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Elizabeth gnawed on her thumb, eyes staring out the window
unseeing. The fact was, some crabbed, dark part of her psyche had crowed when she had seen the nearly naked Sebastian in Susan’s room. It had just been waiting for something like this to happen. It said, “Duh! Of course you were just a pawn in some convoluted game of X-rated chess. Why else would someone like
him
be with someone like
you
?”

Elizabeth could almost hear the voice now, at once placating and sneering.
“It’s for the best, anyway,” the ugly garden gnome of her soul said. “Now it’ll be easy to end it.”

It would have petered out naturally, anyhow, Elizabeth told herself. He lived in LA, she lived smack in the middle of small-town
nowheresville. The nearest commercial airport was over an hour away. He had the demanding schedule of a network TV series. She had deadlines. And children. And a husband. Even contemplating how and when they would meet brought the impracticality of the whole thing into sharp focus.

It had hurt when she thought she had been duped, betrayed, played, of course
it had. It had stung with the bitter rug-burn of humiliation. But that wasn’t why she had cried half the way home. That wasn’t why she couldn’t close her eyes without seeing him or why she sighed every five minutes, trying to shift the crushing wet weight in her chest.

No, she was hurting because she knew, whether he was lying to her or not, whether he loved her or not, she would never see him again.

Chapter 11

“Do you want to have wine?” Elizabeth asked Steve.

They were at their favorite table at Cafe
Diodici, a short drive from Fairfield in the neighboring town of Washington. They had managed to fill the twenty-minute ride with chit-chat about the kids and the project Steve was overseeing at work, but, in Elizabeth’s mind anyhow, they had run out of small talk. Now they could either get into an argument or spend the next hour or so in near silence.

“
Nah,” Steve said, running his hand through his hair, still thick and dark though he was forty. He patted his stomach. “It’s not on the diet.”

Elizabeth nodded. She had to admit that Steve was looking better. He
’d been on his new exercise and eating plan for less than a month, but Elizabeth could definitely see the shadow of his former self emerging. Men, she thought, once they got the will-power piece in place, it was so easy for them. She could starve herself stupid and run laps around the block from sunrise till sunset, but she would never lose her ass.

“
Do you mind if I have a glass?” she asked.

“
Suit yourself,” Steve answered, eyes on the menu.

It had been two weeks since Steve returned from Arizona and almost three since her New York trip, and this was the first time they had been alone together, awake. Steve had been staying late at the office then going to the gym. He
’d have a light supper, put the kids to bed and watch an hour or so of television before going to bed himself. Elizabeth would still be in her office, working on her second draft when she heard the light click off in their bedroom below her. That’s when she would open Sebastian’s emails.

He had sent one every day since she left. Sometimes they
’d be pleading, romantic gushes, full of spelling mistakes. Sometimes they’d be nothing more than forwarded links to an article or photo from a celebrity gossip site. Sometimes they’d be photos, shot from the neck down, always nude, often erect. Elizabeth had to ask herself how he was taking them, or rather, who was taking them. She read them once, hungrily, twice, savoring whatever pleasure or pain they brought her, then she deleted them. Without responding.

Ostensibly perusing the menu, Elizabeth wondered what today
’s email would be. Yesterday’s had been a link to a photo of Sebastian, slick and handsome in a tux, holding hands with a pretty brunette C-list starlet in a dress so short you hoped she’d worn matching panties. They were at some fund-raising event sponsored by Calvin Klein. There was no message, only the subject line: I’ll be thinking of you.

Just remembering it made Elizabeth
’s cheeks burn with jealousy and desire. That bastard, she thought, shaking her head to dispel the negative emotions.

“
Are you okay?” Steve looked at her questioningly.

“
Oh, yeah,” Elizabeth answered, tamping down her guilt. “I just don’t know what I want to eat.”

“
I’ll have the steak and a salad, no potato, no bread,” Steve said to the pretty but awkward teenaged waitress who had appeared at his shoulder. She had the typical small-town Iowa Sun-In blond hair and acne-scarred cheeks. Elizabeth felt a flash of pity for her, remembering that awkward stage of existence.

“
I still don’t know what I want,” she said, apologetically.

