"I thought you might."

"So much for staying out of your sister's business."

Rivka gave him a look of disdain. "I never said I was staying out of her business. Besides, she's my sister. Her business is my business. I want her to be happy, Alex."

She paused. "She was happy with you."

"She couldn't have been too happy." Some of his sour mood returned. "Not if she turned me away so fast for something I didn't even say or do."

"I know my sister. You made her happy. She was just too stupid to see she had a good thing going."

"Thanks," Alex said grudgingly. "I appreciate it."

"Then sit down and be quiet so I can paint." Rivka pointed again, and Alex found he had no choice but to do as she said.

Sarah wasn't much of a seamstress. She hadn't inherited any of her sister's talents for creation, not in painting or writing or cooking, and most definitely not in sewing. Still, she had withstood p.r.i.c.ked fingers, broken needles, and snapped threads to make this costume for tomorrow night's opening. She shook out the folds of shimmering metallic material. The question was ... would it be worth it?

She'd had the good fortune to find the pattern tucked in the clearance box at the fabric store. It must have been left over from Halloween and had been marked down to the ridiculously low price of twenty-five cents. Even if it had been twenty-five dollars, however, Sarah would have bought it.

Taking a cue from something Darren had said to her, Sarah had decided to forgo the cute Little Bo Peep costume. She'd never been a fan of lamb. She returned the costume to the store, using the balance of her deposit to buy the wig she now pulled over her own hair. It fell in sleek dark lines to her shoulders and across her forehead. Nestled into the black strands was a headpiece of gold in the shape of a snake.

"Cleopatra ain't the only queen of denial." Staring at her reflection, Sarah laughed. "Not bad."

Shimmying out of her comfortable sweatsuit, she pulled on the dress she had labored over for the past three nights. Thankfully, the pattern had been simple enough for even her inadequate skills, though the metallic cloth had been a real pain to work with. She shook her shoulders until the gown fell into graceful folds over her body and down to her feet.

Next came the padded shoulder pieces, linked together with tiny snakes she had also been fortunate enough to find in the bargain bin. This had been the most difficult part of the costume, requiring hand-sewn braiding and decorations. She'd nearly hot-glued her fingers together, but the results looked good.

Sarah practiced looking regal. In keeping with her vision of the legendary Egyptian beauty, she'd applied far more makeup than she usually did. A different woman stared back at her from the mirror. She outlined her eyes with dark slashes of kohl and filled in her lips with lipstick the color of blood. Now her eyes were startlingly bright blue against the black makeup, and her mouth glistened, the lips plump and inviting. She hardly knew herself.

She primped. "Not an everyday look. But it'll do."

Truthfully, she was more than pleased at how the entire costume had come together. She hardly recognized herself. That was good. The Sarah who needed to confront Alex Caine needed to be a little different for tomorrow night. She needed the courage the face paint and elaborate dress would provide.

Slipping out of the dress and wig, Sarah stepped back into the worn cotton sweatpants and sweatshirt she'd owned for years. Once navy blue, the suit had faded through countless washings until it was a nondescript gray. It sagged in places she didn't, but was as soft as flannel and just as comforting. The sweatsuit might not be fit for a queen, but Sarah liked it anyway.

Padding into the bathroom in stocking feet, she scrubbed away the red and black marks from her face until she was once again her old self. Oddly enough, even though she no longer saw Cleopatra staring at her from above the bathroom sink, Sarah still felt changed.

For the first time in what seemed forever, she really scrutinized her reflection. Her blue-ice eyes were different from her sister's by only the slightest of shades. Her mouth was thicker than Rivka's, and her nose, thinner. The dark, wild brows matched the dark tangle of curls falling to her shoulders. Her skin was slightly pinker from the scrubbing she had given it, but was rapidly fading back into the pale cream that never really tanned.

"Huh. I don't look so much like Rivka after all."

She wasn't a plainer version of her sister, as she had always thought. She was perfect version of herself. The flaws, both real and imagined, only served to make her face unique.

She shivered a little in antic.i.p.ation and hugged herself. She would see Alex tomorrow night. She would show him denial was just a river in Egypt. Show him, and show herself, too.

Alex pulled his Tahoe into the s.p.a.ce Rivka had reserved for him. Thank goodness for the parking garage. The parking lot behind The Gallery on Second was completely full. Even the s.p.a.ce reserved for Sarah was filled, which meant she was already here. At the thought, his heart thumped a little faster.

He sat for a moment in the truck. Tonight could be the most important night of his life, and not just because he had invested a lot of money in Rivka's gallery. Tonight he was going to ask Sarah Lazin to become his wife.

He had turned his brain inside out trying to think of ways to prove his love for her. Finally, Alex decided nothing could say more than the simple but elegant square-cut diamond he had in his coat pocket. The ring had been his grandmother's, and he wanted Sarah to wear it. Not to prove anything. Not to fix anything. Just because he did love her and the thought of living the rest of his life without her was too horrible to contemplate.

