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A FEW DAYS later Emily was home again in Seattle after five weeks of performing in Chicago, but Brandon was in Los Angeles filming a commercial for Gatorade. He’d be back tomorrow. She missed him like she would an appendage. She was excited to see him again, but apprehensive. Between his absence and her nerves about continuing a fake engagement that was starting to mean a little too much, she wondered how she would broach the fact the thirty days they agreed on had come and gone while she was out of town.

She heard a knock at her front door, threw on a robe, and hurried downstairs to discover a courier waiting on her front porch.

“Good morning, Miss Hamilton. This is for you.” The guy handed her a small Tiffany’s carrier bag and proffered a clipboard and pen. “Please sign by your name.”

“Certainly. Thank you so much.”

He reclaimed his clipboard, touched his cap, and got back into his vehicle. She shut her front door, reaching into the little bag. She pulled out a sturdy, cream-colored note card, recognizing Brandon’s dark, heavy handwriting.

It read, They match your ring. Happy engagement, sugar. – B

She pulled out another small blue box tied with a white satin ribbon and flipped it open to find diamond stud earrings the size of peas. She hugged the little box to herself. If he kept it up she’d need a security guard.

Her phone chirped. A text had arrived. She grabbed the phone out of her robe pocket. Speak of the devil: It was Brandon.

Let’s have coffee tomorrow morning at the shop across from Marina Park in Kirkland. We need to talk.

There wasn’t an adult on the planet that failed to understand the significance of the phrase, “We need to talk.” After all, most adults have used it at one time or another to rid themselves of a relationship that wasn’t working out.

He wasn’t dumping her, was he? She felt cold shivers race up her spine.

Maybe he wanted to break things off in a public place so she wouldn’t cause a scene. He’d shown no indication that he was getting ready to break up with her before now. Hopefully, the diamond earrings weren’t a really expensive kiss-off gift.

S HORTLY AFTER NINE AM the next morning Emily walked into the coffee shop and spotted Brandon sitting at a table in the back. He saw her, too, and stood up. As she got closer, she noticed that his curls were still damp from the shower he must have taken after his workout. He wore an LSU t-shirt, Levis, running shoes, and a huge smile.

“Sugar,” he breathed into her ear, and kissed her cheek. “I missed you. I like the new earrings.”

“I missed you, too.” She reached up to touch one earlobe. “I love them. Thank you again. I can’t believe you did this.”

He stroked her cheek with one big hand. “It’s my pleasure.”

Emily took a deep breath. If she was confused before, she was now wondering if she needed some type of Brandon translator. He was acting like everything was fine, so why had he used the phrase “we need to talk”? Relax, she told herself.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked.

“Tea would be great.”

“Coming right up.” He moved around her and went to the counter to order.

She had butterflies in her stomach. The blood bubbled through her veins like the finest champagne. She felt lightheaded, excited, beyond happy. She heard Brandon’s laughter as he spoke to one of the baristas. He returned to his chair just moments later.

“Look what I have,” he said, nodding at the plate he carried. He’d not only brought the tea she asked for, but he’d brought baked goods.

“Chocolate cake and diamonds? A girl could get used to this,” she said.

“I have to keep you sweet.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Here.” He sliced off a bite with his fork and slipped it between her lips. The cake, with the tiniest hint of mint, was delicious. He leaned over the table. “You know I have to kiss you now.”

Listening to him speak was causing a fairly embarrassing reaction, along with the barest brush of his lips on the back of her hand. Her poor nipples could’ve cut glass. She squirmed on the chair, but it had nothing to do with nerves.

“In front of all these people?” she said. Then again, she really didn’t care about them right now. She couldn’t concentrate on anything or anyone but him.

“Of course, I am.” He moved closer. “Would you like me to?”

Someone obviously turned up the heat in the shop. They were lost in their own world.

Emily fed him a forkful of cake. A bit of frosting clung to the corner of his mouth. She wiped it off with her fingertip. He caught her hand in his and licked her finger. His eyes met hers.

“Let’s not waste it.”

She forgot to breathe.

