She leaned against the door and let out a long spine-shaking sigh.

He hadn’t argued when she told him she needed some time alone. In fact, he had jammed his feet into his shoes and grabbed his jacket quicker than a politician in a brothel. His quickly mumbled goodbye was grim-lipped and non-committal.

She wished she knew what he was thinking, but as usual, he was impossible to read and even harder to approach. As soon as he plucked his glasses out of his blazer pocket and perched them on his nose, it was like a shield had gone up. Professor mode, all cloaking systems go.

She needed chocolate for dinner. A quick rummage through her hiding place behind the cat food proved fruitless; not even a square of baking chocolate could be found. Gritting her teeth in rising need, she rooted through the freezer but she was even out of ice cream. This was not to be borne.

She needed high-calorie brain food. She needed something she could binge on that would torpedo her self-esteem and make her feel racked with guilt afterwards. Sophy closed the freezer door as she realized the inevitable.

She needed to talk to her mother.

According to the clock in her car, it was just after eight o’clock when Sophy pulled up in front of her mother’s house and yanked the key out of the ignition. She strode up the front walk, bypassing a small mound of dirt from the petunia bed that the neighbor’s dog had surely dug up, and jabbed the doorbell with her index finger.

The sun was getting low in the summer sky and the scent of lilacs filled her nostrils. The exuberant shouts of “car” from the ball hockey-playing kids down the street battled with the rasping of cicadas in her ears, and she waited for the door to open. And waited.

Sophy frowned. The lights were on and her mother’s car was in the driveway, indicating she was home. She leaned on the doorbell again and pressed her face to the long mottled window beside the door, but she couldn’t see any movement inside. Wondering if perhaps her mother was in the backyard enjoying the last flicker of sunlight on the horizon, she went around the side of the house. The yard was empty but when she tried the back door, she found it unlocked.

She stepped into the kitchen and she surveyed the burnt down candles on the kitchen table and the dirty dishes in the sink. Typical. Well, she thought as she eyed the melted wax on the tablecloth, at least they’re not still burning.

Maura had an uncanny knack for creating havoc. Sophy still remembered the time she set the table on fire at Thanksgiving by setting a autumn-themed dried flower arrangement too close to the flickering tapers.

“Mom?”

She wandered into the den but it was empty, the television dark and the stereo silent. She pivoted on one heel on the Berber carpet and was about to go out to the garage when she heard a thump above her head.

It was only eight-thirty; she couldn’t be in bed already. Then Sophy remembered the depression her mother seemed to be suffering from. She had said something about not wanting to get out of bed in the morning, Sophy remembered. Had she been there all day? The idea was worrying, and Sophy leapt up the stairs to make sure her mother wasn’t sick, or worse.

When she bumped open the bedroom door with her shoulder, she discovered it was worse. Much worse.

“Mother!”

Sophy’s jaw dropped to the vicinity of her knees, as did her stomach as Maura yanked the bed sheet up over her bare breasts. Her mother’s eyes widened in shock and the long line of her leg under the covers shot to the side and connected with another, larger lump. Sophy heard a muffled squeak and then the lump swum to the side of the bed and fell to the floor with a thump.

She stalked to the side of the bed, her arms crossed over her chest. What she saw there, she was sure, would be burned onto her retinas for the rest of her life.

“Oh. My. God.”

Sophy screwed her eyes shut and spun around unsteadily. She reached out for the wall, trying to make it out of the room without seeing any more. When her shin collided with a rocking chair, she shot out her arm to steady herself, forgetting that rocking chairs rocked. The thump she made as she hit the floor was eerily reminiscent of the one that had just resounded in the bedroom.

“Are you okay?” Maura called from the bed.

Sophy realized she had to open her eyes sometime, so it might as well be now. Averting her gaze away from the side of the bed, she rubbed her knee and winced.

“Couldn’t be better,” she replied with a liberal dose of sarcasm.

“Sweetie, I know what you’re thinking but—”

She held up her hand to cut her mother off. “I doubt it.” She finally turned her attention to the side of the bed, her eyes narrowing. “And you!” She pointed a finger at the huddled mass on the floor pulling a shield of blankets off the bed. “How could you?”

Her father wrapped a plaid wool throw around his waist. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his throat like a buoy in the middle of the ocean and he looked plaintively to Maura. She shrugged, and he turned back to Sophy. “This is your mother’s and my affair, Sophy.”

“Obviously!”

