“I don’t see why it’s any of your business—” She yelped as he grabbed her hand in his. It was just as soft as he remembered, her nails bitten short. It was a habit she’d never been able to break. There was no ring on any finger.

He’d been lied to.

He should have been furious. Filled with anger and hate and loathing that ten years had been wasted, ten years that had kept them apart.

But Jonathan didn’t see any of that. All he saw was Violet—his Violet—standing so close to him that he could reach out and touch her again for the first time in so long that his entire being ached. Violet, with her hand in his. Never mind that she was trying to draw it out of his grasp.

His Violet was here, in front of him, and she’d never married. He’d be damned if he’d let opportunity slip through his fingers again.

Grabbing her shoulders, Jonathan turned her toward him fully, leaned down, and pressed his mouth firmly to hers. He kissed her with all the fierce passion of ten long, lonely years. She wasn’t responding, but that was okay. He had enough need and love for both of them. She’d come around. He’d show her just how much he missed her. He’d never let her go again. He—

Violet’s knee went between his legs, and connected with his groin.

—

By the time Violet left work, went to the grocery store, went to the gym, got home, and cleaned her tiny condo, she was still pissed. In fact, she was furious.

How dare Jonathan Lyons stroll back into her life just because her father died? How dare he think that she would drop everything—her life, her career—to help him out on some wild-goose chase that her father had bestowed like some sort of archaeological version of Willy Wonka?

How dare Jonathan think that he could just grab her and kiss her? Simply because she wasn’t married?

A lack of a wedding ring didn’t mean she was up for grabs; it didn’t mean she didn’t hate him with every fiber of her being. Fuming, Violet threw her groceries in the fridge, and then cussed when her carton of milk tipped over and spilled all over her carton of freshly washed spinach. Damn it! Swearing a blue streak, Violet grabbed paper towels and cleaned her fridge, and when she went to wash her hands, she noticed they were still shaking.

She was still trembling with fury, hours later, her nails bitten down to the quick.

She didn’t want to deal with this. Any of this. Her life was nice and compartmentalized. If it wasn’t exciting, it was safe and secure and there were no surprises. Violet didn’t like surprises. They always ended up being disappointments.

So she took a shower, changed into flannel pajamas, read a mystery novel in bed, and went to sleep. Or tried to, anyhow. Her entire body was a locked mass of angry nerves, and she stared up at the ceiling, just brimming with frustration.

Jonathan Lyons had kissed her.

He’d waltzed back into her life like he hadn’t abandoned her ten years ago, when she’d needed him the most. Still selfish after all these years. Some people never changed. She thought of the look on his face as she’d kneed him in the balls. It hadn’t even been satisfying, really. She’d been so damn angry, and he’d looked so shocked and utterly surprised.

And hurt.

Like he couldn’t believe that his Violet would harm him.

And that just made her crazier with anger. Like she was the unreasonable one. Twitching with frustration, Violet threw back the covers and stormed across the bedroom and into the living room. Her messy condo was tiny, but she didn’t require a lot. She just needed a work area and a bed. Heading to her shelves full of books, she went to the section where she kept personal photo albums. Her mother’s albums filled up most of the shelf, but there was one tiny album she pulled from the end and blew the dust off of.

The cover was decorated with a Greek key design, and she’d written AKROTIRI 2004 on it in bold, stylized letters. Returning to her bedroom, she curled up in the blankets and began to flip through the photos.

Her first—and only—trip to assist her errant father. Her mother had been against it, but Violet had been so excited to go, so very dazzled at the thought of spending the summer with her intelligent, famous father that she’d looked forward to it for what felt like forever. People joked that her dad was something like Jacques Cousteau for archaeology. She supposed that would be apt, if Jacques had neglected his family for two decades and driven his wife to drinking.

Violet flipped through the photos, thinking of that summer. Here was a picture of herself and her father near the excavation, pointing at a portion of a wall and smiling. Both of their faces were browned from the summer, and her hair was in two long, dark braids streaked with wild color. She was wearing a hideous pair of sunglasses and a tank top. Behind her in the picture, his hand at her waist, was Jonathan Lyons.

God, she’d been so in love with him. So incredibly stupid, but in love. As soon as she’d gotten to Santorini to spend the time with her father, she’d discovered that he’d invited a whole host of his students to his summer expedition as well. She’d been hurt, initially, having thought that she’d be special in her father’s eyes, but her hurt soon turned to interest when she met Jonathan Lyons. Lyons Motors was famous—or infamous—for a line of cars that was rapidly becoming a joke, and he wasn’t interested in the family business at all. Thin, a little geeky, and utterly enthusiastic about everything in the world, she’d thought Jonathan was cute.

There was something so incredibly exuberant and earnest about Jonathan that she’d loved. Whereas every move her father made seemed to be completely calculated, Jonathan appeared to live in the moment, and she adored that. His excitement for the dig was unquestionable. He’d been the first on site every morning and the last to leave. If something needed to be researched, Jonathan threw himself headlong into it.

He was a hundred percent intensity, bundled into an attractive nineteen-year-old college boy.