“Excuse me,” Emily heard an excited female voice say. “Aren’t you Brandon McKenna?”

Two young women in their twenties stood beside their table. Both were focused on Brandon. They didn’t acknowledge her.

“I am,” Brandon said.

“Oh, my God,” the young woman said. Her pale blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail. She wore a skin-tight t-shirt and low-slung jeans. “I am such a Sharks fan. It’s so exciting to meet you!” She was bouncing on the balls of her feet. She thrust out her hand to him and said breathlessly, “I’m Kris. Could I have your autograph?” She began rooting through her purse for a pen.

“Sure.” He smiled. “By the way, this is Emily, my fiancée.”

The friend rolled her eyes. Kris handed Brandon a ballpoint pen. To Emily’s amazement, she pulled up her t-shirt, leaned over, and grinned.

“Right here.”

She wanted him to sign her breast, in a crowded coffee shop, in front of Emily.

Brandon averted his eyes from Kris’s perky assets. “I’m happy to sign a piece of paper for you, but I won’t sign that.” He gave her a look Emily hadn’t seen anywhere but in the game film they watched, quickly scribbled his signature on an unused napkin on the table, and said, “It was—nice—to meet you. Thanks for your support.”

Kris wasn’t getting the hint. She whipped out her cell phone.

“Let’s pose for a picture,” she said.

She tried to install herself on his lap while pushing her cell phone into her friend’s outstretched hand. He managed to shove his chair back before she succeeded. She grabbed the side of the table so she wouldn’t fall.

“Sugar, it’s time for us to leave.” He picked up their coffee cups and moved around the two women to take her arm.

“I’ll get more cake to go if you’d like,” he said in a low voice.

“You’re an asshole,” Kris hissed. “You—you screwed my friend, but you won’t let me sit on your lap?”

Emily opened her mouth to respond, but he pulled her away. “Keep moving,” he said.

She knew from the blank expression in Brandon’s eyes (and the flush that was slowly spreading up his neck) that he was much angrier than he appeared on the surface. He stopped at the counter for a moment, said something to the barista, and swept Emily out the front door.

“Let’s walk.” He handed Emily’s cup to her, slid an arm around her waist, and they hurried across the street to Marina Park. “We’ll go back for cake later.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“No.” He shook his head.

“Do that young woman’s parents know she’s—Okay. I realize I’m a bit old-fashioned, but ...” Emily’s voice trailed off. He was walking so fast Emily ran to keep up with him. She reached out for the waistband of his jeans and panted, “Wait a second.”

He tugged her over to a bench. They sat in silence for a while, watching children run and play along the sandy beach.

“So, I hate to even bring it up,” she said.

“I wasn’t involved with her.” His voice was tense. “I prefer women, not little girls.” He let out a long, frustrated sigh. “People approach me. Most of the time, they’re nice. They want an autograph or they want to talk a little. That stuff?” His eyes hardened again. “That hasn’t been happening as much lately, but I’ll never get used to it.” He thought for a moment. “Do you get people coming up to you?”

“It’s usually an arranged thing after a performance or at a benefit. I haven’t had anyone who’s wanted me to autograph their breast, though.”

He gave a low chuckle, and seemed to relax a little. “I’ll let you sign mine.” His arm slid around Emily’s shoulders again. “She was rude to you, too.”

“Listen, bruiser, that was the least of it, wasn’t it? I’m fine,” she said.

“Yes, you are.” His fingertips stroked her upper arm.

Emily’s face was hot. She knew she was blushing.

“The kids are cute,” he mused.

They watched a toddler in a hot pink cotton romper and pink Nikes lurch through the sand. Her blonde pigtails bounced with every step, and her eyes were cobalt blue marbles in a rounded baby face. She chanted, “Mama Mama,” as she moved.

“She’s sweet, isn’t she?” Emily commented.

A woman Emily believed was the little girl’s mother hurried after her with a jacket, a bucket, and a small shovel. Princess must have been digging in the sand.

“You want one of those?” Brandon asked, inclining his head toward the little girl.

“Maybe. Someday.”

