Speaking with Kat left me feeling a little better. At least I knew Mo would be okay, and I couldn't wait to see them both back in England.

That still left one giant elephant in the room. Adam. I stuck a lampshade on his head and tried to ignore him.

The next morning, I still didn't fancy getting out of bed, but the room had started to hum a bit, so I changed the sheets and washed the old ones. Then I figured I'd better sort out the dirty laundry from my suitcase since I'd just wheeled it in and dumped it in the lounge. I'd already stubbed my toe on it three times, and I was sick of tripping over it.

Immediately, I wished I hadn't bothered. Every item in there was a reminder of a trip I'd rather forget. That old saying, "It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?" It was rubbish. Utter rubbish.

First Bryce, then Adam. The only thing I was ever going to get close to in future was the pet goldfish I decided at that moment to buy. Having something to care for would take my mind off them both.

Things got worse when I shook out a kaftan and realised I'd picked up one of Adam's T-shirts by mistake. I lifted it to my nose and inhaled, and the musky scent made me weep all over again. I folded it up and stuffed it into the back of my underwear drawer. It could stay there until I decided what to do with it.

I was just shoving the dark garments into the washing machine when I heard a rap at the door. Had my mother finally learned to knock? I set the machine going then scrambled to my feet. At least by unpacking, I'd achieved something. Baby steps, eh?

"Hi, M—"

Oh. It wasn't my mum. I really needed to remember to use that little peephole thing. Mum was always lecturing me about it.

I managed to curb my initial response of "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing here?" and instead went with, "If you tell me where you left your papers, I'll go and get them."

"Could I come in for a second, Callista?" Bryce asked. "I need to talk to you."

I wanted to say, "No way," but my assertiveness lay in tatters on the floor of the police station in Fidda Hilal.

"Make it quick." I swung the door open and gestured for him to enter.

Bryce perched on the edge of the sofa, a far cry from before when he'd sink into the cushions as if he owned the place. Today, he looked haggard, weary, as if he hadn't slept for a week. And his clothes were crinkled. Unusual for a man who used to insist I ironed his socks.

"What do you want, Bryce?"

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked.

It was my flat, and he was offering me a cup of tea? Did he not understand how this worked? But he never normally made the effort, and I found myself saying yes, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else. I followed him into the kitchen, and he opened three cupboards before he found the mugs.

"How do you turn your kettle on?"

"The switch at the bottom. No, you need to put water in it first."

Good grief.

Bryce splashed water all over the place, and of course he made no move to wipe it up. Then once the kettle was going, he reached for the sugar canister.

"I don't take sugar," I reminded him just as he was about to drop a spoonful into my cup.

"Oh. I thought you did?"

We'd dated for six years, and he didn't know how I took my tea? That honestly shouldn't have surprised me, but I still sighed as I leaned against the counter.

"Is there a point to all this?"

"You said you were thirsty."

Actually, I didn't. I'd said yes to a cuppa, but Bryce had always heard what he wanted to hear.

"I meant the visit. Why are you here?"

He fiddled nervously with a teaspoon. "I just wanted to see how you were. I saw Katerina on the news, and she said you were in Fidda Hilal too."

"She told me she didn't mention my name."

"Yes, she refrained from doing so, but anybody familiar with the pair of you would have been able to guess. Callista, it sounds as though you went through incredible hardship."

"It was nothing when you consider what Kat went through."

How could he compare my ordeal to hers?

"I understand, I understand," Bryce said hastily. "But she has people assisting her. Who's here to support you?"

"Mum came over yesterday."

"Is that it? One visit from your mother? Callista, you need to start taking care of yourself. I mean, look at the place. It's unkempt."

"Thanks. That makes me feel so much better."

"That's why I'm here—to make you feel better."

"Do you still keep a dictionary in the cereal cupboard?"

"Of course."

"When you get home, try looking up the word 'sarcasm.'"

"Sarcasm?" The penny finally dropped. "So my comment didn't make you feel better?"

