Bound to the Greek

Jace stared at Ellie’s hard face, derision in every line, her eyes dark with scorn. He felt a scalding sense of shame rush through him. This hard, polished woman, this glossy professional who lifted her chin and dared him to feel sympathy or compassion or dreaded pity, was a product of his own judgment. His own failure.

If he’d stayed with Ellie… if he’d seen her through the miscarriage… would she be a different woman? Would she have stayed the same?

It was a pointless question. As Eleanor herself had said, this was all ten years too late. They’d both moved on. They’d both changed. He certainly wasn’t the same foolish boy who’d let himself be besotted, who had eagerly fallen in love because the experience had been so intoxicating, so vital, so different from what he’d known.

Who had a heart to be broken.

No, he wasn’t that same man. He’d changed, hardened, and so had Ellie. Eleanor. They were different people now, and the only thing they had in common was loss.

The loss of their baby. A sudden, new grief threatened to swamp him, and to his shock he felt the sting of tears in his eyes, the ache in the back of his throat. He forced the feeling down, refusing to give into such an emotion. He never cried. In the fifteen or so years since his life had changed for ever—or at least until now—he’d developed a foolproof way of dealing with his father’s disappointment. He never acted as if he cared. Whether it was a flat, emotionless response, or a carefree, laughing one, either way he kept his heart off-limits. He remained detached. He had, until Eleanor. Somehow Eleanor had slipped through the defences he’d erected—that charming, laughing exterior—and found the man underneath. He wondered if she even knew how much she’d affected him.

And how had he affected her? In a sudden, painful burst of insight he pictured her in his apartment building, twenty years old and pregnant, realising he’d gone. He’d abandoned her utterly, and she’d been innocent.

Innocent.

He’d never, for a moment or even a second, considered that the child—their child—might have been his. This infertility was so much a part of him, a weight that had been shackled to him for so long, he’d never considered existing without it. He’d never even hoped for such a possibility.

And yet now for it to be given to him, and taken away, virtually in the same breath was too much to consider. To accept. He was left speechless, his mind spinning in dizzying circles, his heart thudding as if he’d just finished a sprint.

He didn’t know what to think. To feel. And he was afraid—yes, afraid—to open up the floodgates of his own heart and mind to all the possibilities, all the realisations, all the regret and guilt and hope and fear. They would consume him; he would have nothing left. Nothing he could count on or control. He couldn’t do that. Not yet, maybe not ever.

He needed to get this situation back under control, Jace knew, and there was only one way to do that.

‘So,’ Jace said, and was glad to hear how even his voice sounded. ‘Let’s talk about this party.’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘WHAT?’ Eleanor heard the screech of her own voice and briefly closed her eyes. She opened them and shook her head. ‘No.’

Jace arched an eyebrow in challenge. ‘Why not? You didn’t seem to have a problem with planning the party before.’

‘You can’t be serious. After everything—’

‘We’re professionals, Eleanor.’ Jace’s voice was hard, and Eleanor saw a bleak darkness in his eyes. She felt its answer in herself, and she wondered if Jace was trying to prove something to himself, just as she was. The past is finished. It doesn’t matter. I’m not hurt.

But she was. And she was so tired of pretending she wasn’t. Yet even so she couldn’t admit that to Jace. She felt exposed enough, considering all she’d already revealed. She wasn’t about to say anything more. ‘Of course we’re professionals, Jace. But I simply think it would be sensible—not to mention more productive—to have a colleague plan your event.’

‘I don’t.’

Why was he doing this? She shook her head again. ‘I told you at your office—’

‘That you were quitting? Lucky for you I didn’t communicate that to your boss. I don’t think she would have been pleased. And somehow I had a feeling you might change your mind.’ His mouth twisted sardonically, his eyes glinting.

Eleanor didn’t answer. She knew just how displeased Lily would have been. She might have thrown her entire career away in a single, emotional moment, and Jace at least had had the presence of mind not to let her do it.

She supposed she should be grateful.

Eleanor walked slowly back to the window. It had become her place of retreat; either that or she was simply backed into a corner. ‘I don’t understand why you want to do this,’ she said quietly. ‘Or what can be gained—for either of us.’