He’d been irresistible to her.

By the end of the first week, they were spending a lot of time together. By the second week, he’d kissed her and she’d flung him down on her bed and they’d screwed like rabbits. By the time a month had passed, she was in love.

By the time the second month had passed? She was pregnant with his baby.

It wasn’t that they weren’t careful. They were. They used condoms every time, but even condoms aren’t infallible, and they’d been full of youth and enthusiasm, and sometimes he stroked in her a few times before putting on a condom, just because it felt so damn good for both of them. Jonathan had approached sex with the same intensity that he approached life—he was voracious and insatiable.

She had to admit, staring down at his photo, that he’d pretty much ruined her for other men. No other sexual experience had even come close.

Which sucked.

At nineteen, she hadn’t even been upset that she’d become pregnant. She was utterly in love with Jonathan, and mentally linking their last names together and picking out names for the baby. If it was a boy, she’d call it Theseus DeWitt-Lyons, and a girl would be Ariadne DeWitt-Lyons, based on the myths of the labyrinth of Crete. She’d dreamed of marrying Jonathan and returning stateside to finish her college education and raise her family. It was clear that her father looked at her not as a daughter but as just another student on his dig, and she craved a family—a real family. She’d never had a functioning family, and the dream of a happy home was an intoxicating one. Instead of fantasizing about archaeological finds, Violet’s head was filled with nurseries and starter homes. A husband and a wife and a child that was doted on and adored by both parents.

That was her new dream, and she couldn’t wait to get started with Jonathan.

But she didn’t want Jonathan to marry her just for the baby. She wanted him to marry her because he loved her and because he wanted to marry her. That was part of the fantasy, after all. She’d seen what it was like, firsthand, when parents married for the baby instead of for love. His family had money, and she wanted it to be his idea for them to get married, not hers, or it’d seem like she was simply digging for his fortune. In reality, Violet didn’t give two craps about whatever car empire the Lyons family had. Her perfect life involved a homey cottage somewhere, family dinners with both children and husband, and kissing her spouse as he went off to work for the day. Some women dreamed of careers; Violet dreamed of a nuclear, close-knit family. It was all she’d ever wanted after a childhood of her mother’s depression and miserable hidden drinking binges, and her father’s long absences. She just wanted to be surrounded by love.

She’d been such a naive idiot back then.

Irritated, Violet flipped to the next photo in her book. Another of Jonathan, their cheeks pressed together as they stood on the Santorini beach. She remembered that night. That was the night before everything changed. They’d had a weekend furlough, and they’d decided to spend it together. They’d enjoyed a romantic dinner and spent the night at a hotel in Fira, and in bed, Violet had confessed her hopes to him. That she wanted nothing more than to start a family.

“It’s not a bad idea . . . for the future,” Jonathan had told her absently, playing with her long hair.

That hadn’t been what nineteen-year-old-and-pregnant Violet had wanted to hear. She’d turned to him in bed. “What are you going to do after we leave this dig? What happens to us?”

“What do you mean?” he’d asked.

She hadn’t been happy that she had to spell it out. “When we leave here, what are your plans?”

He’d shrugged. “Go back to classes. Start the next semester. Wait for Dr. DeWitt’s next invite.”

That . . . hadn’t been what she’d wanted to hear. “And what about me?”

He’d given her that heartbreaking smile. “In a few years, maybe we’ll both be working at the same university.”

In a few years? A few years? At nineteen, a few years seemed like a lifetime. “But . . . I want us to be together.”

“I want that, too.” He’d looked sad.

No, he wasn’t getting it. She’d clutched at his arm. “I want us to be together when we leave here. I want us to start a family. Together.” She’d emphasized the last two words, hoping he’d realize what she was asking for and jump in with enthusiasm.

Start a family with you, Violet? God, I want nothing more. Let’s do it!

I’d love to have babies with you, Violet.

I never want to leave your side, Violet.

Instead, he’d just furrowed his brow at her as if she were saying ridiculous things. “Start a family? Now?”

“Yes, now.”

He’d laughed. Laughed! And rattled off a million things he had going on. He needed to return to Dartmouth. He’d told Dr. DeWitt he wanted to go on his next dig, no questions asked. Then he had family members waiting for him to take an apprenticeship with his brother, the heir. It would be years before Jonathan could settle down and even think about family, and he was too young to consider it.

Every word had broken Violet’s heart a bit more. Betrayed, she’d slapped his face and ran. She’d stormed out of their room and left him in Fira and returned to the dig. Then, she’d cried herself to sleep that night because she’d wanted the white picket fence and Prince Charming had other plans.

He’d tried calling her the next day, over and over again. Tried seeing her, but she avoided him. Instead, she poured all of her heartache into a letter. She hadn’t wanted to tell him about the baby and use it as a tool to force him to her side, but she had no choice. She still remembered the last paragraph of the letter, down to the way it’d looked on paper.

If you love me, Jonathan, please come home with me. I want us to raise our baby together. If you care at all about being a father, please come with me. Please, please. I love you so much.