"No, Bryce, it didn't."

"Then I suppose I should apologise. Uh, do you want a hand with the cleaning?"

Bryce was apologising? And offering to clean? This I had to see. He'd never so much as picked up a duster in our entire relationship, and a cleaning lady did his flat.

"Well, if you're offering, the lounge needs vacuuming."

"I'll start right away."

Two seconds later, he poked his head back around the doorjamb.

"Where do you keep the vacuum cleaner?"

This was going to be a long morning, wasn't it? And he hadn't even made the tea. Not for the first time, I finished something Bryce had started. In fact, I'd kept a vibrator in an empty tampon box in the bathroom for that very purpose.

By lunchtime, he'd abandoned the vacuum cleaner in the middle of the lounge and flopped onto the sofa.

"Gosh, that was backbreaking."

He'd only done one room, for crying out loud, and he hadn't even done that very well. He went around things rather than lifting them out of the way. Mind you, it was better than it'd been before, so I couldn't complain. And he had made an effort.

But what he hadn't done was answer my question. Why was he here? I took a seat in my favourite armchair, a pale green leather affair with squashy arms Mum had bought me when I first moved in that also happened to be as far away from Bryce as I could get without reversing into the kitchen.

"Bryce, why did you come over today?"

He sighed theatrically and gazed at the ceiling. Looking for divine inspiration?

"Callista, I've realised I made a mistake."

"Just the one?"

He ignored my snippiness.

"Before our wedding, I panicked. My feelings for you overwhelmed me, and I couldn't imagine I'd ever live up to your ideal. Now, my eyes have been opened, and I know nothing will ever triumph over my love for you."

"And?"

"What I'm trying to say, my darling, my Ophelia, is that I very much want to marry you."

My heart started pounding. My head too. A month ago, I'd been praying I'd hear those words, and if I had, I'd have fallen straight into his arms.

But so much had happened since then. I'd travelled to a different continent and met a very different man. A man who'd swept me off my feet and shown me what it was like to be cherished.

But that man no longer existed. He'd lied to me, then let me leave without so much as a murmur. I could still hear his words to Kat echoing in my head: it's for the best. Worse, the image of his hand resting on Velvet's hip swam in front of my eyes. It had only taken him a few hours to move on from whatever we'd had.

At least Bryce had never lied to me. He may not have been the best boyfriend in the world, but he was on my level. Adam was floating on a cloud somewhere far above my head, sharing his harp with a harpy.

Maybe my time in Egypt had been a lesson, designed to teach me one thing; that my judgement lately had been appalling.

Had I been too hasty in writing off Bryce? Had a taut butt and a six-pack messed with my mind?

What if it was Bryce and not Adam who was my destiny?

After all, I was just a primary school teacher from Berkshire, not a global phenomenon.

I'd never got closure with Bryce. I'd lost my head rather than thinking things through. It was entirely plausible he'd freaked out over the wedding. I mean, he was a man. Men were terrified of commitment, weren't they?

Was Bryce truly as bad as my troubled mind had made him out to be?

"I don't know what to say."

"Say yes, my beautiful little nymph." He dropped onto one knee in front of me.

When Adam had referred to the origins of my name, it had sounded so much sweeter.

"I'll have to think about it."

The climax of my trip to Egypt may have been traumatic, but I'd learned one thing in my time away—I wasn't going to let Bryce walk all over me again. If he wanted to step back into my life, he'd have to put as much effort into things as I had.

If he proved himself, then we'd see.

"He who knows, does not speak. He who speaks, does not know," Bryce said.

"Sorry, what?"

"It's Lao Tzu, Callista. It means thinking is overrated."

Oh, of course.

"I'm still going with the thinking. And I must say, you'll need to buck your ideas up if you're serious about this."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, for starters, you'll have to help more."

"I did."

"Once. You helped once. I mean if I'm cooking dinner, it might be nice if you did the washing up. Or if I do the laundry, perhaps you could hang it up?"

"I suppose I could strive to make an attempt."

