REMEMBER US: A Billionaire Romance (Part Two) Read Free Page B

community center this weekend.”
    “The one where I was doing the mural?”
    “Yes. Construction is finally done. I was beginning to think we were never going to finish.”
    “Xander said the center is for low-income kids?”
    Margaret glanced at me, then smiled a little wryly. “I keep forgetting you’ve lost your memory. Yes, it is. I started it almost a year ago when a friend of mine suggested that someone should do something about the kids running around the neighborhood with nothing to do. Xander found the space, and he donated the security system. Another friend ran several fundraisers to pay for the renovations, and you were providing the art.”
    “The mural wasn’t finished?”
    “No. But it’s close enough that only those with a good eye will be able to tell.”
    “I’d like to see it.”
    Margaret’s eyebrows rose. “Yes?”
    Before I could nod, she was out of her chair and grabbing my hand.
    “Let’s go!”
    She drove a Jaguar that was complicated to get inside with my new boot, but it was so much easier than it might have been with the thigh-high cast I’d had before. Margaret chatted as we drove across town, but I didn’t hear much of it. I was busy staring out the window, waiting for the landscape to prompt a memory or two. However, none of it looked even vaguely familiar.
    “Xander said I lived over here for a while.”
    Margaret gestured vaguely toward the west. “You had a tiny house over there for a couple of months.” She glanced at me. “He told you about the called-off wedding, then.”
    “He did.”
    “Did he tell you everything?” She slowed the car at a stop light and looked at me, her eyes searching my face for a long moment. “Did he tell you about—?”
    “The divorce that wasn’t on record? Yes.”
    “Then you know it was my fault.”
    I glanced at her. “What do you mean?”
    “Paperwork has never really been my thing, you know. I thought it got to where it should have gone, but…well, you know.”
    “No, I don’t.”
    I had no idea what she was talking about.
    She eased the car forward, and we rounded a curve. The building on the left was instantly familiar to me, but I couldn’t tell anyone why. It just…well, it just was.
    It was a long, low building made of concrete blocks. It was painted a soft brown on the outside, but I think that was a new addition. I felt that it was once white with the sheen of dirt and debris all over it. The brown was definitely an improvement. There were signs naming it The Wilshire Community Center, with another that had Margaret’s smiling face on it, marking her as the organizer of the project.
    I was a little surprised to see my face adorning another of these signs. It was taken before the accident—obviously—my hair was long, almost to my waist, and I was smiling at the camera like one of those lawyers you see on the side of city buses. It was kind of creepy, looking at my own face and not really recognizing the woman who was staring back.
    “When was that taken?”
    Margaret pulled to a stop in the small parking lot besides the building. “I don’t know. You gave it to me a week or two before the accident. I never really had a chance to ask you about it.”
    We got out and headed inside. The main doors opened into a lobby that was furnished the way a teenager would furnish his own room, complete with mushroom chairs and video games. Past the reception desk, there was a hallway that opened into various classroom-type areas where kids could read their favorite books, watch television, get help with their homework, or work on art projects.
    “This room was your idea,” Margaret said, gesturing to the large room that was furnished only with easels and supply shelves. “You said the students didn’t get enough art instruction at school and would appreciate this sort of thing. We hired a young art teacher last week to oversee the project. She’s quite enthusiastic.”
    “That’s good.”
    Margaret just nodded, as she