Chapter 115

~ Franklin ~

"You what? You... you remember?" I asked, a flicker of hope cutting through my skepticism.

"Yes...ugh!" She winced, clutching her bandaged head.

"Stop trying to remember for now. You’re going to hurt yourself, please," I said, still holding her in my arms.

"I have to...I need to...I want to remember." She finally opened her eyes and looked at me. She looked drained, fragile.

"If remembering means you have to inflict pain on yourself, then don’t. I don’t want you getting hurt," I told her. "Just don’t force it."

"O...okay," she mumbled. She straightened up and studied me wearily.

"Are you okay?"

"I’m fine," she murmured.

"Are you sure? Do you need me to drive you back to the hospital so you can rest?"

"I’m okay...and there’s no need for you to drive me back to the hospital. I’m fine," she assured me. I nodded, still reluctant.

"Can we stroll on the beach?" she asked, rising to her feet and stretching her hand toward me.

"Yes, we can." I smiled and took it.

There weren’t many people on the beach today, which made the stretch of sand feel private—just the two of us. The breeze lifted her hair, letting it dance around her face and making her even more beautiful.

"Was I a good wife to you, Franklin?" she asked.

"You were the best. You were perfect. I’m lucky to have you as my wife—even though we married for the wrong reasons."

I stared at her for a moment before speaking again. "You said you remember."

She glanced at me, then down at her feet, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yes, but it’s only fragments...like shattered pieces that won’t fit back together yet."

I stayed quiet.

"I remember our wedding, just a little. I remember exchanging vows. I can see the suit you wore, my wedding dress—it was a simple white fitted flowing gown—and the heels I wore. The bouquet was white roses, and I remember the hairstyle I had." She paused, still looking at her feet, then turned to me. "That’s all I can remember right now."

Disappointment settled in my chest, but I said nothing. I wished she could recall everything—including the memory of seeing those nude photos—so I could finally explain and make things right.

She reached out and took my hand. "I’m sorry."

I gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. "No, don’t be. It’s not your fault. It’s just..."

I stopped abruptly, glancing down at our entwined hands before meeting her eyes again. "I had hoped you would remember...both the good and the bad...so I could apologize properly."

She gave me a slightly confused look. "Apologize for what? Did you do something wrong that you need to apologize for?"

I sighed. "I think when you fully remember everything, you’ll understand why I need to apologize."

The memory of calling her a slut flashed through my mind and sent goosebumps racing across my skin.

"Okay," she said softly.

"Hey, do you want to get ice cream? My treat."

"Of course. But we’re coming back here, right? It’s peaceful." She smiled as she gazed around the beach.

"Sure, of course we’ll come back," I promised.

I took her hand and led her off the sand toward the car. The only silver lining in her amnesia was this: I could touch her without her flinching or pulling away. She felt like the Octavia I had known at the resort—the one before the memories returned.

We found an ice-cream vendor in town and bought two cones. She chose chocolate; I picked vanilla. Then we drove back to the beach.

"It’s a good thing it didn’t melt into soup," Octavia teased as we settled onto the same spot we had left earlier.

"True. If this were summer, it would have turned to liquid before we even reached the car."

She laughed—that innocent, cute, adorable laugh that still made my heart do a backflip.

"That’s true," she said, licking her cone.

"Can I ask you a question, Franklin?"

"Sure. Of course. You’re free to ask me anything."

"Before what happened to me... did we ever talk about wanting children?"

I almost choked on my ice cream.

"Are you okay?" she asked as I coughed.

"Yeah, I’m fine. The question just surprised me."

"Sorry."

"No, no, no—it’s fine," I assured her. "Don’t apologize. I like that you asked."

"Really?"

"Mmm-hmm." I nodded. "Honestly, we never talked about having children. I didn’t even bother asking because, when we got married, I couldn’t picture you as the mother of my kids. But when I started falling for you, everything changed. I began imagining you as the mother of my children. In one of those daydreams, I saw you heavily pregnant, barefoot, walking around the mansion. You’d come into my study just to tease me, then run away laughing when I tried to catch you. Later I’d find you in our bedroom, and you’d ask me to massage your swollen feet while you craved some crazy snack. I’d massage them right away, call a maid to bring whatever you wanted, and then we’d talk about how many children we wanted—how many daughters and sons." I smiled at the memory.

