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A FTER B RANDON INHALED his dinner that evening (and Emily picked at hers) they adjourned to Emily’s living room couch. She managed to seize the remote, flipping the television on. Brandon pretended to glare at her. The effect was ruined, however, by a huge grin and the flash of his dimple.

The sports anchorman’s voice boomed over the TV’s speakers.

“Single women everywhere are inconsolable over the news that the Sharks’ Brandon McKenna announced his engagement this morning. The Sharks front office is cautiously optimistic. Will McKenna put up what must be a modern-day version of the ‘little black book’—his legendary smart phone ‘contacts’ list of single females—for auction on eBay as a result?”

“Like I’m that stupid,” Brandon muttered.

Emily gave him a combination eye roll and head shake. The typically unflappable Brandon had been squirming for a few minutes now. “That’s really going to put a crimp in your social life, Brandon.”

He grunted in response.

The announcer continued. “Our cameras caught up with the wily Mr. McKenna outside of his fiancée Emily Hamilton’s home this morning, and he didn’t fail to astonish and amuse.”

Emily watched them walk down the front stairs on her television screen. One of the reporters asked her if she was surprised at his proposal, and Brandon wrapped his arms around her waist as she responded, “Yes, I was.” He gave her an adoring grin. He nuzzled her hair. It looked like he was kissing Emily’s ear, but in reality, she had deliberately stepped on his toes. The next piece of tape was of Brandon standing outside of her Escape while she waited inside. Another reporter asked, “Brandon, we understand that Miss Hamilton is a very talented and sought-after young diva. How do you plan to cope with two demanding careers?”

“You know, Emily’s talented in many areas,” he smirked, raised one eyebrow, and gave the camera a look that let all of America know exactly what she was talented at. “Frankly, she wears me out. I’m a lucky man.” He shook his head a bit, gave the reporters a dazzling smile, and said, “Thanks, guys,” as he pulled the driver’s door open and swung into the seat.

Emily let out a gasp of horror. “You—You—What was that?”

Brandon shot her a quick glance. “Take a breath, sugar.”

“My parents will see that. You just told the entire country that I’m some kind of—oh, my God. How could you?” She jumped up from the couch, hurried through the living room, and stormed up the staircase. Her headache was temporarily forgotten. Brandon didn’t even have to run to catch up with her.

“Sugar,” he cajoled. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is. I can’t believe you said that. I am not one of your—” She whipped around to face him; he stopped inches from crashing into her. “Floozies. Trollops. Hos. Bimbos. Whatever they’re called, I’m not one of them.” She poked her finger in the middle of his chest to punctuate. Multiple times.

“Now, you don’t need to name call,” he said. “They wanted a colorful quote, and I gave it to them.”

Emily let out a groan, and turned on her heel. Right now, making a lot of noise was the only option. He caught her elbow. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be right now?” she said.

“No. No, I don’t.” He stroked her arm. “You’re not mad about this.” He moved closer. Her body double-crossed her, swaying toward him. His arm slid around her waist. “So, I got a little carried away. It’s not a problem.” He nuzzled the hair at her temple. The temperature in the room shot up twenty degrees in five seconds or so.

She couldn’t understand why she wavered between wanting to commit bodily harm on him and wanting to do things to him that would feel really, really good. Right now, though, she needed to pull herself together.

Her head jerked up, narrowly missing his nose. “I realize the rest of the world thinks we’re engaged right now, but did you need to tell everyone I’m some kind of insatiable sex maniac? That stuff is private. It should remain between us. All of America does not need to know what goes on in my bedroom!” She poked him in the chest a few more times for emphasis.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Insatiable sex maniac? Now, that’s interesting.” The amusement on his face made her realize he wasn’t backing off. “I’ve never met one of those before. Tell me more.”

Her mouth dropped open in outrage. At that moment, the phone started to ring. She turned on her heel and stomped away from him only to hear Brandon’s laughter again.

E MILY GRABBED THE ringing phone in her room, hitting “speaker” as she sat down on the bed. It was David calling to outline the booking offers he’d fielded that day.

