Fade in on two sets of small feet walking across an expanse of vivid green lawn. One set sported black patent leather Mary Janes with ruffled white socks. The other, shiny black boy’s oxfords that brushed the cuffs of black dress slacks. Both sets of feet stopped walking and turned toward someone behind them. The little girl whimpered, “Daddy?”

Georgie hugged herself.

The boy’s response was fierce. “You said you weren’t going to cry.”

Another whimper from the little girl. “I’m not crying. I want Daddy.”

A third set of shoes came into view. Black men’s wing tips. “I’m here, sweetheart. I had to help grand-mère.”

Georgie shivered as the camera panned up along sharply creased black slacks to a man’s long-fingered, manicured hand bearing a platinum wedding band. The little girl’s hand slipped through his.

A close-up of the child’s face came into view. She was seven or eight years old, blond and angelic, wearing a black velvet dress and a delicate strand of pearls.

The camera pulled back. A solemn-faced boy of about the same age took the man’s other hand.

Cut to a wider angle showing the tall, lean man and two small children from the rear as they walked across the manicured lawn. A shade tree appeared, a broader stretch of lawn, more trees. Some kind of stones. The angle expanded.

Not stones at all.

Georgie pressed her fingertips to her lips.

A cemetery?

Suddenly the man’s face filled the screen. Skip Scofield. He was older, more distinguished, and perfectly groomed, as all the Scofields tended to be. Crisp, short hair, tailored black suit, a respectable dark burgundy tie knotted at the neck of a white dress shirt. And deep lines of grief etching his handsome face.

Georgie shook her head in disbelief. He couldn’t possibly-

“I don’t want to, Daddy,” the girl said.

“I know, sweetheart.” Skip picked her up. At the same time, he wrapped his free arm around the boy’s thin shoulders.

Georgie wanted to scream. It’s a sitcom! It’s supposed to be funny!

Now the three stood at the side of an open grave with black-clad mourners in the background. The boy buried his face in his father’s side, muffling his words. “I miss Mommy so much already.”

“So do I, son. She never understood how much I loved her.”

“You should have told her.”

“I tried to, but she didn’t believe me.”

The minister began to speak off camera, his resonant voice familiar. Georgie narrowed her eyes.

Cut to the end of the service. Close-up of the coffin in the ground. A handful of dirt landed on the polished lid followed by three puffy blue hydrangeas.

Cut to Skip and the minister-the minister who had no place being a minister. “My condolences, son,” the minister said, patting Skip on the back.

Dissolve to Skip and his two weeping children standing alone by the grave. Skip went down on his knees and drew them close, his eyes squeezed shut with pain. “Thank God…,” he murmured. “Thank God, I have you.”

The boy pulled away, looking smug, almost vindictive. “Except you don’t.”

The girl splayed her hands on her hips. “We’re imaginary, remember?”

The boy sneered, “We’re the kids you could have had if you hadn’t been such a jerk.”

Just like that, the children vanished, and the man stood alone at the graveside. Anguished. Tortured. He picked a hydrangea from one of the floral arrangements and lifted it to his lips. “I love you. With all my heart. This is forever, Georgie.”

The screen went dark.

Georgie sat there stunned, then shot off the bed and stalked into the hallway. Of all the… She raced down the stairs, across the veranda, along the path, and out to the guesthouse. Through the French doors, she saw him sitting at his desk, staring at nothing. As she charged inside, he jumped to his feet.

“Love letter?” she cried.

He gave a jerky nod, his face pale.

She shoved her hands on her hips. “You killed me off!”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “You…uh…didn’t think I’d kill me off, did you?”

“And my own father! My own father buried me!”

“He’s a good actor. And a-a surprisingly decent father-in-law.”

She gritted her teeth. “I spotted a couple of familiar faces in the crowd. Chaz and Laura?”

“They both seemed to”-he swallowed again-“enjoy the ceremony.”

She threw up her hands. “I can’t believe you killed off Scooter!”

“I didn’t have a lot of time to work on the script. It was the best I could come up with, especially since I had to…shoot around you.”

“I’ll say!”

“It would have been done yesterday, but your angelic fake daughter turned out to be a diva. Total pain in the ass to work with, which doesn’t bode well for Tree House. She’s playing the kid.”

