Bound to the Greek (7 page)

She soon became immersed in organisation, making calls, checking facts and details, and arranging the most amazing party Jace Zervas could ever imagine. The party of her career.

She loved the buzz of creating something, seeing it emerge from her own imagination, and this party in particular was
both a challenge and a dream. She had just days to conjure something spectacular.

The amount of work also kept her from thinking. Remembering. She was grateful for the activity that kept her from dwelling on the pain Jace had raked up, the regrets that still lingered on the fringes of her mind.

If only I’d known…

In her mind she never let Jace finish that sentence.

Every night she fell into bed, too exhausted to think or wonder, yet even so in that vulnerable moment before sleep overtook her she found herself picturing Jace’s face, both as it had been ten years ago, young and smiling, and as it was now, determined and harsh. She remembered that shiver of electric awareness when he’d been in her apartment, when she had thought—perhaps even hoped—that he might touch her, and the memory carried her into the cocoon of sleep and insinuated itself into her dreams.

The day before the party Eleanor spent the afternoon making sure everything was in place at the event site. So much of planning an event like this was simply getting on the phone, putting in orders, cajoling and commanding at turns. Now the real fun began: making the magic.

‘It’s so unusual to have a party here at this time of year,’ Laura, the woman who managed the boathouse in Central Park, remarked as Eleanor went over the party details with her. ‘Especially with a request for the outside terrace. We’re completely booked for spring and summer, but December…’

‘I know,’ Eleanor agreed. It was part of the reason she’d just chosen the park’s boathouse as the venue; most other places had already been booked. And it was perfect for the kind of party she had planned. She surveyed the room, taking a mental count of the chairs and tables. ‘My client is looking for unusual,’ she explained, satisfied with the arrangements so far.

‘It won’t be too cold?’ Laura asked dubiously. Although
the boathouse had inside seating, its most spectacular feature was the pillared terrace overlooking the park’s lake. Now the lake was frozen solid, and in the distance Eleanor could see the Angel of Bethesda fountain still shrouded in snow.

‘I hope not,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Of course, we’re working on that.’ She’d ordered electric heaters to be placed on the terrace in strategic spots, to warm up cold little hands and feet.

‘Well, all right,’ Laura said, still sounding doubtful, and Eleanor pushed away the thought that perhaps she was in fact crazy. Ever since she’d first seen those few fat flakes drifting down, she’d been gripped by a vision, a
memory,
and she’d let it drive her through one of the most intense working weeks she’d ever experienced.

It left little time or room for doubt. Yet now as Laura went back to her office and Eleanor was left alone in the boathouse’s Lake Room, she wondered if Jace would think this party was impressive enough.
Suitable.

And she wondered why she should even care.

Sighing, Eleanor shook her head and walked over to the glass doors that led out onto the terrace. It was too late for doubts or regrets; the party was tomorrow night. Everything had been ordered, prepared, paid for. The invitations, in the shape of snowflakes, had been sent out to all the employees. All that was left was the doing.

Eleanor turned the door handle and pushed it open; a gust of freezing air hit her in the face. Drawing in a deep lungful of the cold, frosty air, she stepped out onto the terrace.

The sky was just darkening to violet, the sun disappearing behind the stark, bare branches that fringed the park. Eleanor stood by the railing, surveying the silent, frozen lake, the park empty of tourists or pedestrians on this cold evening. It never ceased to amaze her that she stood in nearly the exact centre of a city of eight million people, and the only sound was the creak and crack of shifting ice.

It’s going to be okay.

She let herself relax, unloosen all the tensed, tightly held
parts of herself. She didn’t let herself relax too often; she knew from experience it was too hard once you let go to get it all back together again. Yet now, just for a moment, she let herself be still, serene—or as close to it as she could be.

It’s going to be okay.

She wasn’t even sure what was going to be okay: the party? The future? Something more nebulous that she couldn’t yet name? Eleanor had no answers.

‘They told me I’d find you here.’

Eleanor tensed, all the loosely held parts of herself coming together in a cold, hard ball. She turned slowly around to survey Jace.

He stood in the doorway, dressed in a navy suit and wool overcoat, a briefcase in one hand. His cheeks were reddened with cold, emphasising the silvery glint of his eyes and the inky blackness of his hair.

