“Did I ever offer to donate my eggs?” Farrow is taken aback. “I didn’t?” My pulse races. “No—” “Why didn’t I?” I ask him fast, breathing harder. “I would’ve wanted to.” He combs his fingers through his ash-brown hair. “Shit.” He glances at the door, like maybe he’s hoping Maximoff will come assist him with this conversation. I frown. “You would’ve said no,” I realize—maybe that’s why I never tried. I knew his answer. “You would’ve picked Jane—” “No,” he cuts in, his eyes glassing but he fights away the rise of emotion. “If you offered, it would’ve been harder not to pick you.”
