"I guess for right now, that's the answer."

"So he is up for grabs," she said.

"Why, do you want his number?" I snapped. Let's move on. Let's talk about Bold Books.

"b.i.t.c.hy!" she teased. "Look, I'm just trying to figure out how you feel so I can try to understand how Gabriel feels. If he's as confused as you are, maybe there's hope for me."

"I'd really hate for Robbie to pin his hopes on me, Miranda," I said as gently as I could.

She stabbed a fork into her burrito. "Love sucks."

But work did not suck. Work was wonderful!

My first day of work at Bold Books dawned bright and sunny and I was too full of nervous excitement to wait for Miranda, who refused to get to the office a second before nine-fifteen. I ended up arriving a half hour early, even though Miranda insisted that no one except the nerds in production got there before nine on the dot. Because I didn't have an ID card, the security guard made me wait in the lobby until another Bold Books employee could vouch for me. Luckily the first to arrive was my boss, Lucy.

"Hi, Lucy! I'm so excited about my first day!" I chirped the moment she walked through the revolving door.

She looked at me in total confusion. She had no idea who I was.

Ah. The hair. The gla.s.ses. The lack of hooker makeup. The lack of veil.

"This is how I look when I'm not getting married," I joked, then worried I sounded too cavalier. "I had a makeover."

She stared at me. "You're the same woman I interviewed a week ago? The Friday after Thanksgiving? The blonde in the veil? My sister's new roommate?"

"I'm the very same person."

"Wow," she said, signing us in. We headed for the elevator. As we rode up, she never took her eyes off me. "What did you do? Go to a salon and say 'change everything'? I can't believe what a completely different person you look like. It's amazing."

I smiled and nodded. "This is my natural color," I said, pointing at my dark brown hair. "And it's straight, which is my natural texture. And it's six inches shorter. I have on a quarter of the makeup and gla.s.ses instead of contacts, and a professional outfit instead of tight jeans and a down jacket."

You can stop talking now, Roxy.

She smiled. "You're a whole new you."

"That's exactly what I am." I loved my new look. I still had trouble recognizing myself when I looked in a mirror, but I liked what I saw. This new Roxy Marone was a million miles away from the bleached blond bimbette I used to look like.

Upstairs in the Bold Books offices, Lucy introduced me around. There weren't many employees, around fifteen. There was the editor in chief, Edwin Futterman, a tall, imposing man who shook my hand and welcomed me to the team and then shooed us out of his office. There was an exceptionally good-looking executive editor named Christopher Levy, who was Lucy's boss. There was Wanda BelleMiranda's bosswho was the senior editor of romance and the most glamorous woman I'd ever seen. Lucy herself looked a lot more "editorly" than she had during my interview. Then she'd looked sort of...messy, her hair frizzy, no makeup, a pilled sweater with appliques of little animals all over it, high-waisted jeans and white sneakers. Today she wore a black suit, a bit bankery, and black pumps, and her hair was nicely brushed. Then there was Miranda, who was trendy and so pretty with her wildly curly blond hair and pale blue eyes. There was Davis, Christopher's a.s.sistant, who was shy and serious and polite and, according to Miranda, gay. There were three production people, a contracts manager who also handled sub rights (I didn't even know what that meant), the receptionist and the editor in chief's a.s.sistant, an older woman named Camille who handled all personnel matters and had me fill out at least ten forms.

At nine-thirty, Lucy called me into her office and explained the basics of the job. She'd gone over much of it during the interview, but now she actually handed me ma.n.u.scripts! Half of the job would be clerical and half would be supporting her in performing the duties of an editor. I would basically be her backup. My first task was to read the edited ma.n.u.script of the Chrissy Cobb bio, since I'd be a.s.sisting Lucy with the copyeditor's queries. And she also wanted me to study the back covers of Bold Books' other celebrity biographies and try my hand at writing back cover copy for the Cobb bio. Too exciting!

"Oh, and Roxy," Lucy said as I turned to head back to my office. "I debated and second-guessed and then just went with my instinctshere," she added, handing me a large, flat box, the kind used for a man's dress shirt.

I opened it, and there lay my veil, neatly folded, albeit a bit wrinkled in spots. I stared down at it and from out of nowhere, tears p.r.i.c.ked my eyes. When I'd stuffed the veil into the little garbage can in the Bold Books reception area, it had represented everything I didn't want. But now, it was just a pretty piece of tulle, white sheer fabric representing hope and happiness.

"Did I make the wrong choice?" she asked. "I didn't mean to be presumptuous. I just thought that, out of the heat of the moment, you might want it, whether to give away or to store in your attic."

I glanced down at the veil and then covered the box. "NoI'm glad you saved it for me. It's a reminder of what I'm trying to do. When I look at this veil, it helps me understand why my parents are so angry at me. Why Robbie's friends hate me. Why my friends don't understand."