The little girl plopped down on a well-padded rump. She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry, and her mother swept her up in her arms. “We have to go, Kate,” she said.

Kate’s response was to screw up her little face. A couple of fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Kate’s mama put her down on the path in front of them, and Kate lurched toward Brandon at surprising speed.

She hurled herself onto his thigh, regarded him with wide eyes, and said, “Da.”

He laughed, and gently stroked her cheek. “Hello, Kate. I’m Brandon.”

She scrambled into his lap, sat up, and grinned.

“Katie, that’s not okay. We need to go.”

Two more big tears rolled down Kate’s cheeks. “Da,” she insisted.

“No, honey, Dada’s at work. We’ll see him later.” The woman hurried toward Brandon with outstretched hands and an apologetic smile.

“I should be so lucky,” he told Kate’s mama. “She’s beautiful.”

“How old is she?” Emily asked Kate’s mother. Kate crawled into Emily’s lap.

“She’s fourteen months old,” her mother said. “She’s fast.”

“I’ve heard about that,” Emily said. Emily gestured toward Kate, who leaned back against her chest. “Is this okay?”

“Sure,” her mother said.

Kate smelled like baby shampoo and laundry soap, overlaid with a sweet, clean scent. Her cotton romper was soft against Emily’s fingertips. Kate reached out for Brandon again. Emily relished the sweet weight for a moment, and then handed Kate to him.

“She’s in love with you already,” Emily said.

“I have that effect on women,” he deadpanned. “Katie, you’ve stolen my heart. What will I do?” He pressed a kiss onto her cheek. Kate let out a baby laugh and captured his face in her hands. She put her little mouth on his chin. To her surprise, Emily choked up.

“She’s giving kisses,” Emily managed to say.

“You’ll have one of your own someday,” Kate’s mother assured her.

Emily had heard that many times before, but she always dismissed it as something that happened to other people, not her. Today, Kate’s mother’s words pierced her heart.

“I have to get Kate to a doctor’s appointment,” Kate’s mother said, “or we’d love to stay.”

Brandon carefully transferred Kate back to her mother. “Bye, sweetheart. Maybe we can play at the park another day,” he said.

“Are you here often?” Kate’s mother asked.

He glanced over at Emily. “Not usually, but I see that’s going to change.”

Emily held out her hand. “I’m Emily. This is Brandon.”

“I’m Brianna. Maybe we’ll see you around.”

With a wave, Brianna and Kate hurried up the path to the parking lot. Brandon pulled Emily a little closer as they continued watching other children play in the sand.

“What do you think our baby would look like?”

“Hmm? What are you talking about?”

Emily was a million miles away. Actually, she imagined a small, soft bundle in her arms and the look on Brandon’s face when he saw her for the first time. Amy was always the one who longed for a home and a family. Suddenly, Emily knew why. She couldn’t rock a career to sleep at night, or watch it play in the sand.

He waved one big hand in front of Emily’s eyes. “You’re daydreaming.”

“Our baby? Are you on crack?” she said. He let out a laugh. Emily smiled in response. “Probably lots of blond curls, like you.”

“Maybe I want her to be a redhead, like you.”

“She’d probably be a spitfire, then.” She patted him on the thigh. “It could be a boy.”

“Maybe. I think I’d like a daughter,” he mused. Brandon stared out at the lake in front of them. “She sure was cute.”

Something new and sweet unfurled inside Emily. In only a few minutes’ time, the biological clock she believed was broken beyond all repair started ticking. Surprisingly, she knew the only man she wanted to remedy the problem sat next to her.

He hadn’t said a word about the time ticking away on their engagement. Then again, she hadn’t brought it up, either. Obviously, bookings had never been better. The arrangement worked well for both of them. At the same time, she enjoyed his company. She looked forward to seeing him. She realized that after all the hours of talking there was still more to talk about. She confided things to Brandon she never told anyone else before, and he seemed equally comfortable with her.

The silence stretched on as Brandon and Emily watched people strolling through the park. She tugged the ring off her finger. After all, he’d said thirty days.

“You probably want this back,” she said.

He turned toward her, and she put the ring in his palm. “What are you talking about, sugar?”