He would ask Sarah to marry him and brave whatever response she gave. Slipping the ring into the small velvet pouch he'd bought from a jeweler, he carefully secured the bag's ties around a belt loop. Then he tucked the pouch away, out of sight. Though it caused an odd bulge, he left it that way. It might garner him a few strange looks, but then again, maybe not. He was sure there would be stranger sights at the party than his bulging bellyb.u.t.ton.

A loud group of partygoers pa.s.sed by on their way into the gallery. They were dressed as a cruise ship. The man in the center of the group wore a captain's hat with a model of an actual ship around his waist. Surrounding him were two people dressed as crazy tourists, complete with loud Hawaiian shirts and life jackets. One person was dressed as a waiter, carrying a tray of tropical drinks, while another woman carrying a clipboard was obviously the cruise director. There was even a person dressed as a lobster.

People had really gone all out for this party, just as Rivka had wanted. Alex was glad. He had long admired Rivka's works, and truly felt she deserved a showcase for her paintings. If the gallery was going to be a success, however, it needed some good publicity. It looked like she was going to get it. The mayor pa.s.sed by dressed as George Washington. It was the same costume he wore to all the masked events in Harrisburg.

Alex gathered his keys and got out of the truck. The bitter wind instantly a.s.sailed his bare legs and arms, and he let out a low whistle of discomfort. Shifting his legs rapidly to keep some warmth in them, he pulled the rest of his costume from the back seat. Helmet. Sword. Shield. Finally, a laurel wreath to cover his hair. He was ready.

He had initially decided to go dressed as a lamb, after learning of Sarah's costume choice of Little Bo Peep. He had even gone so far as to try the d.a.m.ned woolly thing on, standing in front of the mirror looking like an idiot. The suit was too small. His arms had hung out a good two inches below the sleeves, and his ankles were bare, too. The stupid, floppy headpiece hadn't even closed around his neck.

Emma, who had decided to attend the ball as Glinda the Good Witch, couldn't stop laughing. In fact, she'd laughed so hard and long Alex had threatened to drop a house on her. His suggestion had only made her howl even more.

"That was the other witch!" Emma had held her pink-sequined sides and nearly stabbed herself with her wand. "Boss, you look like a freak!"

"What am I supposed to do?" He'd paced back and forth, or wagged his tail behind him, as the rhyme would have it. "The party is in three hours. I don't have anything else to wear."

Emma, fortunately, had come through again. Rifling through the trunk in her room, she'd pulled out the costume he now wore. She'd even thrown in a couple of copper arm bands from her jewelry box.

"Should I ask why you have this laying around?" Alex grew suspicious when she handed him the leather skirt and breastplate.

"No. And don't mention it to Mom either."

Surprisingly, and luckily for Alex, whoever the costume had been meant for originally was just his size. Even the flat leather sandals with rawhide laces fit him, though the laces did pull on the hairs of his leg rather annoyingly.

"You'll get used to it." Emma blushed. Alex didn't ask any more questions.

So now here he was, dressed as Mark Antony. Another gust of winter wind swirled around his legs and chilled him in places he'd rather not have chilled. Alex needed to enter the party before he lost all sensation in his toes. Mingling with the other guests pushing through the front door, he no longer felt self-conscious. He spotted two men dressed even more skimpily than he was, both wearing little more than a pair of socks and a bunch of balloons. Green for one and purple for the other. Grapes, Alex realized.

"Alex!" Rivka called to him in an imperious voice from across the room. She flicked open her fan. "Come here! We can't move in this gown!"

She must be using the royal "we." Alex pushed his way through the throngs of costumed revelers. Mick was nowhere in sight. Martin, however, was close at hand. His only concession to the party was a polka-dotted bow tie that lit up and twirled around. He was demonstrating the tie to a man dressed as a sailor and a beautiful woman in a red sequined gown who looked like Diana Ross. Alex nodded a greeting when he finally got close enough to speak to Rivka without shouting. "Quite the turnout."

Rivka looked pleased. "Yes, thank G.o.d. I hope there'll be enough food."

Alex grinned at her pointed remark. "Of course there will be, Your Majesty."

"Good." Rivka let out a peal of nervous laughter. "Oh, Alex, isn't this great? Everyone's here. Did you see the mayor? He came as old George, of course."

"I saw him." Alex looked around. "Where's Mick?"

"Rowf." Mick stuck his head out from beneath Rivka's voluminous skirts. A brown fur cap with long floppy ears covered his black hair. Black face paint covered his nose and ringed one eye. He waved a bone at Alex.

Alex just goggled for a moment, stunned by Mick's sudden appearance. "What are you doing under there?"

"He's my little dog." Rivka rapped Mick on the head with her fan as he tried to lick her hand. "My naughty little pooch. I take him with me to the guillotine, you know, and have his little head chopped off, too."

