He sat back in his chair and fiddled with his wineglass, though he didn’t pick it up to drink. He turned in the direction of the band playing soft, mellow jazz and then back to her, his expression thoughtful.

“Tell me, Bryony. Did we ever dance?”

Caught off guard by the question, she shook her head mutely.

He stood and held his hand out to her. “Then dance with me now.”

Mesmerized by the husk in his tone, she slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He led her onto the dance floor and slid his palm over her back as he pulled her into his embrace.