“Have you seen Frances?”He tilted his head to the right. “I believe she’s off rooting about in the bushes.”Anne followed his gaze uneasily.“Rooting?”“She told me she was practicing for the next play.”Anne blinked at him, not following.“For when she gets to be a unicorn.”“Oh, of course.” She chuckled. “She is rather tenacious, that one.”

“Next was Alice. I gave her a book by Anne Rice because she is always talking about her. And she looked at me like she couldn't believe I knew she loved Anne Rice. I guess she didn't know how much she talked or how much I listen.”

“Something she knew she did not have the right to ask him about. But she wished—oh, how shewished—that when he was ready to face his fears, she could be the one to help him.”

“The following evening John left with Lady Shorne for the south of France, without so much as a word to me."Alexa felt as if she were hearing that fateful cliche for the first time. "Without so much as a word." No matter how much she tried to see it from every point of view, its meaning was always clear. John was a coward. Anne was his victim. The roles were the opposite of what she had supposed. It was Anne who had been heroic, not John. John was a coward, a mere puppet into whom both Anne and Alexa had managed to breathe a semblance of life. He was as much the creation of one as of the other.”

“But like a gambler at a slot machine, hoping the next spin would change her life for the better, she closed in before she lost her nerve. Taking his hand, she pulled him toward her, near enough to feel his body against her. She looked up at him, tilting her head slightly as she leaned in. Mike, recognizing what was happening but still having trouble believing it, tilted his head and closed his eyes, their faces drawing near.”

“And she looked at me like she couldn't believe I knew she loved Anne Rice. I guess he didn't know how much she talked or how much I listened.”