“Because you were busy kissing and cuddling with your publicist—that’s what I was dealing with along with weeks of bleeding, so I wasn’t sure I’d stay pregnant.”

Concern flickered in his eyes. “Is the baby okay?”

“You have no right to ask me anything about my children.”

“I’m not giving up rights to my kids, Ella.” His eyes filled with hurt. “Don’t ask that.”

“A moment ago, you inferred I was pregnant by another man. One I haven’t seen, in person, in over ten years.” The anger and the hurt, humiliation built in my chest, a pressure cooker about to explode. “Get out!” I pointed to the door with a trembling finger.

“When you get back to Seattle, we can discuss our—”

“We’re staying here.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed again so that the hazel was barely visible behind his dark lashes.

“You’d do that?” His voice was soft. “Try to keep me from my kids? And . . . what? Install them with Philip as the loving father?”

I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, my ears ringing with anger. “Considering you’ve spent exactly five days with Jeremiah in the last six months, I’m not doing anything to you.”

Since Simon refused to leave, I swept from the room and headed up the stairs.

“This conversation isn’t over,” Simon said from much too near.

I hurried up the last steps and darted into my bedroom, slamming and locking the door just before his hand slapped against the wood.

Staying in England? Where had that come from?

“Ella, you wouldn’t do that to me, to them,” Simon’s voice turned urgent. “We need to talk about this.”

“No.”

From the sounds, I guessed Simon slid down to sit outside the door. A quick peek to the gap between door and carpet proved me right.

“What’s happening?” Simon asked, his voice filled with bewilderment.

“You quit us,” I whispered, my arms wrapped round my middle. “Chucked us out of your life yet expected everything else to stay the same.”

Simon didn’t give any indication he heard me nor did I hear movement implying he’d gotten up. I stood by the window for a while, watching people hurry through the cold, wet December rain. Eventually, standing became too much for the ligaments around my pelvis, and I flopped onto my bed. Doing my best to ignore his continued presence, I picked up my e-reader and opened Lia’s newest novel.

“What are you still doing here?” Jeremiah asked. “Mom told you to leave.”

I turned on my side, straining to hear Simon’s answer.

“I wanted to see you,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”

“I don’t want to see you. And . . . and . . . I hate you.”