“Your calendar’s getting a workout, Emily. So, I’ll confirm all three of the productions we talked about, and send the information to your phone’s calendar as well.”

“Thanks, David. I’m really glad things are picking up.”

“I am, too. I just got an email from Seattle Opera’s PR group as well. They’d like to do an interview and some pictures with you and Brandon at your earliest convenience. It’ll run in the magazine and on their website. If he’d like, we can schedule a date and time with his agent.”

She saw Brandon stroll into the room out of the corner of her eye.

“That’ll work for me, David. I’ll let Josh know to expect your call,” Brandon responded, speaking loudly enough for David to hear him over the speaker phone.

“Great. By the way, Brandon, I saw the ESPN interview. You’re making my job easy.”

“Glad to hear it,” Brandon said. “Thanks for taking such good care of my girl.”

“Back at you. Talk to you later, Emily.” David hung up.

Emily pulled breath into her lungs. Their conversation gave her a few minutes to calm down and think. Three more bookings! She’d never gotten three bookings in a week, let alone one day.

Brandon stretched out on the other side of her bed and picked up the book resting on the nightstand.

“If this keeps up, you’re going to have to bring somebody in to feed the cat and water the plants while you’re gone. Good job, sugar.”

Obviously he was teasing her, but the irritation she’d felt twenty seconds before her phone rang had given way to relief and amusement. Rather than causing some type of irreparable issue, Brandon’s outrageous comments in the media led to bookings. How did this happen, anyway?

“Hey, I’m curious.” Brandon put the book on the nightstand. “Why did you become an opera singer? I’ve never met one before.”

“Changing the subject, huh?” She propped herself up against the headboard of her bed.

“C’mon, sugar.” He stretched out, propped himself up on one elbow, and watched her expectantly.

She thought for a few moments before responding. “I saw an opera when I was twelve and fell in love with it. From that moment on I always knew what I wanted to do when I was older.”

“It’s good to have goals. Tell me more.”

She pulled a pink cashmere throw over her and wound the fringe around her fingers as she spoke. “Besides Amy and my parents, there is nothing and nobody else in the world I love like I love to sing. Nothing else makes me happier.” She looked into his face. “I’m lost in the music, and it’s almost like I step outside myself. I can feel the breath in my body. I can hear the notes coming out of me, but I am somewhere else for that time. It’s somewhere I can’t wait to go back to again.”

“So, you’ve been singing since you were twelve.”

“My training didn’t really start till I was sixteen.”

He propped himself up on the pillows. “How long can you keep doing this? Do you ever wonder what you’ll do when you decide to end your career?”

“I will hopefully sing till I die, but professionally? Probably another twenty years or so. I have a plan.” He waited, and she took a breath. “I want to sing at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. It’s everything I’ve worked for, because it’s the greatest success I could have as a diva in the United States. It’s the pinnacle. I’m hoping I’ll get there in the next two years. After I get there, I can sing the top roles until retirement.”

He reached out to pat her hand. “I think you’ll get there.”

“Thanks. That’s very kind.” She sighed. Some days, those goals seemed far away. “I started late. When I got out of the conservatory, I wanted a Master’s, and then, to build a repertoire, I spent a lot of time singing roles with smaller opera companies. I’m not sorry, but I wonder if I’m going to pay for not managing my career as well as I should have. That’s why I have David. He’s really good at it.”

Brandon had grown silent.

“You’ve been playing football for a while, haven’t you?” she asked.

“Since I was six.” He let out a laugh. “It’s a lotta years.”

“Have you thought of what you’re going to do when you want to retire from football?”

He shrugged, propped himself up on the pillows, and folded his arms across his chest; he was uncomfortable with the subject. “I’ll probably end up doing color commentary for NFL broadcasts. I’ve done it before during the regular season when we had a bye week.”

“What’s a bye week?”