“
What about the seafood tagliatelle?” Steve offered. “You had that the last time we were here and you wouldn’t shut up about how amazing it was. Remember?”

Elizabeth stared at her husband, unsure whether to be upset by his word choice or pleased that he had remembered she
’d liked it.

“
Yes, I’ll have that. And a glass of rosé,” she said, smiling at the waitress. After the girl left, she raised her eyebrow at Steve. “If I wouldn’t shut up about it, it’s definitely worth having again.”

“
Aw, Liz.” Steve inhaled deeply and rubbed his eyes in frustration. “Don’t start.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but Steve leaned forward so that his forearms rested on the table. His eyes pleaded with her.
“That came out wrong.”

Elizabeth crossed her arms defensively, realizing as she did that she
wanted
to be angry with Steve. She
wanted
him to be uncaring and selfish and rude. It made her feel less guilty. But Steve wasn’t playing fair.

A smile twitched in the corner of his mouth and his eyes glinted with mischief. She had always loved those eyes.
“What I should have said was, ‘You were practically orgasmic over it.’” He moaned, imitating her, his voice a high falsetto. “Oh, Steve, this is sooo good. Oh. You have to taste it.”

“
Steve,” Elizabeth hissed, slapping his arm and glancing around to make sure no one was watching. But she was smiling.

“
What?” Steve said, his eyes wide, but his smile still sly. He grabbed the hand she had slapped him with and held it. Elizabeth smiled but refused to meet his warm, teasing gaze for more than a microsecond. She didn’t want him to see the guilt in her heart.

“
I liked it.” His voice was soft and sweet, like clear clover honey. “That’s why I suggested you order it.” She glanced up at him again. After a month of exercise and diet, the planes of his face were taking shape again, his strong jaw and wide cheekbones emerging. His eyes looked bluer. And there was something else. Since he’d returned from his trip to Tucson, he seemed more confident. Interested. Playful.

He rubbed her fingers between his.
“It has been a while.” Elizabeth knew he wasn’t talking about the pasta.

They made love that night for the first time in months, giggling and whispering like
teenagers, aware of Connie McCanna’s snoring presence two doors down the narrow second-floor hall.

Elizabeth insisted they leave the lights out and wouldn
’t even let Steve light a candle. She wasn’t ready for him to see her tattoo yet. She rested her elbows on their high four-poster bed and looked over her shoulder at him, invitingly. He took her from behind, simultaneously rubbing her clit with his middle finger. Elizabeth came, almost crying with relief as the waves of sensation flowed through her. She had her eyes closed, picturing Sebastian.

*

As the ball slid between the keeper’s legs and hit the back of the net with a slam, Elizabeth groaned. She looked down the bleachers to the bench where Keenan sat slumped, watching the game with the avid yet hopeless intensity of a cat watching fish in an aquarium. He held his head in his sling-free hand in despair. Keenan’s coach insisted that all the players take turns playing different positions, but during the games Keenan always played defense. That was an easy goal, she thought, the equivalent of shooting a bull’s-eye at point blank range. If Keenan had been on the field there was no way he would have let the ball get that close to the goal. She knew Keenan was thinking the same thing.

“
Oh my God, did you see that?” Emily nudged her. She was wearing her lime green Fairfield Flyers sweatshirt.

“
Keenan never would have allowed that little rat near the net,” Nina hissed, indignantly.

Elizabeth muffled her laugh. The player who had made the goal was small and wiry with an unfortunate over-bite that did, indeed, make him look like a rodent. Elizabeth
’s eyes sought out Emily’s younger son, Avery, and Nina’s only child, Paul, who were both running madly after the ball. Neither of them looked like rats. They were attractive little boys, Avery with his tousled hair and dancing eyes, and little Paul with Nina’s fine cat-like features, but neither could compare with Keenan. Elizabeth couldn’t count the number of times complete strangers had complimented her on him. With Steve’s blue eyes, Elizabeth’s blond hair and his own full lips, he looked like a miniature Robert Redford. It had never concerned her. In fact, she was secretly proud of it. But that was before she met Sebastian. Being beautiful wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Especially if you were a boy.

As if reading her mind, Emily said,
“Hey, you’ve been back nearly a month and you still haven’t really told us about your trip to the Big Apple.”

