“I'm not sure she will,” Sasha said, as she blew her nose and wiped her eyes on one of her lace hankies. She had acquired the habit from her mother of always carrying a handkerchief. It was one of the tender memories of her she cherished. Sasha always had one in her bag. “It was terrible,” Sasha reiterated while Marcie clucked over her, and came back with a cup of tea, a glass of water, and some cookies, as Sasha looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Marcie.” Her assistant seemed to hesitate before she left, and then asked Sasha if there was anything she could do to help. She didn't want to pry. “I wish you could, but you can't,” Sasha answered, and then started to cry harder. Marcie couldn't stop herself then, she came back into the room and gave her employer and friend a hug.

“Whatever it is, it'll blow over, I promise,” Marcie said, nearly in tears herself.

“No, it won't.” Sasha blew her nose again, as the tears continued to roll down her cheeks. “It's Liam,” she finally confessed, as Marcie stared at her in confusion.

“Liam?” What did he have to do with it? Marcie couldn't figure it out. “Does she know him?” How did he get into the fight? It was definitely confusing.

“Better than she wanted to the other night. He was staying with me in Southampton.” That still didn't explain it to Marcie, but she looked sympathetic as Sasha tried to fill her in, as best she could.

“And they got in a fight?”

“She called him, and me, every name in the books. Whore, slut, gigolo, bastard. That was just the beginning.”

“My God, what happened?” Marcie looked appropriately shocked.

Sasha looked at her long and hard. She trusted her. She had known her for years, and loved her. She hadn't wanted to share this with anyone yet, if ever, but she needed to now. “She walked in on us in Southampton. I had no idea she was going to use the house. We were in bed. She walked in. We thought she was an intruder. Liam walked out of the bedroom stark naked with a fireplace poker, and damn near hit her on the head. After that, all hell broke loose.”

“Liam? What was Liam doing in your bedroom?” Marcie looked blank, and Sasha laughed through her tears.

“For heaven's sake, Marcie, what do you think he was doing in my bedroom? Believe me, Tatianna figured it out. Particularly as he was standing there naked, and she had a date with her, and was obviously planning to do the same thing we were, and have been doing for six months, give or take. We've stopped seeing each other once or twice. I'm sure this won't help.”

“You and Liam?” Marcie looked like Sasha had hit her on the head with the poker. “You and Liam?”

“Does it sound as bad as that?” Sasha looked mortified again. The past three days had been the most humiliating of her life. And now Marcie looked shocked, and Sasha was sorry she'd told her.

“Bad? Are you kidding? If I could land a guy like him, I'd be a believer forever. He's gorgeous, talented, and nice. What else do you want? What does she want? Maybe she's jealous.”

“She's not jealous. She hates him. She doesn't like artists, she's met so many crazy artists over the years, she thinks they're all flaky, and most of the time she's right. So is he sometimes. But I'm in love with him, and he says he's in love with me. And now Tatianna wants to kill him, and she'll probably never speak to me again.”

“Of course she will. Why have I not been able to figure this out?” Marcie said, feeling stupid. “How blind and dumb am I?”

“We've been trying to keep it quiet, until we figure it out ourselves. It's actually been working very well now since April, but that's only three months.”

“What are you afraid of?” Marcie asked her gently. Sasha had shared private matters with her before, and she always gave her employer wise counsel.

“Are you kidding? He's twelve years old. I look like his mother, and I don't want to be one, except to my own children.”

“First of all, you don't look like his mother, you don't even look old enough to be Xavier's mother, or Tatianna's, and secondly, all men are babies, and every woman in the world ends up mothering them. If you don't, they run off with someone else who will.”

“Or another twelve-year-old. I don't want to fall in love with a man who is going to run off with a twenty-year-old ten years from now. It could happen.”

“Is he like that?” Marcie looked worried.

“Who knows? I don't think so. He was married for twenty years before he screwed it up pretty stupidly. But he's also irresponsible as hell … as he puts it, he's a wacky artist.” Although less so lately. “I never thought I'd fall in love with a man nine years younger than I am, and one of my artists. This is like poetic justice, or God's irony, or some kind of joke or something. I had the most respectable life in the world with Arthur, and now I have fallen in love with an overgrown boy, and my whole life is upside down. And Tatianna may never speak to me again.”