“We get a week off.” He continued. “Right now, broadcasting is my post-football focus. It’s fun, I enjoy it, and it pays well.” He crossed his feet at the ankles. Despite the fact they really didn’t know each other, it was obvious by his body language Brandon didn’t want to discuss this, and she wondered why. “Hey.” His eyes locked onto hers, and Emily noticed that the typically amused expression in them was gone. “What happens to your ten-year plan if you fall in love? Have you thought about that?”

She hugged herself, and crossed her ankles as well. “I’m not sure.”

If there were such a thing as being struck dead for lying, Emily surely would have been a goner at that point. The truth was something she carefully guarded, and she wasn’t giving it up to the blond Adonis less than a foot from her. She didn’t want to end up like her mom. She didn’t want to give up her dreams, no matter how lonely she was. Emily could fall in love and get married later, or not at all. She had known other divas who married and had kids, but she’d already spent enough time screwing around. If she wanted to achieve her goals, she couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

“You’ve thought about everything else. Why wouldn’t you think of that?” Brandon probed.

“I just didn’t. It didn’t seem important.” Sure it wasn’t. She could tell by the look in his eyes he didn’t buy her response, either, but she made her best effort. “What about you? Do you think you’ll fall in love and have little blond babies?”

His eyes softened, and a smile twitched the corners of his lips. “I sure hope so. I have to find a woman who wants to fall in love for the rest of her life.”

“Wouldn’t that be most women?” she said.

“I always thought so.” His eyes held hers again.

She swallowed hard and quickly changed the subject. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Nope. Not right now. I’d like to spend some more time talking, if you’re not too tired.”

She wanted to get out of this conversation, and he’d presented her with the best opportunity possible. “I’m pretty wiped out,” she said.

He shoved himself off the bed. “Time to get some sleep, then. I’ll make a wardrobe change.”

“You don’t need to stay here. You have your own place. I’m fine. I don’t need anyone to watch me. I can sleep on my—”

He laid his fingertips over her mouth. “You’re going to wear yourself out with all that arguing. Come on.” He reached out for her hand. “Don’t you want to put on one of those virginal white nighties?”

She wasn’t giving in to his charm again. Even if he’d deliberately dribbled hoisin sauce on his shirt, bought her a ring that must have cost a staggering amount of money, and generally been wonderful, she could resist him. Even if every time he smiled, her heart skipped a beat.

He probably smiled that way at every woman who crossed his path. She wasn’t special. The sooner she realized that, the better off she’d be.

“Don’t I get an opinion here? It’s my house.”

“Of course you do. You told me that you’re fine by yourself, and I disagree.” His eyes twinkled again. “Get changed, and we’ll discuss it further.”

She heaved a frustrated sigh. “You’re—you’re just—oooh.”

Emily hurried into the bathroom and shut the door only to hear his laughter. She put on another billowing white cotton nightgown, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and thought about what she should do. She could order him to leave. That was best. The scariest thing about Brandon was that he saw behind her defenses. He knew, somehow, she really didn’t want him to leave.

This had to stop.

She emerged from the bathroom to find Brandon snuggled into the blankets of her bed. He gave her a sleepy grin.

“If you’re staying here, you need to sleep in the living room or in the guest room. This is not working,” Emily informed him in her firmest tone. If she averted her eyes from his bare chest, she could do this—as long as she didn’t remember how uncomfortable he looked curled up in her bedroom chair, or how he had stayed to make sure she was okay.

“You don’t have a bed in your guest room. The living room’s cold.” On any other man, it would have been whining. In Brandon’s accent, it was a crime against humanity.

“What’s the matter? The big football player doesn’t know how to turn up a thermostat? Too bad.” She pointed toward the bedroom door. “Out.”

“You don’t really mean that, sugar,” he said.

“Yes, I do. We still hardly know each other.”

He let out a snort. “I know that you snore.”

“I do not,” Emily said.

“You also make the cutest little whimpering noises in your sleep,” he said softly.

She threw the smallest pillow from her bed at him. “Goodnight, Brandon.”

The door shut behind him. She breathed a sigh as she crawled into bed, ignoring the twinges of guilt. God’s gift to the NFL could take the couch, and she might get some rest.