“The thirty days is up,” Emily said. It was hard to force the words out past the lump in her throat. It was best to keep this businesslike. “We agreed.”

She saw momentary confusion in his eyes, but as she watched, amusement took over. He raised one eyebrow. “So, you think you’ll get rid of me that easily.”

The tiniest flicker of hope came to life.

“Let’s see how it goes,” he said.

He took her hand in his, and put the ring back on her finger. Emily didn’t realize she was holding her breath till that moment. Their fingers tangled, he slid his arm around her shoulders again, and she moved closer. She saw the dimple in his cheek deepen as he smiled.

T WO WEEKS LATER, Emily was scheduled to take part in Seattle Opera’s annual fundraising auction. It was a great chance for those who loved opera to meet performers and bid on items such as dinner with major opera stars that typically performed at The Met, Covent Garden, or La Scala. It was formal, so she spent most of the afternoon getting ready to go.

She glanced out the upstairs window in time to see Brandon pulling into the driveway. He got out of the Land Rover, and her mouth went dry. He wore a tailored black tuxedo. For a guy who spent most of his time in threadbare Levis and rugby shirts, formalwear suited him. All that black, combined with his angelic blond curls and perpetually innocent expression, was scalding hot. He dazzled.

Emily’s biggest job at the moment was getting down the stairs without tripping over her dress. She could drool over him later.

She wore a royal blue silk, sleeveless gown that ruched from the deep V-neck down over her abdomen, pulling the fabric against her hips. The dress flowed into a full skirt with a short train. It fit her like it loved her. She left her stilettos in the closet; low-heeled sandals worked better, since she’d be on her feet all evening. The only jewelry she wore were Brandon’s engagement ring and the diamond studs he gave her.

She managed to sweep to the front door without sustaining a sports injury, and she pulled it open for him.

“You changed your mind about the powder blue tux,” she said. Her fingertips strayed down his sleeve.

“The designer in question was fresh out of that color.”

“Must have been last season, huh?”

“Sugar,” he reproved. “My mama would have my—my hide, and so would you.” He kissed her cheek. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing him in.

“You look beautiful,” he said; around his fingertip he wound a tendril of hair that had escaped the French twist she spent two hours in a stylist’s chair over that afternoon

“Oh, this old thing? I wear it to wash the floor in. You look great.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He picked her evening purse up from the hallway table and handed it to her. “You’ll need a wrap. It’s chilly out.”

She turned her back to retrieve it and heard him attempt to stifle a snort. He draped the black cashmere shawl she handed him around her shoulders.

“I hate covering all that up,” he said.

“You are such a flirt—”

“Shall we?” He offered his arm.

They walked out the front door of Emily’s house, and he opened the passenger door to his Land Rover. Emily looked up at the seat and wondered how she would get herself and her voluminous dress into it. She reached down to gather up the skirt of her dress in her hands.

Brandon noticed her difficulty. “I’ve got you.” He swept her up in his arms. “Are you sure you want to go to this thing?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Right now, no.” Her fingers tangled in his curls. He chuckled, and she felt spreading heat low in her abdomen. God, he was sexy. Her wrap slipped off her shoulders.

“Nice view,” he said.

“You’re looking down my dress.” She tried for outrage, but the effect was lost when she let out a laugh.

“Of course I am. Damn, sugar, you have some great lingerie.”

“I had to wear a push-up bra to make—why am I telling you this?”

“You can’t resist me.” He sniffed the air. “You smell great, too. What is that stuff?”

“It’s called Petite Cherie,” she said.

“Mmm. I can’t decide if I want to kiss it, or eat it.” He nuzzled her hairline. She was fairly sure the neighbors were getting quite a show. At the same time, right now she didn’t care. Darkness and silence covered the street she lived on, and they were hidden in shadow.

“We’ll be late.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He held her even closer. The warmth of his breath teased her ear. “Think how much more fun we’d have if we stayed home, and I peeled this dress right off you.”

Emily stifled a gasp, but it wasn’t like the idea hadn’t already occurred to her, too.

“You know, you drive a pretty hard bargain,” she said.

