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grandchildren back in Greece.’ Jace smiled thinly. ‘He showed me pictures.’
    Eleanor slowly shook her head. She’d been on the end of Jace’s charm once; she knew how forceful it was. And how false.
    Sighing in defeat, she turned away from the door. ‘Fine. Come in.’
    He entered, shutting the door carefully behind him. Eleanor moved to the window, her arms creeping around her body despite her effort to maintain a cool, composed air. She felt vulnerable, exposed somehow, as if from the stark modernity of her apartment Jace could somehow guess at the emotional barrenness of her life.
    Stop.
She couldn’t think like that. She had a job, friends, a life—
    She just didn’t have what mattered.
    Love.
    Stop.
    ‘What do you want?’
    Jace stood in the centre of her living room, seeming too big, too
much
for the space. He glanced around, and Eleanor saw him take in all the telltale signs of a single life. No jumble of shoes or coats, no piles of magazines or books. Just a single pair of heels discarded by the door. In the galley kitchen she saw her lone coffee cup from this morning rinsed and set by the sink. ‘You live here alone?’
    She lifted one shoulder in a shrug that couldn’t help but seem defensive. ‘Yes.’
    He shook his head slowly. ‘What about—the baby?’ He spoke awkwardly, the words sounding stilted. They felt stilted to Eleanor. She didn’t want him to ask. She didn’t want him to know.
    She didn’t want to tell.
    ‘What about the baby?’ she asked evenly.
    ‘He—or she, rather—doesn’t live with you?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘The father retained custody?’
    She gave a short, abrupt laugh. The weariness was fading away and the anger was coming back. Along with the hurt. She was tired of feeling so much, so suddenly, after ten years of being comfortably numb. She dropped her arms to her sides. ‘What do you really want to talk about, Jace?’
    ‘You said you were the one who couldn’t forgive or forget. And I want to know why.’ He spoke flatly, yet she sawsomething in his eyes she hadn’t seen in ten years, something that hadn’t been there yesterday or this morning. Need.
    Hunger.
    Why did he want to know? Why did he care?
    ‘Because you may have felt you had just cause, but the fact that you abandoned me the very day I told you I was pregnant was a hard thing to get over.’ She smiled thinly. ‘Surprisingly, it seems.’
    Jace shook his head, the movement one of instinctive denial. ‘Ellie, you know that baby isn’t?wasn’t?mine.’
    Anger, white-hot, lanced through her. ‘I know?’ she repeated, her voice rising in incredulity. ‘I know? I’ll tell you what I know, Jace, and that is that the only bastard I’ve ever met is you. First-class, A-plus, for thinking that.’
    He took a step towards her in an action both menacing and urgent, his features twisted with what looked like pain. ‘Are you telling me,’ he demanded in a low voice, ‘that the baby was mine? Is that what you’re actually saying, Ellie?’
    She lifted her chin. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying, Jace. And the very fact that you could think for a moment—’
    ‘Don’t.’ He held up one hand, and Eleanor saw to her shock that it trembled. ‘Don’t,’ he repeated rawly, ‘lie to me. Not now. Not again. Not about this.’
    For a second Eleanor’s anger gave way to another powerful emotion: curiosity. Jace faced her, his expression open and hungry. She’d never see him look so… desperate. There was more going on here than she understood.
    ‘I’m not lying,’ she said quietly. ‘What makes you think I ever was?’
    Jace didn’t speak for a moment. His gaze held hers, searching for a truth he seemed hell-bent on disbelieving. ‘Because,’ he finally said, his voice little more than a ragged whisper, ‘I can’t have children. I’ve known it since I was fifteen years old.’ He let out a long, slow breath before stating flatly, ‘I’m infertile. Sterile.’
    Eleanor stared.
I can’t