B RANDON STROLLED INTO Emily’s room a few hours later. He’d made a few phone calls, watched all the game film he could stand, and fixed himself a midnight snack. He’d slept in the chair in her room before, but the only way he was going to get any meaningful sleep at all was to stretch out next to her.

She was right; he could have slept at home. But he kept thinking about the expression on her face when she had pushed herself out of his arms earlier. Obviously, that was a physical response to spending the last forty-eight hours or so with someone he found attractive. He wanted to kiss her. Even more, he knew she wanted to kiss him, but she wouldn’t. She was stubborn to the tenth power. While he delighted in doing and saying stuff that worked her last nerve, he realized he really enjoyed watching the relaxation that spread through her entire body when she laughed. It would be slow going, but oddly, he wanted to gain Emily’s trust.

His long-term plan had been to avoid anything that lasted longer than a New York minute. He didn’t want anything permanent, and when things got sticky he made a quick exit. He’d never had any intention of settling down until his football days were at an end, and then he’d take time to find the right woman. These days, though, flavor-of-the month females meant more annoyance and heartache than fun—women like Anastasia, for instance. She was the last straw.

For now, though, Emily the pint-sized ball of fire—with vulnerability she did her very best to hide—intrigued him.

The moonlight draped Emily’s bed like netting, and he watched her sleep for a few minutes. He knew she smelled like peaches and freshly cut grass. He wasn’t kidding about the little noises she made in her sleep. He heard a soft whimper, even now.

When she wasn’t busting his chops, something about her relaxed and soothed him.

He stripped down to his shorts and slid in next to her. Her long hair spread over the pillows like rose petals. He took a few deep breaths of her sweet scent, and then he was asleep.

A few hours later, Emily rolled over and bumped into him. “Mmph,” he muttered. The bedroom window indicated dawn was still hours away.

Her voice was sleepy. “Why are you here? We agreed that you’re sleeping on the couch.”

He popped up out of the blankets. “You’re awake,” he said. “Let’s talk some more.”

“What is this? Most guys want to run away from the talking stuff, don’t they?”

He stifled a laugh. It seemed he spent a lot of time doing that when she was around. He kept his voice light.

“That’s a gross generalization. I’m definitely insulted. I can’t believe you would think that.”

“You’re joking.”

“Absolutely not. This isn’t funny.”

He could see it was all she could do not to scream. He wondered what she’d do if he reached out to tickle her.

“Listen, you big brute, why don’t you move over so I can—”

The rest of her comment was muffled by the blankets she dragged over her head. She reconsidered a few moments later, tossed the blankets back, and propped herself up on the pillows. He wasn’t so sure about the evil look in her eyes. Unless he was terribly wrong, not only was she irritated, but she’d just figured out her revenge.

“Do you feel better today, sugar?”

“Yeah. My head doesn’t hurt as much. I seem to have a little more energy.” She took a deep breath. “Thanks for asking.”

“You’re welcome.” Her hand brushed his under the covers, and she jumped. He held on. Her hand was small inside of his. She tried to pull her hand away, and he meshed his fingers through hers. Nice.

“I’m curious, Brandon—”

“I need a nickname. How are you coming on the nickname?”

“Listen, Bruiser.”

He laughed. “Good one.” He pulled the blankets up to his chest. “And you were saying?”

She glanced away from him. Here it comes, he thought. “I’m not even sure how to ask you this.”

“Well, that sounds promising.” He let out a deep chuckle. “I can hardly wait to find out what you’re going to ask me now. Spit it out, okay? We’re not getting any younger.”

“This is a little embarrassing, but I knew nothing about you. I’d never heard of you before I wiped out in the parking lot.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” He took a sip of water from the glass on the nightstand. “I didn’t know a lot about you, either.”

“That’s true.” Emily propped herself up on her elbow. Somehow, lying in bed, holding her hand and talking with her in the darkness seemed more intimate than the last time he’d had sex. He knew she would be a man’s friend as well as his lover. He’d never experienced that before. He slid further down into the blankets as well, and they faced each other.