“You have no idea.”

Well, yes, she did. She could feel a fairly impressive erection against her hip.

His tongue trailed around the shell of her ear. “You’re going to have to take this earring off. I can’t nibble your earlobe with all of that hardware on.” Emily shifted restlessly in his arms. “Got ants in your pants?”

By now, her entire body was throbbing. She could fight fire with fire, though. She traced the muscle in the side of his neck with her tongue. She felt him tremble in response. She kissed the skin behind his earlobe, letting her mouth linger.

“Two can play at this game,” she said. She heard a choked laugh.

“Well, then, my evil plan’s working,” he said. He set her down on the car seat, made sure the train to her dress was inside, and shut the passenger door behind him. A few seconds later, he hurled himself into the driver’s seat and pulled her into his arms with one fluid motion. “I’m going to kiss you until you change your mind.”

His mouth came down on hers, firm but tender. She speared her fingers through his curls. His tongue slid into her mouth, stroking hers, teasing and igniting. She grabbed at him with greedy hands, pulling him closer. He was a starving man, and she was a four-course feast. The lipstick she’d applied earlier was long gone. Minutes later, she was flushed, sweaty, and more turned on than she could remember being since the last time they went at each other in a semi-public place. She would have to do some thinking later about why they were making out in his car when she had a perfectly good bed behind a locked door, less than a hundred feet away.

“More?” he asked.

“God, yes,” she groaned.

He slid one hand under the fabric of her dress, slowly scraping her hardened nipple with his thumb as he kissed his way down her neck. The rough calluses on his fingers from lifting weights almost drove her out of her mind when he cupped and caressed the delicate skin. She let out a moan. She heard his soft laugh.

In the midst of a drugging stew of hormones, adrenaline, and lust it occurred to Emily that she was going to have one hell of a beard burn later. It didn’t stop her from grabbing his face and pulling his mouth onto hers again. Second base wasn’t enough right now. She reached out to drag her fingers over the bulge in his pants, too.

She heard something that sounded like tapping on the driver’s side window. They both ignored it. The tapping got more insistent.

Brandon pulled his mouth off hers, and jerked his hand out of the V-neck of her dress. He was breathing hard. His blue-green irises were almost black with arousal. He turned in his seat to wipe enough of the condensation off the car’s window to see out of it.

Emily yanked up the top of her dress, and ran one finger over her lips to salvage whatever lipstick she could.

One of Emily’s neighbors, a previously harmless older woman, was standing outside the car when Brandon lowered his window.

“Emily, I got some of your mail by mistake. I thought you might need it.” She smiled innocently as she handed two sales flyers, an envelope full of coupons to local businesses, and the garbage bill to Brandon. “Have a nice evening, you two.”

The neighbor scuttled inside her house after Brandon showed his teeth.

I N THE END, reason prevailed. Well, she also knew it would not be a great idea to blow off Seattle Opera’s management and the company’s most ardent financial supporters. It took a Herculean amount of self-control to resist dragging him to her bedroom and finishing what they’d started. Putting herself back together without benefit of hair stylist or makeup artist was quite a challenge as well. Tendrils of hair dangled from her formerly perfect French twist. Her skin was rosy from Brandon’s kisses and the amateur dermabrasion of beard burn. Her dress was surprisingly intact.

“If we stayed home, I’d turn you inside out,” he assured her.

“I still have to go to the benefit. I have to ... Well, I promised I would be there.”

His mouth curved into a smile. He looked rumpled and even more adorable as a result. She was afraid she just looked like a mess.

“You’ve talked me into it. I’m going to need more than appetizers, though. We’re stopping at Burgermaster on the way home.”

They could both afford the finest restaurants. At the same time, the thought of going to a drive-in with a man in a tuxedo made her smile again. It wouldn’t be an NFL star and an opera diva, for once. It would be two people who enjoyed each other’s company, no matter where they found themselves.

They arrived at McCaw Hall a few minutes before starting time. Brandon surrendered the keys to the valet, but he insisted on helping Emily out himself.

“Maybe I should carry you again.”

“I’d make quite an entrance.”

