Page 11 of Bratva Jewels Box Set

“I understand English,” she states, surprising both of us.

“You understand Spanish as well?” I say, asking in Spanish.

The girl nods, but I can see she is still unsure about the two of us. Maybe she isn’t a tourist then.

“I also speak French, German, Arabic, and Russian,” she explains before placing a hand over her lips, surprised she told us that bit of information. Or maybe surprised she remembered that about herself.

Tomas and I look at each other, suitably impressed. Who is this woman? And what the hell happened to her?

“Thank you for helping me,” she whispers as her brows pull together.

“Of course. We couldn’t leave you there like that. We’re happy you’re okay,” I say, giving her a smile.

Another frown forms on her face as she looks away from me.

Is she scared of men or just me?

“Do you know what happened to you?” Tomas asks.

Silence falls between us until she shakes her head. A tiny sob escapes her mouth before she has time to close it, exposing her true feelings to us. She recoils in the bed when I move too quickly to comfort her.

“I’m so sorry.”

She looks between Tomas and me, and you can see her mind working a million miles an hour behind those sapphire eyes.

“No, it’s okay, it’s just …” Her eyes move to her hands again, and her brows pull together tightly.

“Do you know where you are?” Tomas asks.

She shakes her head.

“Do you know who you are?” he asks.

She pauses for a moment, thinking about the question.

Shit, what happens if she’s lost her memory? How will she know who she is? How will her family find her?

“I don’t know. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to reach it.” She lets out a frustrated sigh as confusion falls across her face.

“How old are you then?” Tomas asks.

Those sapphire blue eyes look up and stare at him. “Is that a question you should ask a lady?”

Tomas blanches.

Then she giggles this cute, girly giggle. “Sorry, I was just messing with you, lightening the mood.”

Tomas’s face is priceless.

I burst out laughing as well. Who the hell is this woman? Here she is in a traumatic situation, then turns around and makes a joke. I like her.

She smiles. “I’m twenty-four.” Then she frowns. “I remember that but not who I am? That’s weird, isn’t it?”

She’s young, too young to have this happen to her.

“Not weird at all. You’ve had something traumatic happen to you. Your brain is healing,” I explain to her.

She nods in understanding. “I think it’s fair that you tell me who you both are, seeing as I can’t remember who I am.”