MAYA'S POV

The smell hit me first.

Antiseptic. Sharp and cold, stabbing straight up my nostrils.

My eyes flew open. I sat up so fast the room spun.

"Easy."

I turned my head.

Damian sat in the chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, his jacket gone and his sleeves rolled to his elbows. His shirt was wrinkled. His eyes looked tired.

"Where am I?" My throat felt like sandpaper.

"Hospital."

"Hospital?" I stared at the drip taped to my hand. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

I tried.

The restaurant. The candles. His stupid smirk across the table, and my own voice telling him to stop looking at me...