Free Identity Crisis by Eliza Daly Page A

one more time. Your name is — ”
    “That’s not what I meant.”
    “I know.”
    She peered over at him. “You can give them the urn and tell them about my dad. Drop me off at that restaurant back there. I can’t do this. I’m going to change all of our lives forever. What if it’s not for the better? What if they don’t accept me?”
    Staring deep into her eyes, he placed a gentle hand on her bare shoulder, covering her sundress strap, massaging his thumb over her skin, easing the tension in her body. “You can do this. Think about your family’s safety. This guy could be headed here right now.” He gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You don’t have to reveal your identity ever if you don’t want to. You don’t have to make that decision right now. But we do need to go there.”
    She stared into his eyes, unsure what to say.
    “What if something happened to your family? Could you live with that? I think you have enough to live with right now.”
    That was an understatement. He was right. She couldn’t turn back at this point. And she didn’t have to tell her family who she was. For all they knew she was Oriana Davidson from Chicago. They didn’t have to meet their granddaughter, Olivia Donovan, ever.
    She let out a heavy sigh. “Let’s go.”
    He gave her a reassuring smile and pulled back onto the road. “We’re dating, not married. I work in law enforcement, so they won’t question my gun if they see it, and you own an eclectic fashion boutique.”
    She nodded. She had their background memorized, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t slip-up and reveal something she shouldn’t.
    They pulled into a parking lot, the gravel crunching under the weight of the SUV. Pine trees canopied most of the area, and the scent of pine and lake water clung to the warm, humid air. To one side of the lot, a half dozen small, white cottages sat back fifty feet from the shoreline. On the other side sat a large white house with a wraparound porch filled with hanging pots of red and yellow flowers. It wasn’t the porch from her nightmares.
    Ethan turned off the vehicle and peered over at her. “Ready?”
    She stared at the house, heart racing. She could do this. With Ethan by her side, she not only felt safer, but able to handle whatever may lie ahead. She nodded faintly, hiding her mom’s wedding ring beneath the neckline of her dress.
    Ethan grabbed the suitcases from the back, and Olivia took her carry-on from the backseat. They walked toward the inn as a squirrel darted across the yard. It scaled a wooden post, raced along a two-by-four, then scurried through a birdhouse, materializing on the other side. It hopped onboard a wooden train car and sat perched as it zipped down a track, its final destination a birdfeeder with a sign reading
Need More Birdseed
.
    They walked up the porch steps, her heart pounding so hard blood pulsated in her ears. She took a calming breath.
Relax
.
    A bell jingled over the door as they walked inside. A staircase with a wooden banister led from the foyer to the upstairs. Wide, open windows welcomed the warm humid air over dry air-conditioning. Framed photos lining the buttercup colored walls recounted the lake’s history, including one of four women in bathing suits circa the 1950s, arms around each other, standing on the shore. Olivia glanced around, hoping for a déjà vu, but nothing sparked a memory.
    “Welcome and congratulations,” a young blond woman said with a warm smile, walking into the foyer.
    Congratulations? Ethan and Olivia exchanged confused glances.
    “Aren’t you the honeymoon couple?” she asked.
    Olivia shook her head. “No, we’re not.”
    “Oh, sorry. My honeymoon couple was due here right about now. I just brought the champagne and strawberries to their room. Are you celebrating a special occasion? You know we were ranked the county’s most romantic inn the past five years.”
    “I’d read that,” Ethan said, not missing a beat, slipping an