Lucy nodded. "Roxy, I know you must be going through a tough time. And starting a brand new job on top of it can't be easy. Just remember to cut yourself some breaks, okay?"

"Thanks so much," I said. "For everything." How lucky was I to have such a nice boss!

She smiled and then her phone rang. I headed back to my office, lugging my ma.n.u.scripts and books with the veil box balanced on top. Just as the box was about to fall, along with some of the books, Miranda grabbed it.

"Hi, roomie," she said, setting the box on my credenza. "How ya settling in?"

"Great! I love it here!"

"Ugh, Roxy, it's work. Not a Caribbean island," she said, mock-rolling her eyes at me. She smiled, then disappeared.

I laughed and swiveled in my chair. I might as well be sunbathing with a Diet c.o.ke in one hand and a good book in the other for how happy and relaxed I was. I had done it. I was here. I glanced around the tiny six-by-six office with its tiny window and view of the ugly office building across the street, and I was instantly blown away by happiness.

This was how a bride was supposed to feel on her wedding day.

This was love.

Okay, the first three times he walked past my office (in a thirty-minute period), I didn't think anything of it, other than, Wow. He is HOT. The fourth time, I realized that he was walking past on purpose. The fifth time, I got bold.

"Excuse me?" I called out.

He stopped in the doorway. Tall. Dark. Truly handsome. Built. Expensive suit. Expensive gla.s.ses. He looked smart.

I smiled. "Today's my first day and I don't know the area very well and I was wondering if you knew a good place for friends to go out to dinner."

He grinned. "Why don't I take you on a test run of a great new restaurant Friday night?"

Yes! "That would be great."

"Meet you out front at six?" he asked, his gorgeous blue eyes twinkling.

I nodded and smiled and he was gone.

I immediately grabbed the phone and buzzed Miranda. "Emergency."

She was in my office in three seconds. I explained.

"Holy s.h.i.t!" she said. "That's Harrison Astor. Distant relation of the Astors. He's a big-deal consultant Futterman brings in a few times a year to study the books and how Bold does business. Finance and efficiencyboring stuff like that. Wow, Roxyif you're looking for the opposite of Robbie, you've found him."

The opposite of Robbie. Why did that suddenly sound very scary?

"No. No. No. No. And no," Miranda said, sliding my clothes around in my closet on Thursday night. "Why is everything you own beige? And uns.e.xy?"

Tomorrow after work was my date with Harrison. My first date in twenty years! My first date with another man. And I had nothing to wear. Nothing date-worthy, anyway. I had a closet full of hotsy-totsy clothes back in my closet in Bay Ridge, but all the new clothes I'd bought were "business casual." Muted separates. Sensible shoes. Professional handbags. I'd been able to wear whatever I wanted at the Bay Ridge Brouhaha, but at Bold Books, I wanted to project professional. Ambitious. Dedicated. Serious.

After two weeks of the new and improved me, I still had trouble recognizing myself. I'd had all that long, curly blond hair since I was sixteen. Aunt Maureen had been supplying the free perms since I was twelve, but for my Sweet Sixteen, she and my mother had confabbed that it was time to turn me into "the woman I could be," which was the motto of Aunt Maureen's hair salon. Hair and Now: Be All The Woman You Can Be. And so I went from dark brown to light blond with hotter makeup to match, also compliments of my aunt.

The night before my sixteenth birthday, Robbie and I had made love for the first time. We'd been talking about it for the past year, and I'd been ready for months, but I wanted to wait for my Sweet Sixteen. When Robbie came to pick me up for my party, a huge affair at a teen club, his eyes popped out of his head. "You look so hot," he'd said. "You know what's weird, though? I'm really glad that last night was our first time. Because if we'd waited until tonight, you wouldn't have looked like you."

"I'm still the same me, though," I'd said, annoyed. Then, I hadn't understood the sentiment. But now when I looked in a mirror at this stranger, this dark-haired stranger without the wild curls, without the eyeliner and lip gloss, without the tight jeans and too-high heels, I didn't feel like me at all.

I flipped through the clothes in my makeshift closet for the perfect date outfit. "What about this?" I asked Miranda, pulling out a beige cable-knit turtleneck and brown tweed pants. "The personal shopper at Macy's said it was business casual and nice for evenings out."

"Yeah, for tea with your aunt Bessie," Miranda said. "Wait here."

She returned with five hangers holding slinky things. "Look, if you want to be conservative at work, fine. I dress like a s.l.u.t or a hiker at work because I'm almost hoping someone fires me to kick-start my b.u.t.t. But you are not going on a hot date looking like a bank teller."

She held outfits against my body. "Okay, forget black. With your dark hair and eyes, you need color." She held up a slinky red dress with a high neckline. "This one. Trust me."

