Stealing the Heart of Mr. Steele

Chapter 50 [Cordelia]This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

I wake to the sound of birdsong and the warmth of the sun shining through the window near my bed. Blinking, I open my eyes to see a pleasant room painted in bright yellow with wooden furniture and large pillows in pastel colors. It all looks like something from a tropical d "Atlas," I call out into the quiet. There is no response. The last thing I remember is the feeling of his arms around me as we...

The door creaks open. Suddenly alert, I sit up quickly. Too quickly. My head begins to pound and I suddenly feel like I might be sick with pain from the way my brain feels like jello inside of my skull.

"What is wrong with me?" I mumble more to myself than to anyone else. "Where am I?"

"You're here, with me," a cheery voice calls out. Moving my hands, my eyes take a moment to adjust.

"Angelica?" I cannot believe my eyes. "But you disappeared? You've been gone for 5 years and I..."

"What are you talking about," she smiles over her shoulder. "I've been here with you this whole time. Remember?"

Nothing makes sense. "How can I remember something that isn't real?"

"Here we go again," she sighs.

Angelica spends the next several minutes "reminding" me of everything I have "forgotten." We are on a private island near Catalina about 25 miles away from Los Angeles in the Pacific Ocean. We were sent here to recover after the terrible accident five years ago. She made a full recovery, but I have been suffering from severe amnesia, delusions, and anxiety. Because of this, I've needed intensive around-the-

clock care.

Being the self-sacrificing and ever-loyal sister, Angelica visits me every month to make sure I am doing well and to check in with my recovery. Today is one of those visits.

"I remember the accident. You wanted me to plan that accident so that you could run away with..." I blink. What was I saying? "I can't remember," I gasp. "What am I forgetting?"

"We were both trying to get away, remember? Our parents wanted us to marry that rich tycoon to save our family but we both decided

to run away. We took Dad's sports car and headed up the coast. You were going to meet your boyfriend and I was going to come with you."

"But something went wrong with the brakes," Angelica continues. "It was raining and the car slid off the edge of the freeway onto the rocks. We were lucky it stopped before we hit the ocean or they would have never found our bodies."

I shiver at the half-remembered thought. Our bodies are mangled on the rocks. It feels so real, but also so far away and almost more like a terrible nightmare.

"I got away mostly unscathed, but you needed much longer to heal," Angelica explains. "You were in a

coma for..."

"No, that's wrong," I shake my head. "You were in a coma. I remember because I sat by your bed and our parents blamed me when you disappeared."

"That wasn't me, Cordy," her voice is calm, patient. "It was you. You were the one who was desperately in love and needed to leave. And we didn't disappear. We were sent to the island to recover. When your body recovered but your mind was still so... lost, you were sent here to finish your healing."

"No, this can't be real, I mean, I remember getting married. I married the tycoon, Atlas, in your place. I've been Cordelia Steele for the last 5 years living the life you should have lived. He..." My

head starts to pound again. "He loves me, I think. Maybe. We're going to have a baby and..."

"It's like the treatments aren't working," she frowns. "It's so sad. I feel so bad for Jude."

"Jude?" The name sounds familiar, but I'm not sure why. "Who is he?"

She sits down next to me in the chair by my bedside. She places my hands in hers and looks at me with a worried crease on her brow. "Oh Cordy, please tell me you remember Jude. That poor man. He's been by your side every day." "Why would he do that?" I look at her, confused.

"Because he loves you," she smiles sadly. "He still loves you after all these years, even with all the heartbreak you have caused him." She looks like she is about to cry.

"But who is he?" I ask again.

"He's your fiance," she answers slowly, as if speaking to a child, "and the father of your baby." 2