He looked at them with something like genuine ache, and because Eleanor had promised herself not to lie to herself anymore, she allowed that ache might be real. Love in him had always existed. It had simply never been stronger than ego.
“You’ve gotten taller,” he said to the twins.
Adrian gave the tiniest nod. Elias kept his mouth tight.
Julian looked at Eleanor. “Could I… say hello?”
“You already have.”
He flinched, but deservedly.
After a strained second, Adrian said, “Hi, Dad.”
The word seemed to strike Julian physically. “Hi, buddy.”
Elias muttered it too, without warmth.
People flowed around them, museum-goers absorbed in their own Saturdays, unaware or only half-aware of the history compressed into that little patch of polished floor.
Julian’s eyes returned to Eleanor. “You look well.”
She almost laughed. Not because it was insulting, but because it was such a Julian thing to say: compliment as truce request.
“So do you,” she replied, which was not true.
He swallowed. “I’ve been thinking—”
“That’s a dangerous hobby.”
A shadow of his old smile appeared, then vanished. “I deserved that.”
“Yes.”
Another pause. “I know you think I never loved you.”