‘On the terrace?’ Eleanor said a bit stupidly, for despite her cool smile her mind seemed to have slowed down, only able to process how amazing he looked.

Jace smiled crookedly. It reminded her of the way he used to smile, back when they were students. Lovers. He hadn’t smiled like that in the last week; all his smiles had been cold or calculated, a cruel curving of the lips. This one was real, lopsided, and yet somehow sad. The memories still lay between them, heavy and unspoken. Eleanor wondered if they would always be there. ‘Actually, in the restaurant. But the door was open, so I figured you came out for a breath of fresh air.’

‘Very fresh,’ Eleanor agreed, and Jace smiled again. Her heart turned right over, a flip-flop that was both exciting and a little alarming. She didn’t want to respond to him, not physically, not emotionally. She didn’t want to feel anything at all. Yet somehow, even now, after everything they’d been through, after everything she’d endured, she still did.

He set his briefcase down by the door and joined her at the railing. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Good.’ She gave a quick little laugh; it sounded sharp. She knew what that laugh was: a defence mechanism. She inched away from him. ‘You haven’t been checking up on me all week. I expected an email or phone call to make sure the arrangements were
acceptable.’
Her emphasis on the word, Eleanor knew, sounded petty.

‘I thought it best,’ Jace said after a second’s hesitation, and Eleanor saw his fingers tighten on the railing.

And before she could stop herself, Eleanor whispered, ‘Why didn’t you just get someone else, Jace?’ Her voice sounded little and lost.

‘I don’t know.’ He stared out at the frozen lake, his features harshening once more. ‘I didn’t want to walk away from you… like that.’

Like before. Her heart turned over again. It was, she thought ruefully, as desperate and flailing as a dying fish. She averted her face as she replied, ‘It would have been easier.’

Jace turned away from the railing and the lake, and Eleanor knew that the conversation—
that
conversation—was over. ‘It looks like you’ve done a fabulous job, at any rate,’ he said, his voice brisk and light. Eleanor felt equal and infuriating amounts of disappointment and relief. She really didn’t want to talk about the past, about
them,
yet here she was, ripping off scabs, opening wounds.

‘It’s cold out here.’ The lake, she saw, was now cloaked in darkness. Above the trees lights winked on in the elegant apartment buildings lining Fifth Avenue. ‘I should go back inside, check on the details before I return tomorrow.’

‘All right,’ Jace agreed, and he followed her back into the Lake Room. Eleanor didn’t look at him as she consulted her list, mindlessly scanning the endless items she’d assembled for the party. She felt rather than saw Jace, still standing by the door, watching her. Even though he stood halfway across the room, she imagined she could feel the heat emanating from his body, winding around her own heart and warming her from the inside.

‘There’s still a lot to do,’ she told him, her eyes fixed
firmly on her list. She felt a strange new tension crackling between them, snapping inside her. A sexual tension, and she wasn’t prepared for it. She’d spent ten years being angry at Jace Zervas; she wasn’t ready to feel anything else. She didn’t want to. ‘I’ll have to be back here early in the morning,’ she told him brightly, at least half aware that she was starting to babble. ‘Setting up. There’s a lot of outside work—’

‘Outside?’ Jace asked, taking a step closer. ‘What’s outside?’

‘Snow,’ Eleanor said simply, and looked up.

Mistake.
Jace was looking at her so intently, yet it was an intensity she felt rather than saw, as if his gaze reached right down into her soul and touched it. Held it, even. In that moment she remembered—she
felt
—the power he’d held over her ten years ago, when she’d given him everything. Her body, her dreams, her very life. Her happiness. And for a little while he’d kept them, treasured them, or seemed to. For such a short, sweet time life had seemed so wonderful.

Somehow she found a way to drag her gaze from his. She didn’t want to feel that way again. It
was
wonderful, it was captivating, and it was also extremely dangerous. If you gave someone your happiness, you might never see or feel it again.

‘Snow?’ Jace repeated, the word a question. ‘What does this party have to do with snow?’

