All I Want.... Isabel Sharpe

would look at her like why was she making such a big deal out of everything? With the implied “again” at the end. Life is beautiful, he’d say. You wake up, you do stuff you enjoy, you go to bed.

      Wake up. Do stuff. Go to bed. Every day. Yes, but there used to be more magic, even in that.

      The tears slowed; she sniffed and wiped them away with the back of her hand.

      A slight sound made her jump; she turned to see Link, bed-ruffled, puzzled, half-asleep, swaying in the doorway, his tall, beautifully muscled body illuminated by the white light from the street behind her.

      “Lucy.” He frowned and peered at her across the room. “Why’d you get out of bed?”

      “I couldn’t sleep.”

      He squinted and took a step toward her. “Are you crying?”

      She hesitated. If she said no, she’d be lying. If she said yes, she’d have to explain.

      “Sort of.”

      “What do you mean sort of?” The irritation was starting in his voice already. It seemed to be his regular tone of communication these days. “Are you crying or not?”

      “I was.”

      “Why?”

      “Go back to bed, Link. I’ll be fine.”

      “Why are you crying?”

      “It’s nothing.”

      He made a sound of exasperation. “You’re sitting here crying in the middle of the night in the dark for no reason.”

      “Yes.” She barely got the word out for the hot, miserable weight in her chest.

      He put his hands on his hips, glaring at her. Opened his mouth to say something, then lifted one hand and let it slap on his flannel-covered thigh. “Fine. No reason. Good night.”

      He walked out of the room, stumbled and swore. She heard the headboard bounce against the wall as he flung himself into their bed. He’d sleep badly now and blame it on her. Wake up in a bad mood and they’d eat the breakfast she prepared in a silence that was starting to become horribly familiar.

      Lucy hugged her knees close to her chest, rested her chin on top of them and let the tears flow again.

      She loved Link. Loved him with all her heart and had since they’d first met in college—six years ago at the beginning of their senior year—and begun dating within a week.

      But something wasn’t working. She didn’t know what it was or when it had happened or even how to identify it so she could begin to fix it.

      And she was terribly, deathly afraid it would end up tearing them apart.

      2

      SETH SWAGGERED INTO the offices of the Boston Sentinel, sunglasses on, Red Sox cap pulled firmly onto his head. A tiny gold hoop hung off his left ear, and his knees had felt the December breeze through the holes in his jeans. The hood of his sweatshirt bounced against his upper back as he walked. He had a major ’tude going. And he who had expected to be seething with resentment over this utter waste of his time…was having a ball.

      Not a soul would recognize him as Seth Wellington IV, heir to the vast Wellington fortune, CEO of the very respectable company. He hadn’t done anything like this in almost two years. Not since his traveling days, when he’d experimented with different personalities in different towns, tried them on to see how people reacted.

      Er, okay, mostly to see how women reacted.

      He approached the receptionist, a young perky blonde, and leaned his forearms on her desk, wishing he could whip off his sunglasses and make eye contact but not daring to reveal that much of his face. “Hey, how you doing today?”

      “I’m fine, thank you.” She held herself formally, but a tiny smile was trying to curve her lips. “Can I help you?”

      “Sure, yeah. I’m Bobby Darwin, old classmate of Krista. Is she here?”

      “Krista…”

      “Yeah.” He grinned at her. “Marlow.”

      “She was in this morning. You just missed her.”

      “Damn.” He slapped the desk and straightened, hands on his hips, shaking his head. “Missed her at home, now here. You know where she went?”

      “She said she was going to lunch.”

      “Yeah?” He opened his eyes wide, looking appalled. “And she didn’t invite you?”

      The receptionist giggled, blushing peaches and cream. “No.”

      He leaned forward again. What he wouldn’t give to be twenty-two again and free to charm this one into a date. “What’s your name?”

      “Charlisse.”

      “Well, let me ask you this, Charlisse. You know where she was heading? I’d kinda like to surprise her, you know? We’ve known each other, whoa—” he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe how many years had gone by “—long time. I’m in town, thought I’d look her up and surprise her, but I keep just missing her. What’s up with that?”

      Charlisse giggled, clearly warming to him. “I don’t know. Bad karma maybe.”

      “Exactly.” He let the silence go a beat too long. “So Charlisse, can you do something for me?”

      “What?” She tilted her head and looked at him coyly.

      “Well…” He turned right and left, as if checking for eavesdroppers, then leaned on her desk again. “Can you turn that bad karma around and tell me where she went?”

      “Um…” Charlisse frowned and her pink, edible mouth twisted.

      “I’m not a creep. I swear.” He stood up and crossed himself. “I’m a good Catholic boy, schooled by nuns.”

      Charlisse giggled, reminding him of Aimee. “Well, if I was going to tell you, I think I’d tell you she has a lunch date with her sister at Thai Banquet around the corner from Symphony Hall.”

      “Fabulous. You are beautiful, Charlisse, thanks.” He backed away a few steps, then stopped and spread out his hands. “If I had roses, I’d give you some.”

      “You’re welcome.” She giggled again and reached for the ringing phone.

      He waved, strode back down the hall and stepped out into the chill, breath frosting, adrenaline pumping. That was serious fun. He’d found some information about Marlow this morning on the Internet, including that she’d gone to Framingham High School. He got the name Bobby Darwin from one of those online find-your-classmate sites. Who knew what Bobby Darwin looked like now or where he was or whether she knew him in high school. It didn’t matter. Even if she was still best friends with him and figured out Seth was an imposter when Charlisse mentioned him, he’d be long gone, back into his Prada and paperwork, back inhabiting his father’s office.

      Around the corner from the Sentinel, Frank, his driver, pulled the car up to the curb. Seth wasn’t wild about the idea of a chauffeur, even less about being driven in a 1988 Lincoln Town Car, but Frank had been in his father’s employ for twenty years and would be able to retire in three. Seth didn’t have the heart to fire him. Frank loved the car, and with the traffic in downtown Boston, a vehicle Seth didn’t have to find a parking space for was a godsend.

      From the backseat he directed Frank to Thai Banquet, took off the hat, sweatshirt and earring and changed into wool suit pants, perfectly polished shoes and his lightly starched white shirt, feeling his giddy excitement shutting down further with each button. A respectable businessman once again. Damned depressing.

      The car pulled up opposite the Thai restaurant, known for inventive curries and fabulous noodle dishes. One thing he could say about Krista, she knew her Thai food. The place