Ben stared.

She wasn't supposed to know about that. She was supposed to have forgotten. He knew that she'd been getting bits and pieces of her memories back since the accident, but this was the piece. How had it never come up? Admittedly, Ben hadn't wanted to talk about it, either. Even when they'd both been fully aware of the events that lead up to their elopement, it wasn't something they'd talked about. But if she knew that then she had to know everything, or at least have been able to paint a clear enough picture to fill in the rest of the gaps. That was the cornerstone that the whole rest of this bloody mess was built on.

So why had she still been treating him like he was committing some grievous crime in not sitting her down and explaining it all to her? If she knew what it was he wasn't talking about, she would have also known why he was avoiding the subject. He'd been doing what he thought was best for her, to avoid reopening old wounds — and meanwhile, she'd been writing letters to her former fiance.

The whiskey glass made a sharp noise as he lowered his hand to the table a touch too quickly. "What the hell sort of mind games have you been playing?"

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