The dress was great. I had many like it in my closet at homeat my old apartment. But s.e.xy wasn't how I wanted to project myself anymore. I wanted Harrison Astor to look at me and see smart. Ambition. I wanted him to see Roxy Marone, whoever she was beginning to be. I was done with the makeup and the vavoom outfits.

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Roxy, there's something called a middle ground. Just because you don't want to be a hot babe doesn't mean you have to be a prissy schoolmarm."

I laughed. "Okay, how about that one?" I pointed at a beige matte jersey top and skirt with interesting swirls of color.

Miranda eyed the outfit. "It says lunch to me, but it's a start."

Six o'clock came and went. Six-ten. Six-fifteen. I stood in front of the Bold Books office building, my cheeks cold from the December night air. No Harrison Astor. Six-thirty. I looked back toward the revolving door. A lot of people were exiting the building, but not Harrison.

Had I been stood up? Should I go upstairs and see if he was in his office, held up in a meeting or an important call? Shouldn't he have come down to let me know he needed another half hour? I might not know the protocol of dating, but I did know rude.

I'll give him two more minutes, and then I'm leaving.

It was now six forty-five. I willed my feet to move. When I got to the corner, I closed my eyes and hoped I'd hear a "Roxy, wait!" but I didn't.

Great. I'd been stood up on my first date in twenty years. And since Robbie had been the best girlfriend I'd ever had, once again I had no one to call for commiseration.

I came home to a note on the refrigerator. Roxsleeping over at Lucy's. Can't wait to hear how the date went!! See you sometime in the afternoon. Don't forget one second of the date. I want to hear every detail!Miranda No, you don't.

I stood in the middle of the living room, the half that wasn't my bedroom and burst into tears.

The phone rang. I let the machine get it.

"Roxy? Roxy, are you home?"

My mother.

I lunged for it, just needing to hear her voice. "Mom, I'm here." I clutched the phone to my ear, willing her to tell me everything would be okay, that there were ups and downs, but not to worry.

"We need to discuss the returning of the gifts," she snapped. "I thought I might come visit you tomorrow. I tried talking to Robbie about it, but he said whatever you want to do is fine with him."

It wasn't a "Don't worry," but she was willing to schlep into Manhattan on one of my father's precious days off? That was big. That meant she missed me. Needed to see me. Even if it was to yell at me or "talk some sense into me."

"You want to come see my new apartment?" I asked.

"Well, I'm really interested in just getting this gift business taken care of, but I suppose I could see your new place," she said.

It was almost like a hug. Half a hug, anyway. I closed my eyes so I wouldn't cry.

"Roxy? Are you okay? You don't sound good."

"I'm fine, Mom, really." Or, at least I will be. "What time will you be here?"

We settled on ten o'clock. A minute after we hung up, the phone rang again.

"Mom, I'm fine, really."

"It's not your mom," a male voice said.

Robbie.

"I know I said I wouldn't call you, butlook, Roxy, I can't go from everything to nothing. I know you don't want to marry me, okay? But does that also mean you don't want anything to do with me? You don't even want to be friends?"

I closed my eyes and let his voice wrap around me like a soothing balm.

"It's been two weeks since the" He hesitated. "Roxy, in twenty years, two days haven't gone by without us talking."

"I know, Robbie," I said. I miss you too. Like mad. But I couldn't say it. I couldn't give him the wrong impression.

"I miss your friendship, Rox. I miss you. Just you, that's all."

"Me too, Robbie," I said. "And of course I want to be friends."

"Good. So what do friends talk about? Let's see. How's this hot new job I heard you got? Congratulations, by the way. I always knew you'd be an executive editor at a major publishing house in Manhattan someday."

Oh, Robbie, I thought, my heart squeezing. "I'm just an a.s.sistant editor"

"Just? Are you kidding me? Roxy, I'm so proud of you. So tell me all about it. What kinds of books are you working on? Have you met any famous authors? Do you like your boss? What are your coworkers like?"

Except for the visiting consultant, they're great.

I sat down on the sofa and told Robbie all about Bold Books, feeling much better as I went on and on about the Chrissy Cobb bio and the ma.n.u.scripts I was reviewing for Lucy, and how editorial meetings worked and how lucky I was that my roommate and coworker was turning into such a good friend. By the time I shut up, I was excited about my new life again.

"Sounds really great, Roxy," Robbie said. "I'm really happy for you. So the new apartment is working out? It's a safe building?"

"Yes," I told him. "I guess I'll need to come pick up my stuff sometime."

"No rush, Roxy. Whenever, okay?"

"Okay."

"So...are you seeing anyone?" he asked.

"Robbie..."

"I thought friends talked about that kind of thing," he said. "Look, Rox, if we're really going to be friends, I need to get past that you're not my girlfriend anymore. That you're not going to be my wife. There's no time like the present to start accepting reality."

Stop reminding me why I loved you so much and for so long. Stop reminding me why I was able to say yes to you when I knew that marrying you would kill me.