Richard Hadden sat up straight and narrowed his eyes at his daughter. “What I mean is that this is our business and it has nothing to do with you. You’re a grown-up and so are we. So stop acting like a petulant child!”

Sophy filled with shame, but she still wanted to stamp her foot and cry. Wasn’t anyone behaving normally anymore?

“Why did you come over?” her mother asked gently.

To Sophy’s horror, tears started to choke her throat. She took a deep breath and waited for her fingers to stop trembling. “I wanted to talk to you about Max. And me. Max and me.”

Maura patted the bed. As Sophy sat down on it, her father crawled to the ensuite bathroom, the plaid throw secured around his lower body. When the door clicked shut behind him, Sophy felt much more comfortable. If such a thing was possible in this situation.

“When are you and Dad getting remarried?”

“Sweetie, we’re not.” Sophy tried to bolt up from the bed but her mother’s hand shot out to wrap around her wrist and hold her there. “Your father and I divorced for many reasons. Those reasons haven’t changed.”

“But—”

“But we’re still good friends, and we have fun together.”

Sophy yanked her arm out of her mother’s grasp. “How long have you been having... fun together?”

Maura reached for the red silk robe on the floor beside the bed. “About a month.”

“A month? You’ve been...” She searched for the right word. “...riding the percale rails for a month?” Sickening realization dawned on her. “Oh my god, that day I came over with croissants... he was here, wasn’t he?”

Maura shoved her arms through the sleeves of the robe and held the lapels closed as the sheet fell from her breasts. She tied the belt and met Sophy’s horrified gaze.

“Yes,” she said simply. “You have to understand, Sophy. Your father and I were unhappy for so long.” She shook her head. “This is the first time we’ve really enjoyed each other’s company.”

“In bed?” Sophy shot up from the bed and started pacing. It was disgusting. It was tacky. It was shallow. “It’s immoral!” She clapped a hand over her mouth as soon as the words echoed in the room; she hadn’t meant to say them out loud.

Maura narrowed her eyes and her spine stiffened. “Immoral? You write about sex for a living, daughter dear,” she reminded her.

“Love. I write about love. And they always get married in the end,” Sophy protested. She shoved the rocking chair to the side so that she’d have more room to pace.

“Not always.” Maura scrutinized her, then her eyes widened. “You made love with Max, didn’t you?”

Sophy halted in her tracks, heat crawling up her cheeks. “That’s not the issue here,” she directed at the wall. The wallpaper was suddenly extraordinarily fascinating.

“I think it is,” her mother insisted. “I think that’s exactly what you came over here to talk to me about.”

Sophy whirled around. “It doesn’t matter.” She glared at her mother, but Maura wasn’t budging an inch.

“You little hypocrite!”

Sophy was stunned at the venom in her mother’s voice. “What?”

“You heard me. You stand there and tell me I’m immoral for having a relationship with your father—your father, not even some stranger—and then come to me for advice after you finally get the hots for someone?”

Richard’s voice came through the bathroom door. “Really, Maura. You’re being a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“You stay out of this, Dick!” Maura shouted.

“It’s not an affair.” Sophy crossed her arms under her breasts and tried to swallow the tears threatening to fall.

“So it was a one night stand? Oh, that’s much better,” Maura crowed. “Now who’s being immoral?”

“Why are you being so mean about this?” Sophy was deeply ashamed by the whine in her voice but couldn’t seem to stop it.

“Because, sweetie, you’re being remarkably naïve.” Maura softened and patted the bed again.

Sophy stood her ground.

“Oh, honey.” Her mother sighed. “You write about love and passion and sex and marriage, but you don’t understand that it doesn’t always work out the way it does in your books. That’s why it’s fantasy. Real life isn’t about romance and thunderbolts. It’s about learning how to get over your own selfishness enough to treat someone the way you want to be treated. With respect. Friendship. If love exists, it’s only a fluke. A wonderful, wonderful fluke.”

Sophy didn’t realize she was crying until she tasted the salt on her lips. She sat down on the bed and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. “So you don’t believe true love exists either?”

“Either?”

“Max doesn’t believe in it.”

“Are you in love with him?” her mother asked gently.

Sophy nodded, then shook her head, then her chin dropped onto her chest.

Maura took her hand and squeezed it. “Sometimes the more you hope for, the more dissatisfied you’re going to be. The trick in life is to figure out what is the least that would make you happy, and go for it. And when you get it, hang on to it with all you’ve got.”