“If she doesn't, I'll spank her for you myself. She'll get over it. The whole scene was probably just a shock. For everyone.” Sasha smiled ruefully as she looked at her friend. It was beyond description.

“We were both standing there naked, Liam holding the poker, while she screamed insults at us, and her date looked like he wanted to crawl under the rug, and who could blame him? I slapped her, she slapped me back. I've never laid a hand on her before, and never will again. It was something right out of a bad movie. Here I am, with my younger lover, in her father's bed, as she put it, and we're both standing there naked. My God, Marcie, how much worse could it get?”

“Not much,” Marcie conceded with a grin. “But think of it this way. He could be old, fat, bald, ugly, and over the hill, and then think of what he would have looked like standing there naked, holding the poker. If you ask me, you're goddamn lucky it's him. Listen, you've been single for about ten minutes. I've been single all my life, and probably always will be, not because I love it so much, but because there's no one out there. There are either bitter divorced guys paying alimony they resent all women for, screwed-up widowers who think their dead wives were perfect and have forgotten how much they hated them when they were alive, and you can never in a million years measure up to them, there are commitment phobics, drunks, druggies, mean guys, abusers, guys who hate women, guys who are secretly gay, and others who are openly gay and want to wear your dresses, there are boring ones who aren't worth the trouble, guys who smell bad, look bad, are bad, and old guys who can't get it up even with Viagra. I haven't found a guy I could fall in love with in ten years, and I haven't gotten laid in three. I long ago gave up the idea of being in love with the guys I sleep with, or having them be in love with me. Because if I hold on to my principles, which used to be so important to me, then for sure I'm never going to get laid again, and I might not anyway. It sure looks that way. So you're worried about a nine-year age difference with a gorgeous, talented, nice guy you're in love with and who's crazy about you? Tell Tatianna to put a sock in it and get over it. If you don't, I will.”

It was quite a speech, and Sasha knew it was heartfelt. Marcie was a wonderful woman, not beautiful, but nice looking, decently dressed, a dozen pounds overweight, though nothing one couldn't live with. She was intelligent, well educated, and well paid, and one of the nicest people Sasha had ever known. She also knew that Marcie hadn't had a man in her life in years. There was nothing wrong with her, she just couldn't find one. And no one had bothered or tried to find her. There were a lot of women like that, they both knew, in all walks of life, at every social level, and at every age. People couldn't seem to find each other anymore, which was why computer dating had become so appealing. Sasha had urged Marcie to try it several times, but she was too scared. Sasha wasn't totally convinced she was wrong. Meeting up with strangers on the Internet sounded dangerous to her. What she was saying to Sasha was sensible, and Sasha knew she meant well. She thought Sasha was the luckiest woman in the world to have Liam, and he was the luckiest man to have her. And if Tatianna didn't like it, then too bad for her. Marcie looked incensed when she heard the things Tatianna had said to her mother.

“You really don't think it's shocking that I'm nine years older?” Sasha asked cautiously, still looking sheepish. She was grateful to know that Marcie approved.

“He's not twenty-two, for God's sake. He's legal, he's grown up. He's got kids. You two look the same age. And besides, these days lots of people seem to be doing it. After a certain age, it seems to make sense. You've had a respectable marriage, you've had your kids. You're not looking for the same things now that you were twenty-five years ago. All you need is someone you can have a good time with, who treats you right, and with whom you have something in common, whatever it is. And you two certainly do. You don't have to be together every minute, you don't have to live together if you don't want to. Or you can, if you do. You can have your own lives, your own friends, and get the best out of what you share in between. It sounds great to me. And listen, if you don't want him, I'll take him. He's only three years younger than I am. I'd be happy to suffer the humiliation of going out with him. In fact, I'd be thrilled.” Sasha was no longer crying as she listened to her. She was smiling. Marcie had made her feel that everything was okay, and would be. It made her realize how lucky she was to have him, and how little it was probably going to shock most people. Everything Marcie said made sense. To hell with the nine years. If he was a wacky artist, she could deal with that. Besides, he was behaving perfectly these days.