He set her on her feet, draped the wrap around her shoulders, and offered his arm again. “Shall we, my lady?”

“Please tell me I do not look like a gigantic mess,” she said.

“Every guy here will take one look at you and know I am the luckiest man in America,” he said.

They walked through a gauntlet of video cameras and press photographers shouting their names.

“Sugar, if we pose for them, they may leave us alone,” he said into her ear.

“That’s what you think.”

He turned toward the cameras, sliding a protective arm around her waist. She rested her forehead against his chest for a moment. The flashes were blinding. “Emily, smile for us,” one of the photographers shouted. “Let’s see that ring.”

She laid her left hand on Brandon’s arm. More flashes erupted as a result.

Brandon thanked them, and then ushered her inside the hall.

“That went well,” he said.

She snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. Brandon was pretty much a beer guy, but he sipped champagne and stuck by her side while she greeted a stream of Seattle Opera supporters.

“You’re a star, sugar,” he said. “They love my girl.”

She had to chuckle a little after overhearing, “Who’s the guy with Miss Hamilton?”

“Some of these people have had season tickets to the opera for thirty years,” she told him. “They may not be NFL fans.”

“Hopefully, that means you’re giving me the quick and dirty tutorial.” He glanced around at the framed posters advertising upcoming productions.

“What would you like to learn first—roles sung predominantly by full lyric sopranos, or the operas of Verdi?”

“This is going to be tougher than Sharks defensive sets,” he murmured.

A few people turned around, smiled at Emily’s obvious amusement, and went back to discussing productions and singers they’d seen, what would be on the schedule for next year, and the auction. The auction, and passed appetizers, would start in a few minutes.

One of the items being auctioned off was post-performance drinks with Emily after next season’s Cosi fan tutte. The other addition to the catalog had just been confirmed yesterday. Some lucky woman (or women) would be in charge of spray-tanning a group of Sharks players before their performance as spear-carrying barbarians in Norma . The players in question were supposed to be here tonight.

“Do you see any of the guys yet, sugar?” Brandon said, echoing her thoughts. “They should be around here somewhere. I told them they needed to wear black tie.”

“I’m sure they’ll turn up soon,” Emily said. She extended her hand to a corporate supporter, who brought her knuckles to his lips.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Hamilton,” the debonair older gentleman said and extended his hand to Brandon. “This must be your young man.”

Emily was drawing a blank on the gentleman’s name. “This is my fiancé, Brandon McKenna.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Brandon. I’m Adam Schaeffer, Seattle Opera’s board chairman. When I’m not there, I’m with Schaeffer, Schaeffer and Schaeffer.” He and Brandon shook hands.

“Mr. Schaeffer, it’s an honor. I play football for the Sharks.” Brandon smiled and said, “I’m a bit curious. Perhaps you could fill me in on what a board member for Seattle Opera does.”

“I’d love to. Call me Adam, Brandon.”

To Emily’s surprise, the two men walked away, deep in conversation. It was the oddest couple she could remember, but Brandon seemed comfortable.

A beautiful older woman in vintage Dior took Emily’s hand.

“I’m Lillian Tollifson. This is my grandson, Jake.”

She tipped her head toward the man standing beside her. Jake Tollifson appeared to be in his late thirties. Emily wasn’t familiar with Jake, but her sister was. Amy saw his name in one of the programs she got at a performance last year and filled Emily in. Single, handsome Jake had done very, very well in the software industry.

Emily spotted Mrs. Tollifson, who looked like a stiff wind would blow her away, at the auctions in previous years; but last year, she sang. She was unavailable to mix until after her performance. Most of the crowd was gone by the time Emily emerged from the dressing room.

“It’s great to meet you both,” Emily said. Brandon’s hand touched the small of her back once more. “This is my fiancé, Brandon McKenna.”

Brandon kissed the back of Mrs. Tollifson’s hand. She winked at him. There didn’t appear to be a woman alive he could not charm.

“Grandmother loved your Sophie,” Jake said to Emily. “Will you be singing it again?”

“I know Santa Fe Opera’s mounting the production next year, and I’m already signed to sing the role. I’m sorry it won’t be here.”