She sniffed. “But I always thought that you were supposed to aim high. Hope for the best—”

“And expect the worst? Maybe. But you have to remember that disappointment is a part of life. If Max doesn’t love you, he doesn’t love you. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I don’t care anyway.”

Maura reached for a tissue from the box on the nightstand and offered it to her. “Yes, you do. That was always your problem, Sophy. You care too much.”

Sophy scrubbed her face with the tissue and blew her nose. It was too bad she couldn’t wipe her heart clean as easily. She exhaled raggedly and rose from the bed. “Thanks, Mom. I’m sor—”

Her mother cut her off. “I know. And it’s okay.”

Sophy sighed and turned to the bathroom door. “Sorry, Dad.”

There was an answering thump.

* * *

It was a beautiful day for a wedding.

Sophy looked around at the people filling the pews of the church. The morning sun streamed through the stained glass windows, blanketing the stone floor in a kaleidoscope of colors. Pockets of red and blue and green-tinted rays bounced off the gleaming wooden pews and danced in the hair of the guests being seated. Fragrant lilies and roses lined each pew, and near the door a dozen doves cooed in a polished brass cage, waiting to be released when the bride and groom exited the church in a shower of environmentally-friendly birdseed.

Sophy laced her fingers together tightly, already feeling her palms start to sweat through the white gloves.

Just then the organ piped up and the march began. Sophy rose to her feet and closed her eyes briefly, feeling the music pound in her veins.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Her eyes flew open as the voice growled in her ear. She glanced over at Max and frowned. “How did you find me?”

His dark suit matched the glower on his face and a small crinkle formed between his eyebrows. Sophy clenched her fingers together more tightly in an attempt to stop herself from reaching up and smoothing it out.

“It’s the only wedding in town today. I took a chance. You know I’ve been trying to reach you for a week?” he whispered harshly.

Sophy’s gaze wandered from the concern in Max’s eyes to the bride passing by their pew. With such an elaborate and obviously expensive wedding, it was too bad the bride couldn’t afford some taste. Yards and yards of white satin were encrusted with stiff lace and sequins. Sophy couldn’t see her face through the veil, which seemed to come from the cheesecloth family, but she sure could see the bride’s heavily bronzed skin through the enormous heart-shaped cut-out in the back of the dress. Her lips quirked as the bride made her way up the aisle towards the groom.

“Sophy, are you listening to me?”

She turned her attention back to Max. “Hmmm? Oh, yeah, I saw you called.” Cool, she reminded herself. Non-committal.

“Your mother told me what happened,” he whispered in her ear.

So much for cool. Sophy’s head whipped around and her eyes narrowed. “What exactly did she tell you?” she demanded, silently promising a long and painful death to her mother if she had told Max that Sophy was in love with him. Might be in love with him. No—definitely wasn’t in love with him. Her brow furrowed and she felt the beginnings of a headache.

“She told me about her and your father, and your reaction.”

“Oh?”

The organ fell silent and the guests planted their behinds on the polished pews. Sophy smoothed down her sage green linen skirt and stifled the urge to kick the padded kneeler in front of her.

“Sophy, why can’t you be happy for them?” His voice was barely loud enough for her to hear it, but his disappointment was as clear as the church bell.

She realized he pitied her, sorry for her naïve idealism and romantic delusions. For some reason, she was proud of her belief in true love, and it frustrated her no end that he would see that hope as a character flaw.

Max’s gleaming wingtip and argyle-covered ankle were starting to look more appealing than the kneeler as a target. She crossed her legs daintily and twisted her gloved fingers together.

“Do you know they’re not getting remarried?” she asked him in a low voice.

“Of course. I suggested they have an affair, and that’s all...” he trailed off and his face turned as white as the calla lily perched in the vase at the end of the pew.

“You suggested they have an affair. This was your idea?” She couldn’t believe her ears.

An elderly lady in a blue-feathered hat in front of them turned her head and glared. “Shh!”

Max leaned towards Sophy. “Your parents have passion back. That’s enough, and you should be happy for them, no matter what they decide to do, or not do. Grow up.”

Her stomach twisted at the admonishment. Her father had said that as well. Could she have been wrong about true love?

“You think passion is enough?” she asked, not sure if she really wanted to hear the answer.

“Sure.”

Sophy’s heart suddenly felt as cold and as hard as the stone floor her heel was scuffing on. She was in love with him. Not with the Earl of Maxmara, but with Dr. Max Wright, anal-retentive psychology professor. Sensitive but demanding lover, friend to small animals and children, remember? Her experiment had worked, right down to the wooing of ladies.