‘Everything.’ Eleanor looked back at her list, although the words blurred in front of her. She was tired, exhausted, and she probably couldn’t do much good here. Yet the thought of going home made her feel a little sad. A little lonely. She could call Allie, go out for a drink—

‘Eleanor?’ Jace broke into her thoughts. ‘You look a million miles away.’

She looked up, distracted, discomfited, because she knew why she didn’t want to go home, or out, or anywhere but where Jace Zervas was.

He still held this awful, awful power over her; she was still captive. The thought was utterly aggravating.

‘Sorry.’ She forced herself to give him her sunny, and rather impersonal, smile, falling back on professional ploys she knew well. ‘Snow, yes. When it blizzarded the other day, I thought how much fun snow is for children, especially city children, who don’t see all that much of it. Winter for us—them—usually just means cold and a lot of grey slush.’

‘And?’

‘So I thought a party centred around snow—building snowmen, sledging, that sort of thing?would be fun. Family-friendly,’ she reminded him, the stress on the word only slightly edged. Even now, it hurt. She summoned her professional smile. ‘Some of my happiest childhood memories have to do with snow.’

‘Really.’ Jace took a step towards her. Even though he was still a good ten feet away, Eleanor felt he was too close. She made herself not move. ‘I never knew that,’ he said quietly.

‘Well, snow days, you know. No school.’

‘You didn’t like school?’

She shrugged. ‘What kid doesn’t want a snow day?’

‘Did you build snowmen? Go sledging?’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘Somehow I can’t see your mother doing that.’ He paused. ‘Based on how you described her to me, of course.’

Did he remember, after all these years? Eleanor did. She remembered lying in Jace’s arms, probably boring him with the silly little details of her life, her family. How she resented her mother for working so much, for being so hard and stern, for never giving her a father. She’d had an anonymous sperm donor instead, the easy, convenient way for a career woman to have a child. She’d even told Jace how she’d always insist on her own child knowing its father—

Ironic, that.

‘Once she did—’ She stopped. She wasn’t ready to share that memory. ‘Anyway, you don’t know everything about me, Jace.’

‘Once,’ he repeated softly, moving towards her, ‘I thought
I did.’ He took another step closer to her. She saw a dark urgency in his eyes, felt its desperate answer in herself.

Why was she thinking like this? Feeling like this? Breathless and buzzy and so achingly aware?

‘No, you didn’t,’ Eleanor informed him, keeping her voice curt.
Focus.
Focus on what Jace was saying, rather than how wonderful he looked. How close he was. How she could take one step—maybe two—and be in his arms.

Eleanor turned away, busying herself with the already fastened clasp of her attaché case. ‘Admittedly, I made a fool of myself,’ she continued in that same curt voice, ‘telling you every empty thing that came into my head, but there was plenty you didn’t know about me.’

‘Like what?’ Jace challenged softly. He’d moved even closer and she could feel him again, his heat and his strength, the sheer power radiating from him, making her, absurdly, want to lean on it. Lean on him. Already she could imagine his arms enfolding her, his chin resting on her head as he used to do—

Eleanor straightened. ‘Like the fact that I wouldn’t lie,’ she said shortly.

Jace stilled, and the room crackled with a new kind of tension. A chilling remoteness that made Eleanor feel as cold as she’d been on the terrace.

‘Right,’ Jace said, and his voice sounded distant. ‘Of course.’ Eleanor forced herself to say nothing. No apologies, no excuses. No regrets. ‘You’ve changed,’ he said after a moment, and she tensed.

‘I’ve been saying that all along.’

‘You’re the kind of person you never wanted to be,’ Jace told her quietly. Eleanor froze, her mind shocked into numbness, and then she whirled around.

‘That’s a rather arrogant statement,’ she said, her voice coldly furious. ‘Not to mention incredibly rude.’

‘You told me,’ Jace replied steadily, ‘that you never wanted to be like your mother.’

‘You’ve never even
met
my mother—’

‘You told me she was an event planner, the best in her field. Never missed a day of work. Never made a softball practice.’

Eleanor’s breath came out in a slow, surrendered hiss.
‘Stop—’

‘Consumed by her career, hardened and weary and lonely,’ Jace finished. Each word was an indictment, delivered in a terrible, matter-of-fact tone. ‘I could be looking right at her.’