"That’s quite a beautiful imagination," Octavia said after a while.

"It is."

"So that’s what you want? For it to actually happen?" she mumbled.

"Yes. I want it to come true."

She chuckled and kept licking her ice cream. "How many children do you want, Franklin?"

"Three is perfect for me."

"How many boys and girls?"

"Hmm." I thought for a second. "Two girls and a boy."

"Why two girls and a boy?"

"Because I want princesses more than princes—with my queen by my side, caring for them." I winked at her.

She looked down, blushing. God, how I had missed that blush.

"What about you?" I asked.

"I would love two children—a boy and a girl. A girl I could call my little Octavia." She gazed out at the beach, where the waves had grown a little stronger but still gentle.

"Little Octavia... wow."

She glanced at me and chuckled softly. "That’s beautiful, I must say."

I leaned in and whispered in her ear, "But I don’t think she would be called little Octavia."

"Why not?" she scoffed playfully.

"Because I want there to be only one Octavia—the one who stays by my side forever."

"So you want me to be your queen?"

"There’s no need for me to want it. You already are. You’re my queen, Octavia. The mother of my unborn children. I choose you."

We stared at each other, neither of us looking away.

She finally turned back to her nearly finished cone. I noticed a smear of chocolate at the corner of her lips.

"You have a little something—"

"What?"

"Don’t worry." I reached out, wiped it off with my thumb, then licked it clean. "Tastes like you. We should add an ’Octavia’s Flavor’ to the menu at every ice-cream vendor and lounge."

She blushed crimson. I burst into a hearty laugh—the kind I hadn’t felt in a long time.

"Gosh, you look like a tomato right now," I said, still grinning.

"Tomato?" She looked confused.

"Yes. You know... red, like your cheeks."

"Someone has said that to me before... but I can’t remember who."

"Is it... Clinton?" I asked carefully. I had sworn to myself that I wouldn’t let jealousy creep in if she ever mentioned him or any other man.

"No, I don’t think so." She shrugged, then turned to me. "Just forget I said that."

I nodded slowly.

"Is the chocolate smear wiped off?" she asked, pointing to her lips.

"No, not really," I lied, an idea already forming.

"Why? Wipe it off then."

I nodded, leaned in, and kissed her. She kissed me back a second later. I could taste the rich chocolate on her lips—always perfect.

A few minutes later I slowly pulled away.

"Was that your way of wiping the smear off my lips?" Octavia asked.

"Yeah. Thought that would be the best method." I rubbed the back of my neck and laughed nervously.

She blushed again.

"Though there was never any smear there. I just wanted to kiss you," I admitted.

She scoffed, blushing for the fifth time.

"You know, I love the way you blush. It’s so cute."

She stared at me, then smiled. "Why do I feel like I’ve had a déjà vu of you saying those exact words?"

"Because I have told you that before."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Then my memories are coming back gradually."

"They should, but we need to take it slow," I said, taking her hand. "Because I don’t want you hurting yourself while you remember."

"I won’t."

I lifted her hand and kissed it. "I love you, Octavia. You may forget it for a while, but I just needed to remind you." I kissed her hand once more.

She only smiled.

We finished our ice cream, and before evening I took her to a diner for an early dinner. When dusk settled, I drove us back to the hospital. She showered and was tucked into bed while her mother, Patricia, sat nearby.

"Thank you for today, Franklin. I had fun," she told me.

"Anything for you, Mrs. Flemington."

"Hmm. Mrs. Flemington? That’s new."

"It’s not new to me."

She nodded.

"Do you want dinner, dear?" Patricia asked.

"No, Mom, thanks. I already ate. Franklin and I had an early dinner." Octavia shook her head.

"Okay." Patricia patted her hand gently.

"Goodnight, Octavia," I said.

"Goodnight, Franklin."

I nodded and left the ward. Patricia walked me out.

"She really did have fun," she said, folding her arms.

"We should do everything in our power to keep her from forcing the memories and hurting herself. They’ll come back on their own when they’re ready."

"I know, Mrs. Herman."

"Goodnight, Franklin."

"Goodnight."

I left the hospital with a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. Today had been one of the best memories I’d had with her in a long time. And I knew the even better ones were just a matter of time.