Shame and regret flooded her. She had been trying so hard to make him into a hero, she hadn’t realized that she was falling in love with a man. A real man, with real flaws and real virtues. Her hero was real, and she had been too blinded by her ideals to see it. And now it was obvious that Max didn’t feel anything other than passion for her.

Her mouth wrinkled sadly. “You know what, Max? It’s not enough, not for me. I want flowers and violins and stupid sappy boxes of candy. I want to feel like every love song was written just for me. I want to be woken up by somebody pawing at me that’s not the cat. I want to have someone for date night, to nag to take out the garbage and pick up the kids from clarinet lessons.”

“Clarinet?”

“I want someone to go couch shopping with. I want to fight over the remote, and be happy about it when I win. I want to be wined and dined on my birthday and Valentine’s Day, and all the days in between.” She inhaled deeply, the scent of roses filling her nostrils. “Smell that? That’s true love. That’s what I want.”

He was silent. All she could hear was the rustling of the assembly and the officiant’s voice ring out in a kind of special mockery directed at her. At least that’s what it felt like.

Tears began trickling down Sophy’s cheeks and she wiped them away angrily with her gloved hands. “Our time is up, Max.” Her voice started to crack and she swallowed tightly. “Walk away.”

She stared at the blue hat in front of her, determined to avoid the pity that would surely be in her hero’s eyes.

A whisper of his aftershave and the smell of his sun-warmed skin drifted past her as he rose from the pew, and brushed past her without a word. Tears blurred her vision as she heard him walk away.

Sophy clutched the back of the pew in front of her and shot bolt upright to her feet. Maybe she could stop him and apologize. Maybe he was right, and passion was enough. Maybe her mother was right, and passion was the best she could hope for. Maybe lust was good enough.

“Do you have an objection?” a voice rose from the altar.

She blinked to clear her vision and saw the crowd watching her curiously. Oh. She was standing. Nobody else was. She knew what this part was.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” he advised.

Sophy slowly looked around the church, and two hundred people turned in their seats to watch her. She stiffened. Okay, might as well make a point.

“Yes, I have an objection.” She directed her attention to the bride and groom, who looked nearly ready to faint in tandem. “Do you love each other?”

They nodded, and Sophy whirled around to confirm that Max standing near the door, watching her. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and an incredulous look on his face.

She turned back to the couple standing at the altar.

“Really love each other? You’re ready to deal with meddling in-laws and whining kids and the invoice from this...” She waved her hand around. “This production?” What had Tom said? “Sticky dogs, mortgage payments and jobs that you have to take so that you can pay the bills?”

They nodded. The bride paled to the color of her dress and her soon to be husband was starting to look very nervous.

“We’re in love,” the groom squeaked.

Sophy turned to Max with a smug expression. “Good. That’s all I needed to know.”

Max frowned and straightened. His shoes echoed loudly as he marched up the aisle. As he approached the altar, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card.

“When you start having problems, give me a call.”

The bride’s eyes started fluttering back in her head and the priest steadied her. The groom took the card from Max. “You a divorce lawyer?”

“No, a marriage counselor.”

The bride finally fainted, taking the priest with her. Pandemonium erupted in the church. Max pivoted and strode back down the aisle. He stopped at Sophy’s pew and straightened his tie.

“This is what you want?”

He tilted his head towards the groom hovering over his bride and one of the ushers trying to extricate the priest from the folds of wedding dress like a fish from a trawling net.

She stared at him, still in shock at what he had just done. Could she love a man who would go to such cold extremes to prove a point? But didn’t she just do the same thing?

“Not like this,” she said faintly, realizing he was right all along. True love didn’t exist. If it did, they would be together and none of this would be happening.

His blue eyes turned to ice. “Then I hope you get what’s coming to you.” He headed for the door.

Sophy closed her mouth, her eyes suddenly stone dry. She reached down and pulled off her right shoe. The bone-colored leather was smooth under her fingers and still warm from her foot. Her heart breaking, she hucked the shoe at Max.

“You’re a coward!” she screamed as he slipped out the door.

Sophy’s eyes widened and her gut twisted as her pump hurtled into the birdcage and the door clanged open.

A dozen white doves escaped, flying frantically around the church. Looking for a way out.

“Oh no,” she murmured.

She felt the flapping of wings over her head and watched as a large glob of white goo plopped onto the blue-feathered hat. Its blissfully ignorant owner swiveled in the pew and smiled at her.

“Don’t you just love weddings?”

Sophy burst into tears.