Bound to the Greek by Kate Hewitt Page B

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. Althoughthe 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 heldparts 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