Alex grimaced. "Ouch."

"That's what Martin told me anyway." Rivka poked her dealer unceremoniously with her fan. "Right?"

Martin pulled his attention away from the woman in the red dress long enough to reply. "Certainly, Rivka."

"I don't believe we've met," the woman who had so captivated Martin cooed, extending one slim hand to Alex. "I'm Miss Ross, of course."

"Pleasure." Alex took the woman's hand. "Alex ... I mean Mark Antony."

The woman's fingers squeezed his for a moment, her dark eyes shimmering against her caramel-colored skin. She swept a mane of curly black hair out of her eyes. "Mr. Gorgeous." She nudged the sailor.

"Have we met?"

"No, honey," Miss Ross said. "But I've heard all about you. I'm Sarah's

a.s.sistant, Darren Ramsey."

Martin choked rather loudly. Alex did a double-take. Miss Ross smiled, obviously pleased that her costume had fooled them.

"Is Sarah here?" Alex was unable to think of any other response.

Darren waved a sequined arm around the room. "Oh, yes. She's around here

someplace."

"She's supposed to be dressed as Little Bo Peep," Rivka said in disdain, every inch her royal majesty. "How bourgeois!"

"I'm going to find her."

Darren's hand on his arm stopped him. "She's not dressed as Bo Peep."

"What is she dressed as?"

"That," Miss Ross said Supremely, "is for you to find out, honey."

Alex shrugged, confused. Taking his leave of Rivka and the others, he began

making his way toward the food. He wanted to make sure everything was all right since The Foxfire was doing the catering. He'd just take a quick look and be off on his mission to find Sarah.

He found the buffet table groaning with food. Emma, delightfully whimsical in her frothy pink costume, was making suggestions to several hungry revelers who seemed overwhelmed by the choices. Michel, looking rigid and uncomfortable dressed as the Cowardly Lion, was overseeing the servers who stood on either side of the table.

"Looks great," Alex complimented the chef.

Emma waggled her brows at him. "So do you, boss. Look at those knees!"

"Nice costume." The man to Alex's left was dressed as Julius Caesar.

Something seemed familiar about him, though Alex couldn't quite place it.

Perhaps the man had come into the restaurant on occasion. It seemed the most likely explanation, though just where he had seen the guy before nagged at his mind. He shrugged off the feeling, certain it would come to him in time.

"Enjoy the salad." Alex indicated the man's plate. "We made it because we knew you would be coming. Fresh anchovies and everything."

The man stared blankly at him for a moment, than laughed rather insincerely. "Funny." He stuck out his hand. "William Darcy."

"Alex Caine." Alex was already shaking the man's hand before the name sank in. When he realized who he had in his grip, he had to make a conscious effort not to bear down and grind the man's bones to a pulp. This was the man who had hurt Sarah.

"Nice party." A pet.i.te, platinum-blonde woman dressed predictably as Marilyn Monroe appeared beside Darcy.

He draped his arm around her shoulders. "This is Pansy, my wife."

Pansy? Alex shook the woman's hand politely. This was the woman Darcy had chosen over Sarah? The pet.i.te blonde was pretty, sure, but in the same way thousands of other women are pretty. She had nothing that made her stand out from the crowd, except perhaps for her immense chest. It rose from the top of her white halter dress like twin mountain peaks. Alex bet he could rest a drink on each one, and she wouldn't spill a drop.

"This place is so ... neat." Pansy paused for a long moment as though she was having trouble finding an adjective strong enough to describe her feelings. "I think I might buy one of the paintings for the rumpus room."

"Just don't buy any that are over in that room." Darcy tweaked her nose. He pointed to the Bold Room, the room Rivka had set aside to honor Sarah.

"Right." Pansy sniffed. "Like I want a picture of your ex-girlfriend in our house."

"She was hardly a girlfriend." Darcy turned to Alex, speaking with casual pride. Though he had just denied his real relationship with Sarah, clearly he thought it a bragging matter to mention he had dated the artist's sister. "I dated Sarah Lazin. Her sister dedicated that room over there to her."

"You know Sarah?" Red rage boiled up and threatened to erupt through his fists.

"Sure." The pompous braggart appeared relaxed and somewhat talkative. Pansy had tripped off to look at the prints for sale along the far wall. "Nice enough girl, though not much to look at. And somewhat stupid as well."

"She must have been, to date you," Alex muttered through clenched teeth.

"What did you say?" Darcy seemed unable to believe his ears.

"Say." Alex clapped Darcy's shoulder suddenly, jovially, as though Darcy was his best friend in all the world. "We've met before, you know."

Darcy furrowed his brow. "I don't think so."

"Sure." Alex gave him a light punch to the upper arm. Real man-to-man bonding. "In the parking lot behind my restaurant."