“I’m confused,” she said. “Cheryl the nurse called you a horn dog. My sister said roughly the same thing. I’ve spent some time with you now, and you aren’t like that at all. How can you have this reputation if you’re nothing like that person?”

The room was silent. He thought he’d braced himself, but evidently not. There was no correct answer to that question. He’d done some stuff when he was younger to deserve the press he got, but it would be nice if he got some credit for realizing he needed to be a lot more selective in his choice of conquests. Some of his alleged hookups were blown out of proportion by the media, or were flat-out lies by women who thought sleeping with him would enhance their allure to others. Anastasia came to mind. She was the last straw in more ways than one. He really didn’t like having his nose rubbed in his mistakes. Those stupid enough to do so got the full force of his anger, every time.

“Sometimes, people say things about us that aren’t true,” she said. Emily, bless her heart, was trying to give him an out, but it pissed him off. “If you talked to my colleagues, I know that you’d hear embarrassing things about me.”

“Really,” he bit out. Unless he missed his guess, she was patronizing him. Yup, he was pissed. The more she talked, the angrier he was.

“Of course, I—”

“You know, sugar, we talked about this yesterday. I’ve done stuff I’m not especially proud of in the past, but I’m normal. In my line of work, there are women who want to brag to their friends that they nailed a pro athlete. At times, I’ve been happy to oblige them.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a real humanitarian, aren’t you? I’m amazed nobody’s contacted the Nobel committee on your behalf.”

That was a low blow, and unfair to him as well. He passed “pissed,” and went straight into “fury.” This was a sore subject to begin with, and he felt like she was poking him in the gut with a sharp stick. He’d just discovered one of Emily’s faults: She didn’t know when to back off. “That was pretty harsh.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” she said. “How can you believe the stuff you say?”

He dropped her hand, and flipped on his side away from her. It was three AM . The best thing he could do was calm down. If he got in the car now he would get a ticket at best, because he shouldn’t be behind the wheel. He also wondered what he did to bring this on.

After a few deep breaths, he spoke. “Whatever I have or have not done, I want you to understand this. I have never cheated on anyone I was with. I’ve always taken precautions against disease and pregnancy. I don’t get involved with women who are involved with other men. I wasn’t kidding about the fact my priorities have shifted recently. I’m done running around. I’d like to find a woman I could fall in love with and be faithful to for the rest of my life. If you’re under the impression that I’m some kind of man-whore, that’s your problem.”

An uncomfortable silence fell.

Brandon considered his options one more time. He could get up and go in the other room. He could stay here. He could get in the car, go home, and never see her again. Door number three was sounding increasingly attractive, but mostly he wished he knew why women did the things they did. She’d shoved herself into a six-inch space at the opposite side of her bed.

He had said some stuff he now wished he hadn’t. She had said some stuff that hit every hot button he had. Maybe the best thing to do was simmer down, get some sleep, and try to get to the bottom of it in the morning.

He flipped onto his back. A little while later, Emily also rolled onto her back.

He felt her hand slide inside of his. He laced his fingers through hers again and squeezed her hand.

She squeezed back.

E MILY AWOKE THE next morning alone in her bed. The house was quiet. She could hear Brandon’s voice as she wandered into the kitchen to find a fresh pot of coffee. He ended the call, and glanced over at her. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” she responded. She heaved a sigh, and sat down at the table.

“Did you sleep well?”

He took a sip of coffee. Of course, he looked completely unruffled. She had a bellyful of butterflies. She couldn’t believe he was still here. Despite the early-morning cobwebs, she realized she’d started an argument with him last night because he was less than a foot away, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, and she couldn’t seem to uncurl her toes when he was around. She was pretty sure he’d heard the words “I think you’re gorgeous and I want to body-slam you” more than once in his life, but she’d prefer to keep a shred of her dignity.

How hypocritical was she, inquiring about the women he’d been with previously while wondering what she’d have to do to achieve the same thing? She owed him an apology, and she’d better make it good. He’d spent the past two days taking care of her. She rewarded that kindness by acting like a piranha with hemorrhoids.