"Plus you could take me out occasionally, and not just to your friends' supper parties."

"Anything, my darling. I'll do anything." His knees cracked as he got up, and he brushed his trousers down. "I'll be back at seven to take you to dinner."

He kissed me on the hand, and then he was gone.

My nerves jangled as I waited for the knock on the door that evening, which was crazy because I'd known Bryce for years. Was going out with him a good idea? I still wasn't sure. I hadn't told mother when she'd stopped by with homemade chicken soup this afternoon. She'd probably have sent me to a therapist.

And perhaps she'd have been right to do so.

Bryce turned up at twenty to seven, bang on time. For him, anyway. Luckily I was ready.

"Callista, you look ravishing," he told me as he led me down to his Mini.

"Thanks. Where are we going?"

"La Maison Candille. It's French."

With a name like that, what else would it be?

The maître d' looked down his nose at my plain black jeans and purple tank as he led us to our table. If Bryce had warned me we were going someplace where the menu needed a translator, I'd have dressed up a bit.

After snapping a napkin across my lap, the waiter served an amuse-bouche of something-on-toast. Then he left us to make our selections. I played it safe and picked risotto, which at least was a dish I understood. Bryce ordered his meal in French, eager to show off his grasp of the language.

While we were waiting for our food to arrive, he leaned forward, his chin resting on his steepled hands.

"So, darling, tell me about your trip to Egypt."

I choked on the toast and went into a coughing fit. A passing waiter thumped me on the back while another dashed from the kitchen with a glass of water.

"Sorry," I sputtered.

"Not a problem, my darling. We were discussing Egypt?"

"It was very, uh, hot."

"I should imagine it was. At least sitting on the beach wouldn't have been terribly taxing."

If that was what he thought I'd been doing, I wasn't about to correct him.

"It certainly was pleasant. The view was lovely."

The view. Oh, the view. The ripples of Adam's abs as he lay next to me. The way his hair tumbled into his eyes when he tilted his head. The twinkle in his eye as he said my name.

Wait, did Bryce just say something?

"Sorry, what?"

"I said it must have been a very enjoyable break until Katerina managed to get herself into trouble. Although I can't say that surprises me. She always was a wild one. What exactly did she do?"

How dare he assume it was Kat's fault? She'd only tried to do the right thing. If more people did the same, the world would be a better place.

"Can we talk about something else?"

Preferably before I decked him.

"Of course, darling, whatever you want."

Bryce launched into a monologue about the writings of Aristotle while I stared at the art on the walls. What on earth had possessed somebody to paint a cow with a mushroom growing out of its head? Thankfully the kitchen was efficient, and before Bryce finished explaining the works of Homer as well, our food arrived.

My risotto steamed invitingly. The aroma of garlic made my mouth water. On the other side of the table, the waiter ceremoniously placed Bryce's plate down in front of him, then removed the silver cover with a flourish.

"What's this?" Bryce whispered.

"It is tête de veau, sir. As you ordered."

Bryce still looked confused.

"Calf brains, sir."

Could it be that Bryce's French wasn't as good as he thought it was? He'd gone a little pale. I must admit, it was amusing watching him push his dinner from one side of the plate to the other, picking out the peas one at a time by spearing them on his fork. My meal was delicious.

Bryce insisted we have dessert, which wasn't exactly a hardship in a place where the pastry chef was clearly a genius. I chose the chocolate fondant, and the centre oozed to perfection. Bryce took no chances and ordered a fruity tart.

Afterwards, he dropped me off at the kerb outside my flat and leaned over to give me a peck on the cheek.

"Can we do this again tomorrow?" he asked.

The evening hadn't been entirely unpleasant, and better yet, Bryce had paid the bill. And part of me, the part that still seethed when I thought of Adam and his Hollywood beauty, needed to prove he wasn't the only one who could move on.

Bryce was still Bryce, but he was trying. I owed it to him to play my part in putting our demons to rest, one way or the other.

I managed to muster up a smile. "What time do you want to meet?"