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Part 6

Author's note: In the last chapter, I forgot to give credit for the two songs I used. So, very quickly, they were "Swinging" by John Anderson (Carl's song) and "Alone" by Heart (Anne's song).

"Forget it, Rich. I'm not about to do it." Amy sat down on a bench and crossed her arms over her chest.

"C'mon, Amy. The only way you're ever going to get over this fear you have is to go out there and give it a try." Rich squatted down and looked into her eyes.

Amy looked over his shoulder to where the long, cold length of ice lay. It was late afternoon and there were about twenty people out on the ice, most of them children.

She was very quickly coming to regret having told Rich that she was scared to skate ever since she'd broken her leg a few years back. Buoyant from the practice earlier that day, he was sure that he could teach her to skate well enough to keep from falling down, if nothing else.

"You don't seem to understand. My sister has been trying to teach me how to skate for the past fifteen years. The first time I was out on the ice was when I was six, and I promptly fell and bloodied my nose. Four years later, I decided to give it another try. I ended up with six stitches in my right leg. The next time, I got a concussion from running into the boards. Four years after that, I broke my leg. Except for five seconds on the ice a few days ago when I went to talk Carl and Charlotte into letting me come on this tour, I haven't been on skates since. Ice skating and I just don't go together."

"Well, your sister probably didn't have the patience I have."

"Patience wasn't necessary. I did these things right off the bat."

"Ah! Then she never had a chance to teach you anything. You liar, you just said she'd been trying to teach you for the past fifteen years."

"She was. It wasn't her fault I was such a screw-up on the ice."

"Now, now, get rid of that defeatist attitude. We're going to go out there and you're going to skate. At the very least, you're going to learn to glide across the ice and come to a stop without holding on to me."

Amy frowned. "That's going to be hard to do since I'm not going out there."

Rich gave her his best sad puppy-dog look. "Please? For me? Just once?"

"The first time I fall down, I'm leaving."

"Deal. Now put on your skates." Rich stood up and walked to the edge of the ice, watching a trio of boys who were racing around barreling into people.

Amy was watching the same three boys, wondering if she could accidentally on purpose launch herself into their path and have an excuse to get out of this quickly.

Amy slowly put on her skates, taking extra time to make sure they were tied securely so she wouldn't be tripping over the laces. Once she finally had them on, she took off the skate guards and set them on the bench.

"I'm not even going to try standing up," she called.

Rich had already put his skates on and was standing at the edge of the ice. "Wimp," he said.

"You know it."

Rich walked over to her and held out his hand. She took it and on wobbling legs allowed herself to be led to the ice.

"I must be crazy," she muttered.

"You're not crazy. You're going to trust me."

Amy grabbed onto the boards as Rich stepped onto the ice. "Let go of those," he told her.

"Forget it. I like life. I like having two working legs and a pretty face."

"I like your pretty face, too. Now come on. Here. You can take my other hand. I'll even skate backwards."

"That's showing off and you know it." But Amy let go of the board anyway. Before she could start twisting and turning and managing to get herself on the ground, Rich grabbed her hand and pulled her to him.

Amy felt as though she'd already fallen on the ground because she was having trouble catching her breath. She clung to Rich.

"Amy, not that I'm complaining about our present position, but if we're going to move you're going to have to let go of me."

"Not only your life."

Rich glided back a foot. Amy squeaked and gripped his hands tightly. "Don't do that without giving me any warning!" she cried.

"Sorry, but I wanted to move. Now come on, we'll go slow...just hold on to me and put one skate in front of the other."

Amy did as he instructed her, continuing to hold his hands.

"See? You're doing great already. I'll bet you never lasted this long for Charlotte, did you?"

"No."

Rich smiled and looked around as they slowly glided around the edge of the ice. "I remember being this young and inexperienced," he murmured.

Amy frowned. "Don't talk. It makes me lose my concentration. And I'm not that young."

"No, I didn't mean you. I meant the kids...don't turn your head and look, but you saw them earlier. There's a little girl out in the center of the ice who's doing a decent spin. I think that was the first thing I learned."

"You mean you didn't learn to stop first?"

"Yeah, that too. I meant an actual skating move. I was so proud the first time my skating teacher praised me for my spins. It meant I had done something better than the rest of the class. Even at six, I was a competitor."

"Did you decide to turn professional?" Amy asked. "I know you were thinking about it back in January, but did you decide to go ahead and do it?"

Rich nodded. "Right after the Olympics. I guess I could've stuck it out for another four years, tried for another gold. After I lost to Frederick, I thought about doing it because I was so disappointed with myself. But I got to thinking and I realized that in four years, I'm going to be thirty-two. Most of the guys I'd be competing against would be in their early twenties with more strength and fewer years of wear and tear on their bodies. I'd won two medals, which is more than what most of them will ever win. I'd had my moment. It was time for me to move on."

"Will you miss it?"