“Brandon, I’m sorry. I said a lot of things to you last night that—” She couldn’t even look at him. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have said the stuff I did. Again, I’m sorry.” She fidgeted as she made herself shut up.

He was still for a moment. He rose from the table, grabbed the coffee pot and another mug for her, and sat down again. He poured them both a cup of coffee. “I’m sorry too, sugar. My temper ran away with me.” He lifted his mug. “Friends?”

Emily touched the rim of her mug to his. “Friends.” She saw the corners of his lips move into a smile. “How do you feel about a bagel and some cream cheese?”

“Great.” Before she could get up from the table, he reached out and put one hand over hers. “Listen. I’d like to talk with you some more, but I have an appointment downtown in less than an hour. How about meeting up later?”

Emily nodded. “I’m having dinner with my parents, so I might not be here till after seven or so.”

“We can grab dessert or something then.”

He got up from the table. Emily quickly smeared cream cheese on a bagel, wrapped a napkin around it, and handed it to him.

“Breakfast to go. Hope it goes well. Bye.”

“Thanks. It will.”

He bent to kiss her cheek, picked up the bag he’d left in the hallway, and hurried out of the house.

A few minutes later, Emily heard a booming knock at the front door. He must have forgotten something. She was so sure it was Brandon, she didn’t even look through the peephole.

I T WASN’T B RANDON. She opened the door to a tall, strikingly beautiful, rail-thin woman she recognized immediately from magazine ads through the years.

According to Amy, Anastasia Lee followed Brandon to Seattle two years ago, after they’d met at a Victoria’s Secret runway show in New York. She’d probably been wearing a push-up bra and stiletto heels at the time. She jammed one of those stilettos through his heart by announcing she was dumping him during a live interview with Entertainment Tonight about a month ago, also according to Amy. “Brutal” was the word Emily’s sister had used. Anastasia also managed to impugn his manhood, his family, and his bank account in less than sixty seconds. Brandon responded with silence.

Now she was standing at the front door, and Emily wasn’t sure what to say to her.

Anastasia brushed past Emily and walked into the house without a word. She was dazzling. At the same time, Emily noticed dark violet shadows beneath her eyes. Someone wasn’t sleeping.

“Excuse me,” Emily said, not using her inside voice. “I didn’t invite you in.”

“Well, I’m here. Aren’t you going to offer me something to drink?”

“You need to leave. Now .”

Anastasia cantered away from Emily, and didn’t even bother to turn and look at her when she spoke. “I don’t think so. We need to have a little chat.”

Emily slammed the door shut and followed her into the living room. Not only had Anastasia made herself at home on the couch, she lit a cigarette. She crossed her legs and leaned back against the cushions.

“Nobody smokes in my house. Please put that out,” Emily snapped.

Anastasia looked around. “I don’t see any ashtrays.” She blew out a long, thin stream of smoke.

“Why are you here, and how did you find me?”

“I heard you’re engaged.” She flipped a perfect, shiny curtain of espresso brown hair over one bony shoulder and gave Emily a look that one could only classify as contemptuous. Her eyes were as blue and cold as an iceberg. They were quite a contrast with her blood-red lips.

“Yes, I am.”

“Stay away from Brandon.”

Emily stared at her. “You’re kidding me, right?” She’d evidently walked into some sort of parallel universe.

“No, I’m not. He loves me. He’ll always love me.”

“Didn’t you dump him? Why do you care at all what he does?” Emily shot back.

She saw Anastasia flinch in response. She crossed her arms across her chest to help her resist the impulse to yank a handful of her unwanted guest’s hair out. She also noticed something odd—Anastasia looked like a clothes hanger, but her stomach was slightly rounded. Maybe she was malnourished. In the meantime, her possible vitamin deficiency had certainly not done wonders for her attitude.

“You shouldn’t stand like that,” Anastasia said. “It’s not a good look for you.” Her lip curled. “It makes you look—chunky. Then again, you are a little on the chunky side, aren’t you?”

“When’s the last time you ate something, Anastasia—during the Bush administration?”

