“Not yet,” he says.

Then together we stare silently at the snow.

“If you let me, I will do my best for you. And what is best is that you know as little for now as possible till we talk to him.”

“Him?”

“The Monarch of the Electi.”

It’s obvious that my questions are useless. None of the words he is using make any sense. “You’re asking me to follow you . . . blindly.”

He hesitates. “Yes. Because you must understand, your questions will all be answered. And when they are, it’ll feel like you’ve always known.”

Unexpectedly, just twenty feet away upon the white blanketed pastureland, a mother lynx pads by with her babies leisurely following. My head throbs as I watch these small animals. “Okay.”

He grins.

“What?”

“Remy would never have conceded.”

“I’m not Remy,” I say clearly.

“Not yet. You should change your clothes. I’ll come back to get you,” Arek says quietly as though this is the excuse—he needs to take a break. “I’ve left some things on the couch for you.”

“Where’s Ian?”

“Still sleeping, the last I checked.”

“What will you do with him?”

“I don’t know. When I get any answers, I will tell you.”

One last lynx baby passes by, trudging somberly through the snow. “I’ve never seen a lynx before. I’ve never been to Switzerland,” I say. Chills travel uncomfortably through my spine. “Is it always cold here?”

“During the winter and early spring,” he says as he nods and crosses his arms in front of him.

“Can I know whose home I’m in?”

He hesitates, looks at me with one of his burdened looks, then cocks his head to the side. “Mine.”

“Oh. You live here?”

“When I’m not watching you.” He grins. “Get dressed and I’ll show you the rest of the place.”

“Just one more thing. What is Elizabeth expecting of me? She looks at me like she wants something.”

“I believe you are going to see it quite often. She is hoping that you remember her.”

“And others would do anything to keep me from having my memory come back. Like you . . .”

“Trust me.”

I answer quietly, “I’m trying.”

“You are going to have to get used to letting people down. It’s inevitable with the situation that we are in.”

“I don’t like letting people down.”

“You never did.”

Wonderment suddenly appears on my face. How did we know each other? “I never did?”

He clears his throat as he walks toward the door. Until that moment, he had been strong and collected.

“Hurry and dress, I’ll be back for you.”

With that he closes the door behind him, and I am suddenly very, very alone, again.

CHAPTER TWELVE

It occurs to me that my desire has always been to live in a tree house among the elements. So, as we walk through this modern home with glass walls, I realize this is the adult version. Now, as the sun sets in the later afternoon, Arek walks just ahead of me, turning on warm lights within the house of windows. His distraction in illumination gives me a moment to compose myself, but this is quite possibly the most beautiful home, cocooned between the Alps and meadows. Cathedral ceilings, warm lit modern chandeliers, and minimalist clean furniture create a thorough line of simplicity from one end of the home to the other.

He says very little, even at times seemingly uncomfortable with my awe. When we enter the kitchen, I gasp at the hanging black saucer-shaped fireplace directly in front of white covered mountains and trees.

“That wasn’t my choice, but I’ve loved it ever since,” he mentions when noticing my affection for it.

In every room, behind every window, is an even better view than that of the one before. Despite the shiny floors and clear-as-day windows, something feels equivalent to the warmth of entering a grandmother’s kitchen—comfortable and evocative.

Arek watches as my fingertips run along a cookbook on the shiny metal kitchen counter. Deep within his gaze there is a spark of the expectation that feels like an anvil on my shoulders.

“There’s so much I don’t know, isn’t there?” my reserved voice echoes in the open kitchen.

“No need to worry about any of it. It won’t help anyway.”

“If what you tell me is true, will I get all of my memory back?”

“I believe the answer is not if, but when.”

The single-story home is shaped as a horseshoe, so just beyond the kitchen is another hall—one side is made of glass and the other side has several doors. He leads me to the second door, where he stops.

“In here. The only thing I ask is that you say nothing of what I told you.” With that, he opens the door.

Inside is another bedroom and sitting on the end of the bed is Ian with his head in his hands. The second he sees us, he jumps to his feet.

“Willow!”

Arek quickly turns away but clears his throat uncomfortably. “You have just a few minutes. It’s important that you come to dinner. It may help you understand.” Then he disappears.