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Nothing.
A stern-faced young man who dressed far too old for his age approached, pushing his boxy glasses up his nose. Zeph recognised him from their video calls.
‘Spyros. Good of you to come.’
His assistant nodded, then proceeded to search Zeph’s face.
Zeph gave a subtle shake of his head. ‘No, nothing yet.’
Spyros’s shoulders slumped a little.
With a tight smile, Zeph clasped him on the shoulder. ‘Have faith, I’ll be back before you know it.’
Surprise registered in his eyes before he managed to mask it. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘It’s a party. Go and enjoy yourself.’
Advice he couldn’t seem to take himself as he mingled with Imogen. Half of the guests he could barely tolerate, and the other half looked at him with a mixture of apprehension and awe.
A mere two hours later and he wanted them gone. Wanted nothing but Imogen and him, dancing to slow, haunting songs on a tiny pocket-square dance floor in the forgotten corner of a charming city.
Leaving yet another group of guests who swore they would bend over backwards should he need anything, he took Imogen’s hand, raised it to his lips.
‘How much longer?’ he growled under his breath.
She cast a shrewd glance around before delivering an impish smile. ‘One last surprise then you can kick everyone out if you wish.’
‘I wish,’ he confirmed immediately. ‘Very much.’
She laughed.
And that single, musical sound, settling deep and sure, dictated his fate.
They might not have started at a place that pleased them both, but they could change course. Settle on a mutually pleasing path.
‘Organise this surprise,agape mou. But do it quickly.’
Her smile held mocking long-suffering as she patted his chest. ‘Your wish, my command. Give me five minutes.’
He watched her walk away, and although that ever-present ache lingered, Zeph could for the first time entertain the possibility that it would not stay for much longer. Perhaps even be alleviated once and for all tonight.
His gaze shifted to a guest whose name he couldn’t recall. The man was making his way towards Zeph, his pregnant wife hanging on to his arm.
A new, breath-stealing pulse of need throbbed through him.Imogen. Pregnant.
He was thirty-five. With no family. Wasn’t it time...?
He froze as the niggle at the back of his mind from earlier coalesced into knowledge. Into a kernel of a possibility, perhaps even a shape of his future.
By the time he focused, Imogen had disappeared into the crowd. He followed, the need to explore this possible new path driving him forward.
Halfway across one of the many living rooms cleared for guests to mingle, he heard her laugh. Felt his own lips curve in response.
Until he saw who his wife was laughing with. His smile disappeared, a sharp kick to his insides drawing a displeased grunt.
Imogen and the young, eager buck—Nate? Nick?—were heading for the rear of the house, and as they drifted from the music their voices carried.
‘Are you considering going Stateside soon?’ the man asked.