Mrs. Tollifson poked her grandson with an elbow. “We can fly there.”

“Of course, Grandmother.” Jake smiled sheepishly at Emily. “She loves you.”

Emily reached out to give Mrs. Tollifson a gentle hug.

“I told Jake that he waited too long,” she said into Emily’s ear. “If that young man of yours doesn’t treat you right, you let me know.”

“Of course. It was so nice to meet you. I’ll look forward to seeing you in Santa Fe.”

As they strolled away, Greg, Zach, Damian, and Derrick made a beeline for Brandon and Emily. To say that everything in the lobby came to a screeching halt when they walked through was an understatement. There typically weren’t many defensive linemen taking in the opera. Emily grinned, remembering Brandon’s request the day before.

“Sugar, are there some opera CDs that might be user-friendly? The guys want to listen to some before they go to the auction,” he’d asked. And so Emily had sent Brandon to his workout at the Sharks headquarters that morning with a compilation called “Operatically Incorrect,” a recording of Seattle Opera’s La Boheme , and the arias CD she had recently finished recording.

Brandon had called a couple of hours later. “They loved yours. They’ll listen to La Boheme tomorrow.”

Looking at them now, it was clear to Emily that the guys had listened to Brandon’s warning that they must wear black tie, but they put their own spin on it. Damian wore a modern-cut tuxedo with a black shirt and a long silk tie. Derrick wore a retro-looking black suit with a white shirt, a skinny tie, and boots. Greg had on a long black jacket with a mandarin collar. Zach wore a cowboy hat with his traditional tuxedo, which he whipped off his head after a hard look from Brandon.

“Gentlemen,” Brandon said, “we’ll need to go backstage and get ready to walk on while our auction is being held.”

Damian kissed Emily’s cheek. His comment, “You look stunning, love,” earned him a death glare from Brandon. “Would you like another glass of champagne?” Damian asked, as he glanced around for a server.

“Not right now, but thank you. I think I’ll go sit down so I can watch you all.”

Five men immediately offered their arms. She took Brandon’s. Damian was still chatting with her.

“We listened to your CD today.”

“Did you like it?”

“I did. Do you think you might sing that ‘O Mio Baby’ song for me sometime?”

“O mio babbino caro?”

“Yeah.” The other guys smirked at him. He looked a little embarrassed, but continued. “I liked it.” He raised an eyebrow at Zach, who attempted to stifle a laugh.

“The most famous version of that song is sung by Luciano Pavarotti. Have you ever heard of him?” He shook his head. “You might like his CD’s, too.”

“I liked Phantom of the Opera. Do you know Sarah Brightman?”

“No. I don’t know her. I enjoyed her CD, though.” Emily thought for a moment. “I’m singing in a recital next week at Benaroya. I could get you some tickets.”

“Yeah. I’d like that. McKenna, you’re fine if I tag along?” Damian said.

“You’re bringing your own date,” Brandon said.

Greg interrupted him. “Now you’re an opera fan? Don’t get me wrong. I liked Emily’s CD. It’s pretty good. Some of that other one, though, sounded like—shit, it was like cats being run over or something.”

“There was no Mandarin Chinese opera in those CD’s,” she whispered frantically into Brandon’s ear. He let out a chuckle.

“Hey. Rappers are doing standards these days. We might as well branch out,” Damian informed Greg, who was attempting to contain his laughter and failing miserably.

Emily kissed Brandon’s cheek when they reached the seating area.

“See you guys in a little while.”

Everything was going well, maybe a little too well. Emily knew that her relationship with Brandon was outwardly accepted because of the publicity it brought to any production she performed in. Obviously, ticket sales were a good thing. At the same time, she heard the gossip. According to some of her colleagues, she had shamed the opera world and sullied her career. She wasn’t stupid. She knew there must have been endless rehashing of her breakup with James, too.

“Hello, Emily,” said a deep, all-too-familiar voice.

Her stomach lurched. Oh, no, please, don’t let it be him, she thought. She turned her head and looked up into the face of her ex, James Peterson.