“You don’t look like you’ve missed many meals.” She sneered. “Brandon must be mercy fucking these days.”

“Get out. Get out before I call the cops.” Emily pointed toward the front door.

“You let me in.”

“Maybe I should call Brandon instead. I’m sure he’d be interested to learn that you’re here.”

Anastasia’s smile was positively feline. “You do that. He’ll tell you himself that he wants me.” She blew another stream of smoke in Emily’s direction. She was obviously out of her mind.

Emily thought about hosing her down with the spray faucet in the kitchen. She’d probably melt.

“You’ve got ten seconds. I want you out of my house, or the cops are coming.”

Anastasia’s nastiness had finally registered. Emily was an opera singer, not a rocket scientist. Then again, she’d managed to scoop up a man Anastasia evidently still wanted.

“He still wants you, does he? I’m wearing his ring.” Emily held up her hand and watched the diamond sparkle in the sunlight streaming through the living room windows.

The look on Anastasia’s face was indescribable, but the words rage, grief, and revenge came to mind. “Bitch,” she breathed.

“It took me less than a week.” Emily studied her manicure. It was going to be hell to get the smoke smell out of the furniture, but this was worth it. “Maybe you should explain to me how this happened. He loves you, but he asked me to marry him.”

“Rebound. He’ll be back.”

Emily did the best she could to keep the smile off her face. “You keep telling yourself that. I’m sure you’ll feel better, eventually.”

Anastasia dropped her cigarette into a coffee cup left on the end table. “I’m out of here.” She crossed to the front door and yanked it open. She stopped and looked at Emily over her shoulder. For the briefest instant, Emily thought she saw sadness in her eyes. Then they turned hard again and she snarled, “You’ll regret this, Emily.”

She stomped out, slamming the door so hard Emily heard the pictures on the walls shift.

Emily had never been involved in a scene like this offstage. For once, she said exactly what she wanted to say, at the time she needed to say it. What a charming woman. She must have been late for that dominatrix outfit alteration or something.

She could tell Brandon about all this later. Amy, of course, must know about it immediately. Emily grabbed her cell phone and hit Amy’s number.

Amy was transfixed by Emily’s story.

“She came over there? What’s wrong with her?”

“She says Brandon’s still in love with her.” Emily was opening every window in the house while she talked.

“Maybe you should’ve found out what she’s on, and we could get some, too. What the hell’s her problem?”

“She’s still in love with Brandon. Then again, is it possible for her to feel love? I don’t know. I’d never do that. She doesn’t know me at all, and she thinks she can stomp into my house and tell me how things are. She was smoking, Amy. You know how I feel about that.”

“I still can’t believe she showed up at your house.”

Emily resisted the impulse to gloat. “She looks like hell.”

“What?”

“She had these huge violet circles under her eyes. Wait till Victoria’s Secret finds out about this.”

“They’re not going to care. They’ll just airbrush it out of the photos. You need to call Brandon,” Amy told her. “He needs to know she’s resorting to showing up at your house now.”

“It’s not that big a deal, Amy. It was mostly just annoying. I’ll see him later. I’m sure he’ll think this is funny.”

This was a new experience for Emily. After all, she’d never had anyone’s ex show up at her house before. She couldn’t understand why Anastasia would act like this, either. She’d said horrible things about Brandon on television, but suddenly she had decided she wanted him back. It was bizarre at best.

“So, where is your fiancé, anyway?” Amy said. “Are you guys sleeping together yet?”

“God, Amy.”

“You know you want to tell me,” her sister coaxed.

“He had some stuff to take care of today. He said he’d be by later.” Emily let out a long breath. At least the smoke smell in her house was dissipating. “Yeah, he’s been sleeping here, but nothing’s going on.”

“That’s interesting. What did you say to him?”

Of course Amy was mystified. Emily was a bit confused as well.

“I tried to kick him out, and he won’t go. He says he likes the house, the bed’s comfortable, I have beer ...” It sounded lame, even to her.

“That’s BS.” Amy’s voice was brisk. “He’s interested.”

“This is fake. It’s fake . Trust me.”