She has no memory of choosing him. Her heart, apparently, didn’t get the memo. I wake up in a hospital with a year of my life missing—and Grant Hastings at my bedside. I remember him, all right. He’s wealthy. Arrogant. British. And my late brother’s best friend. The last man I’d ever want to marry. Except apparently I did. Now I’m living in a beautiful house I don’t recognize, wearing a ring I don’t remember receiving, and expected to play the devoted wife while his aristocratic family, unaware of the gaps in my memory, descends for his birthday. Grant is patient and attentive, dropping hints about an explosive relationship that makes my pulse race. He’s nothing like the cold, haughty man I remember. Torn between suspicion about this inconvenient marriage of convenience and an attraction to my husband I’m not ready to name, I have to make a leave the past buried or trust Grant to help me find my way back to a life I can’t remember choosing. The terrifying part? I’m starting to think past me knew exactly what she was doing.