Nina nodded her head, glancing up quickly from the game. Paul had the ball now and was running full tilt toward the opponents
’ goal.

“
Um, there’s not much to tell,” Elizabeth hedged, grateful for the game, so she didn’t have to meet Emily’s piercing gaze. She had been busy since she’d gotten back. Abbie wanted her second draft ASAP, Gwen had been sick with the chicken pox and her mother had been away at a prayer retreat in New Mexico. But she had been deliberately avoiding Nina and Emily, at least until the NYC trip faded in importance, replaced by more current dramas. Emily’s awl eyes could see into her soul.

“
Oh, come on,” Emily said, exasperated. “Like I believe that.”

“
Of course she will tell us all,” Nina said, in her matter-of-fact way. “But now is not the time. We must meet for cosmos. Isn’t that what they drink in New York?” She winked at Elizabeth before turning her attention back to the game. “
Dépêche toi
, Paul!” she yelled at her son, who had lost the ball to the other team and was jogging after it.

“
I have a better idea,” Emily said, with a sly smile. “The station got comps to Justin Timberlake in Chicago next week. Shall we make a weekend of it, ladies? A little shopping, a few
platillos comidas
, a little Justin?”

“
Yes!” Nina shouted. Her son had just scored a goal. The three women cheered. Emily put her fingers in her mouth and blew a shrill whistle.

Nina turned to her friends, her face aglow with pride.
“Yes. Let’s do it. Girl’s weekend in Chicago.”

“
Awesome!” Emily said, smiling widely. “Liz?”

Elizabeth nodded. She could regale them with stories of the on-set antics on the car ride up, get Emily off her back about New York. And
, just perhaps, this might be exactly what she needed to take her mind off Sebastian.

*

When Elizabeth went up to her office that evening to check her email, she found a message from Abbie politely reminding her to move her ass on the second draft, an invitation to try Viagra free of charge and a message from Sebastian with the subject line: I’m coming to you.

Elizabeth
’s heart thumped wildly as she opened the email and skimmed through it. Sebastian had five days off from shooting
AWOL
and he was coming to see her. If she didn’t write him back and arrange to meet him somewhere to her liking, he would be forced to show up at her home. He put the address he had found listed for S Holmes in the People Finder in the subscript. Her address.

Elizabeth
’s fingers were trembling as she wrote him back.

Please, Sebastian. I was just getting to the point at which I didn’t see your face every time I closed my eyes. Whatever you do, don’t come to Fairfield. You will destroy my life. Besides, I won’t be here. I am going to be in Chicago for a concert that weekend. Maybe I can get away for a few minutes. We’ll be staying downtown at the Marriott.

She hit send, then, pushing her laptop out of the way, flopped forward on the desk so heavily she was sure she’d have a bruise on her forehead the next day. “Oh, God,” she groaned. “What have I done?” But part of her, a small, hungry part of her situated south of her belly button, was throbbing in anticipation.

*

The next day was a blur. Elizabeth went about her usual routine in a fog, at least half of her brain disengaged from the task at hand, anticipating Sebastian’s reply. She burnt the kids’ morning oatmeal and sent Gwen off to school with Keenan’s library book, an oversight that was only forgiven after Elizabeth paid a grim and teary Gwen off with a liberal candy bribe.

She got next to nothing done on her second draft, spending her morning
Googling Sebastian Faulkner instead. He had a Facebook page of course, with ten thousand so-called friends. That was more than the number of copies of
Habibi Baby
she had sold. He also had a fan page set up by someone called Kenny Likes, which, judging from the comments, seemed to be visited mainly by teenage girls and gay men. And of course, there were all those links to celebrity gossip sites that Sebastian forwarded her. There were lots of pretty pictures, but not much hard news.

Elizabeth realized that she didn
’t know anything about his life, other than the few tidbits he had offered her and what was on the web for anyone to see. Did he have brothers? Sisters? Parents? She didn’t even know where he was from. Of course, he didn’t know anything about her life either. And, she realized, she didn’t want him to. Those worlds had to remain separate, she thought, resolutely switching off her computer. She wasn’t getting any work done, anyway, she reasoned. Time for a run.