He said something short and hard in Ukrainian and stormed out again.

“I think I’d better let you tell her that yourself,” Janine murmured to the empty room.

Twenty-four hours after leaving her office, Sydney stood on a shady sidewalk in Georgetown, Washington, D.C. A headlong rush of adrenaline had brought her this far, far enough to have her looking at the home where Peter had settled when he’d relocated after the divorce.

The impulsive drive to the airport, the quick shuttle from city to city had been easy enough. Even the phone call to request an hour of Peter’s time hadn’t been so difficult. But this, this last step was nearly impossible.

She hadn’t seen him in over three years, and then it had been across a wide table in a lawyer’s office. Civilized, God, yes, they’d been civilized. And strangers.

It was foolish, ridiculous, taking off on this kind of tangent. Talking to Peter wouldn’t change anything. Nothing could. Yet she found herself climbing the stairs to the porch of the lovely old row house, lifting the brass knocker and letting it rap on the door.

He answered himself, looking so much the same that she nearly threw out her hands to him as she would have done once. He was tall and leanly built, elegantly casual in khakis and a linen shirt. His sandy hair was attractively rumpled. But the green eyes didn’t light with pleasure, instead remaining steady and cool.

“Sydney,” he said, backing up to let her inside.

The foyer was cool and light, speaking subtly in its furnishings and artwork of discreet old money. “I appreciate you seeing me like this, Peter.”

“You said it was important.”

“To me.”

“Well, then.” Knowing nothing else to say, he ushered her down the hall and into a sitting room. Manners sat seamlessly on both of them, causing her to make the right comments about the house, and him to parry them while offering her a seat and a drink.

“You’re enjoying Washington, then.”

“Very much.” He sipped his own wine while she simply turned her glass around and around in her hand. She was nervous. He knew her too well not to recognize the signs. And she was as lovely as ever. It hurt. He hated the fact that it hurt just to look at her. And the best way to get past the pain was to get to the point.

“What is it I can do for you, Sydney?”

Strangers, she thought again as she looked down at her glass. They had known each other all of their lives, had been married for nearly three years, and were strangers. “It’s difficult to know where to start.”

He leaned back in his chair and gestured. “Pick a spot.”

“Peter, why did you marry me?”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I want to know why you married me.”