"Good job going around that corner, Amy." Rich smiled.

"You're avoiding my question."

"Will I miss it? Sure. I love representing my country and skating with the knowledge that about a billion people are watching me. I thrive on pressure, which might be a recognized illness."

"I'd have to double check." She noticed that they'd started to pick up some speed. She wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing.

"I'm going to miss the friendly rivalries. I might even miss some of the not-so-friendly rivalries. I know that practicing isn't quite the same since I turned pro. I'm not working toward any specific goal anymore. I'm just skating because it's what I've done everyday for the past twenty-two years."

"Name one thing you won't miss about skating-whoa!" Amy's foot suddenly started sliding out from under her. Rich made a quick move and caught her in his arms.

"That was close," he said. "Should we slow down?"

"I think so."

Rich slowed his pace and soon Amy felt more comfortable. "The big thing I won't miss are the judges."

"Ah, yes. Charlotte's said the same thing on a number of occasions. She says she's glad she can eat whatever she wants whenever she wants without worrying that a judge is going to catch her and tell her she needs to stop eating and lose weight."

"I got that one, too. Not to mention the number of judges who complained that I wasn't artistic enough on the ice, or that I was setting up my jumps wrong. Then there are the comments about costumes and programs and how they could be different or better. Did you know that this judge came up to me before my gold-medal long program four years ago to tell me that I shouldn't end by kneeling on the ice? He thought I should end with my arms raised in victory. I mean, he didn't even get what my program was about. And what can you do in that situation? You just smile and say, 'Thanks for the advice.' You can't insult them because they're all-powerful. They make and break skaters. You have to be on your best behavior all the time, especially around competition time. There was one judge who said if I hadn't saved Georgiana Darcy's knee that I wouldn't have been on the podium because I'd put her brother in the hospital the day before.

"Then there's the competition itself! Don't let what they say fool you-there's a judging block. The Cold War is alive and well and flourishing in the world of figure skating, and if the majority of judges aren't on your side, you're screwed. Wait and see. In a few years, I have no doubt that the only gold medalists you'll see with be from Russia. Not to take anything away from them, but when the judging block is in effect, the results aren't what they should be. I mean, look at Oksana Baiul winning over Nancy Kerrigan. That should never have happened. Nancy was as close to perfect as you could get, whereas Oksana made mistakes. One judge tied them for technical merit, which shouldn't have happened because they weren't equal, and then said Oksana was better presentation-wise, which she was. And Nancy lost. It's things like that. And let's not even start about the ice dancing."

"I guess you feel strongly about this."

"You bet. It's ridiculous. It's things like that, and the other things that go on, which make our sport the mockery of the so-called legitimate ones." Rich sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it all go like that."

"Don't worry about it."

"No, you didn't want to hear all that."

"If I hadn't, I wouldn't have asked the question."

"Yeah, but you only asked what I wouldn't miss about skating. You didn't ask why I hate judges." Rich smiled. "And besides, I'm sure the argument can be made that I benefited from political judging because it's been skewed our way recently."

"It shouldn't be so blatant, though."

"True. And the person who wins should be the person who has the best performance of the night, not who had the best practice. Although I guess I shouldn't complain about that, either. I mean, I'm the one who went out during practice and proved I could do a quad lutz even though I didn't originally plan to do one in my free skate so the judges would be impressed."

"You just played the game, Rich. You have to order to win. That's what Charlotte always used to say."

"I'm sure she also used to say you were a klutz on ice."

"No, I said that."

"Yeah? Well, you've been skating just fine for about ten minutes. Ready to stop?"

"No!" Amy cried out as Rich started to let go of her hands. Seconds later, she stumbled and fell into him, bringing them both to the ice in a heap. Rich was laughing.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I think so. You?"

"I'm fine. I've taken worse falls."

"Yeah, well, you said that the first time I fell, I could get off the ice."

"I lied."

"RICH!" Amy elbowed him in the stomach.

"Hey, be careful. You're going to need my help to get up from the ice," he pointed out to her as he stood up and brushed off his pants. He held out a hand to her and she struggled to get up, nearly falling again. "Now, ready to try that again?"

Amy glared at him but gave it another try.

Amy felt ten times better when she had a cup of hot chocolate to warm her hands and a warm blanket to cover her legs, although the air in late May should've been enough to warm her. Under normal circumstances it would have.

"That was fun," Rich said, leaning back on the blanket and putting his folded arms under his head. He looked up at the sky with a contented smile.

"Oh, yeah. I'm going to have a bruise on my butt for a month from that last spill." Amy took a sip of her drink.

"But at least I managed to get you to stop without needing me. That was the important thing, the first step. Stick with me and soon you'll be a star, kid."

"Well, if you think I'm going to go out there and do one of those suicide jumps you do, think again. I love watching it, but there's no way I'm about to try it for myself." She smiled. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"I can't wait to tell Charlotte that I learned to skate. She'll be pea green when I tell her you were successful where she wasn't. She intended to be a skating coach, did you know that?"

