Would they have called Sophy if he’d died? Would she have come and planned his funeral?

He didn’t ask. He knew Sophy didn’t love him, but she didn’t hate him, either.

Once he’d even thought they actually stood a chance of making their marriage work, that she might have really come to love him.

“What happened?” she asked him now. “The nurse said you got hit saving a child.”

He was surprised she’d asked. But then he realized she might want to know why they’d tracked her down and dragged her here. It didn’t have anything to do with caring about him.

“Jeremy,” George confirmed. “He’s four. He lives down the street from me. I was walking home from work and he came running down the sidewalk to show me his new soccer ball. He dropped it so he could dribble it, but then as he got closer he kicked it harder—at me. But it—” he dragged in a harsh breath “—went into the street.”

Sophy sucked in a breath.

“There was a delivery truck coming…”

Sophy went very white. “Dear God. He’s not…?”

George shook his head, then instantly wished he hadn’t. “He’s okay. Bruised. Scraped up. But—”

“But not dead.” Sophy said it aloud. Firmly, as if to make it more believable. She seemed to breathe again, relief evident on her face. “Thank God.” And her gaze lifted as if she was in prayer.

“Yes.”

Then she lowered her gaze and looked at him. “Thank George.”

There was a sudden flatness in her tone, and George heard an unwelcome edge of finality, of inevitability. Almost of bitterness.

His teeth came together. “What? Did you want me to let him run in front of a truck?”

“Of course not!” Sophy’s eyes flashed. A deep flush of color rushed into her pale cheeks. “How could you say such a thing? I was just…recognizing what you’d done.”

“Sure you were.” He gave her a hard look, an expectant look, waiting for her to say the words that hung between them.

She wet her lips. “You saved him.”

He almost expected it to be an accusation. She had certainly made it sound that way when she’d flung the words at him the day she’d said she didn’t want to be married anymore.

“That’s what you were doing when you married me,” she’d cried bitterly. “You married me to save me!”

He had, of course. But that wasn’t the only reason. Not that she would believe it. He hadn’t replied then. He didn’t reply now. Sophy would think what she wanted.

George stared back at her stonily, dared her to make something of it.

But whatever anger she felt seemed to go out of her. She just looked at him with those wide deep green eyes for a long moment, and then she added quietly, “You are a hero.”

George snorted. “Hardly. Jeremy wouldn’t have been out there running down the street at all if he hadn’t seen me coming.”

“What? You’re saying it’s your fault?” She stared at him in disbelief.

“I’m just saying he was waiting for me.” He shrugged. “We kick the ball around together sometimes.”

“You know him well, then? He’s a friend?” Sophy sounded surprised, as if she considered it unlikely.

“We’re friends.” Jeremy with his dark hair and bright eyes had made him think about Lily. He didn’t say that, though.

Sophy’s brows lifted slightly, as if the notion that he knew who his neighbors were surprised her as well. Maybe it should. He hadn’t known any of their neighbors during the few months they’d been together.

But he hadn’t had time, had he? He’d been too busy finishing up the government project he was working on and trying to figure out how to be a husband and then, only weeks later, a father. The first had been time-consuming, but at least in his comfort zone.

Marriage and fatherhood had been completely virgin territory. He hadn’t had a clue.

Now Sophy said, “I was surprised you were back in New York.” It wasn’t a question, but he assumed that she meant it as one.

“For the past two years.”

“Uppsala didn’t appeal?”

Ah, right. Uppsala. That was where she thought he’d gone—the job he had supposedly been up for—at the University of Uppsala in Sweden.

He couldn’t have told her differently then. He hadn’t been permitted to talk about it. And there was no point in talking about it now.

“It was a two-year appointment,” he said.

That much was the truth. And though he could have continued to work on government projects, he hadn’t wanted to. He’d agreed to the earlier one before he’d ever expected to be marrying anyone. And if things had worked out between him and Sophy, he would have bowed out and never gone to Europe at all.

When their marriage crumbled, he went, grateful not to have to stay in the city, grateful to be able to put an ocean between him and the reason for his pain.

But after two years, he’d come home, back to New York though he’d had several good offers elsewhere. “This one at Columbia is tenure track,” he told her.

Not that tenure had been a factor. He’d taken the job because it appealed to him. It was research work he wanted to do, eager graduate students to mentor, a freshman class to inspire and a classload he could handle.

It had nothing to do with the fact that when he took it he’d thought Sophy and Lily were still living in the city. Nothing.

Sophy nodded. “Ah.”

“When did you leave?” he asked. At her raised brows, he said, “I did drop by. You were gone.”

“I went to California. Not long after you left,” she said. “I started a business with my cousin.”

“So I heard. My mother said she talked to you at Christo’s wedding.”

“Yes.” Then she added politely, “It was nice to see your parents again.”

George, who knew exactly what she thought of his father, said drily, “I’ll bet.”

He’d been invited to Christo’s wedding, too. He hadn’t gone because he had had no clue who his cousin Christo was marrying and no interest in flying across the country to find out. To discover later that Christo’s bride was a second cousin of Sophy’s blew his mind. He wondered what would have happened if he’d gone to the wedding, if they’d run into each other there.

Probably nothing, he thought heavily. There were times and places when things could happen. It had been the wrong time before. And now? Now it was simply too late.

Yet even knowing it, he couldn’t help saying, “What about your business? My mother said it’s called Rent-a-Bride?”

“Rent-a-Wife,” Sophy corrected. “We do things for people that they need a second person to cope with. Things wives traditionally do. Pick up dry cleaning, arrange dinner parties, ferry the kids to dental appointments and soccer games, take the dog to the vet.”

“And people pay for that?”

“They do. Very well, in fact.” She met his gaze defiantly. “I’m doing fine.”

Without you.

She didn’t have to say the words for him to hear them. “Ah. Well, good for you.”

Their gazes locked, hers more of a glare than a gaze. Then abruptly she looked away, shifted in her chair and tried to stifle a yawn. Watching her, George realized she must have had to fly all night to get here from California.

“Did you sleep?”

She bit off the yawn. “Some.” But her gaze flicked away fast enough that he knew it for the lie it was. And he felt guilty for her having been called for no reason.

“Look,” he said roughly, “I’m sorry they bothered you. I’m sorry you felt you had to drop everything and fly clear across the country to sign papers. It wasn’t necessary.”

“The doctor said it was.”

“My fault. I should have updated the contact information.”

“To whom?” Her question was as quick as it was surprising. And was she actually interested in his answer?

George shrugged. “My folks. My sister, Tallie. She and Elias and the kids live in Brooklyn.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” Sophy shifted in the chair, sat up straighter. “I just wondered. I thought—” But she stopped, not telling him whatever it was she’d thought, and George didn’t have enough working brain cells to try to guess. “Never mind.”