“A great little actress, though,” Georgie drawled, crossing her arms over her chest. “I know I had tears in my eyes.”

“If we ever have a child who acts like that…”

“It’ll be her father’s fault.”

That stopped him cold, but she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook, even though little balloons of happiness had started to rise inside her. “Honest to God, Bram, that was the stupidest, sappiest, most maudlin piece of cinematic garbage…”

“I knew you’d like it.” He couldn’t seem to figure out what to do with his hands. “You did like it, didn’t you? It was the only way I could think of to show you I understood exactly how much I hurt you that day on the beach. You understood that, right?”

“Oddly enough, yes.”

His face twisted. “You’re going to have to help me, Georgie. I’ve never loved anyone before.”

“Not even yourself,” she said quietly.

“Not much to love. Until you started loving me back.” His hand slipped into his pocket. “I don’t want to hurt you again. Ever. But I’ve already done it. I sacrificed what you wanted the most.” His face twisted. “Helene is really gone, Georgie. The contract is signed. That role meant everything to you-I know it-and I screwed that up, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. Unless I signed another actress, I had no way to prove I need you for yourself.”

“I get that.” She thought of the painful things people did to themselves and to each other because of love, and she knew the time had come to tell him what she’d only recently figured out herself. “I’m glad.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t fix this, sweetheart, and there’s no way I can make that up to you.”

“You don’t have anything to make up.” She said it aloud for the first time. “I’m a filmmaker, Bram. A documentary filmmaker. That’s what I want to do with my life.”

“What are you talking about? You love acting.”

“I loved being Annie. I loved being Scooter. I needed the applause and the praise. But I don’t need that anymore. I’ve grown up, and I want to tell other people’s stories.”

“That’s fine, but-Your audition? That amazing performance?”

“Not a bit of it came from my heart. It was all technique.” She chose her words carefully, pulling the pieces together as she spoke, trying to get it exactly right. “Preparing for that audition should have been the most exciting work I’ve ever done, but it was drudgery. I didn’t like Helene, and I hated the dark place she took me to. All I wanted to do was escape with my camera.”

He cocked an eyebrow, beginning to look more like himself. “Exactly when did you figure this out?”

“I guess I knew it at the time, but I thought I was reacting to how messy everything had gotten with you. I’d rehearse for a while, and when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I’d pick up my camera and pester Chaz, or go interview a waitress. With all my talk about reinventing my career, I didn’t understand I’d already done it.” She smiled. “Wait till you see the footage I’ve shot-Chaz’s story, street kids, these amazing single mothers. It doesn’t all fit in the same film, but figuring out what goes where is going to teach me so much.”

He finally came around from behind his desk. “You’re not just saying this so I don’t feel guilty?”

“Are you kidding? I love you guilty. It makes it easier for me to wrap you around my finger.”

“You’ve already done that,” he said huskily. “Tighter than you can ever imagine.”

He seemed to drink in her face. She’d never felt more cherished. They gazed into each other’s eyes. Into each other’s souls. And neither one offered up a single wisecrack.

He kissed her as if she were a virgin. The tenderest meeting of lips and heart. It was embarrassingly romantic, but not as embarrassing as their damp cheeks. They held each other close, eyes shut, hearts hammering, naked in a way they’d never been. They knew each other’s flaws as well as they knew their own, and each other’s strengths even better. That made the moment all the sweeter.

They talked for a long time. She wouldn’t hide anything, and she told him about her call to Mel Duffy and what she’d almost done.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d gone through with it,” he said. “And remind me not to ever let you have a gun.”

“I want to get married again,” she whispered. “Really married.”

He kissed her temple. “Do you now?”

“A private ceremony. Beautiful and intimate.”

“All right.” His hand wandered to her breast, and the lust that had been simmering between them erupted. It took all her effort to pull back. “You can’t imagine how hard this is for me to say.” She drew his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers. “But I want a wedding night.”

He groaned. “Please don’t let that mean what I think.”

“Do you mind so much?”

He thought it over. “Yes.”

“But you’ll agree anyway, right?”

He cradled her face in his hands. “You’re not going to give me any choice, are you?”