"I heard a rumor about that four years ago," Rich said. "She was going to join Lady Cat's stable of minor coaches and help out the Toad."

"The Toad?"

"That's what everyone calls William Collins. If you've ever seen him, you'd see why we call him that."

"I think I know who you're talking about. A toad on ice." Amy giggled.

"She did coach someone, didn't she? The ice dancers from England who won four years ago. Katt and...and..."

"William."

"Yeah. How did that happen?"

"They were coached by Eugene Tilney for the longest time, along with Catie Morland and Charlotte. Tilney spent most of his time with Charlotte and Catie, leaving Katt and William on their own. Charlotte sort of took them under her wing and helped them out. One day, Catherine de Bourgh came along and thought Catie had talent and Charlotte didn't, so she took Catie and left Charlotte to Tilney's scorn. He dropped her soon after that. Katt and William were so upset about it that they dropped him three months before the Olympics and asked Charlotte to be their interim coach until they found someone else. Right after they won, they had plenty of coaches willing to help them out so Charlotte was free to go her own way."

"And instead of being relegated to a life of coaching, she won a bronze medal and became a star."

Amy nodded. "Didn't you know this story already? I mean, I was always under the impression that figure skating was such a small community that everyone knew everyone else's business. Kind of like my family."

"Before the Olympics, the only thing on my mind was mastering the quad lutz and winning the gold medal. After, I was..." Rich sighed. "I was with someone."

"Lydia?"

Rich shook his head. "No, Helena."

Amy studied her mug of chocolate. "Helena Hampton? That Helena?"

"Yes. That's the one."

"I didn't know you two had been involved."

Rich sat up, a far-away look in his eyes and a slight smile on his face. "Yeah, a million lifetimes ago. We met at the Olympics, so to speak. We first met on the Internet and then we met in person. We hit it off right away. She was funny and outrageous and so damned talented."

"And beautiful," Amy said in a small voice.

"That, too."

"Sounds like you were the perfect couple. You both loved skating, you both won medals, you're attractive, athletic, personable. What went wrong? Why are you here with me now?"

The smile fell off his face and his gaze sharpened on her. "What?"

Amy took a drink of her chocolate and was immediately sorry. It hadn't sufficiently cooled. Once she felt able to talk again, she asked, "Why me? Why, of all the women you know, are you here with me? I can't skate to save my life. I can't dance. I'm not particularly pretty. I never take anything seriously and I always have a smart-aleck comment to make. Why me?"

"Why do you think you're not pretty? I think you're gorgeous." Rich reached out his hand to stroke her cheek. Amy shivered-she was pretty sure it wasn't just because his hand was still cold.

"I know the truth. My hair isn't blonde enough, my eyes are just ordinary and they're too far apart, my legs are bony and I have a big butt."

Rich gave her a quick up-and-down glance. "I can't judge your behind because you're currently sitting on it, but I don't see anything wrong with you. I like your hair color because it's natural, and I think your eyes are lovely."

"You didn't say anything about my legs."

"Well, I didn't want to say anything, but you're right. They are kinda bony."

Amy gave him a dark look which caused him to burst into laughter. "You're lucky my hands are full," she said. "And that I decided not to throw the contents of this mug at you."

"You wouldn't do that, would you?"

"Make another crack about my legs and I will."

"Hey, you said it first!"

"Yes, but I'm a girl. I'm supposed to tear myself down so that you, the guy, can tell me how good I look and make me feel better. Didn't your father teach you anything?"

Rich sobered. "I didn't see him all that much growing up."

Amy took a tentative sip of her drink. "You didn't?" she asked once determining that the hot chocolate was finally cooling down.

He shook his head. "When I was six, I watched figure skating at the Olympics and all I could think of was that I wanted to do what he was doing. I went nuts over the jumps and the spins. I told my mom and the next day she signed me up for lessons. My father was furious with her."

"Let me guess. He said no son of his was going to be a figure skater?"

Rich nodded. "Yeah. But it was what I really wanted, so for the first time in their marriage my mother went over his head and kept me in the class. My father never could understand why my interest in skating couldn't have veered toward speed skating or hockey. I couldn't get him to understand that skating is just as hard as any other sport around. I work just as hard as a baseball player-hell, I might go so far as to say I work harder than them. A baseball season lasts seven months including spring training. Figure skating is a year-round thing. But my father only sees the ridiculous costumes and the boys wearing makeup and elegant arm movements."

"Does he think you're gay?"

"I'm sure he wonders."

"Despite the fact that you've had relationships with women?"

"I think so. When I was seeing Helena he was thrilled. We were always invited to dinner at the family house and he always asked me about her. When she broke up with me to marry Nick Hampton, he got that look in his eyes again. I knew what he was thinking. My relationship with Lydia didn't last long enough for him to know about."

"And the same holds true with me," Amy finished.

"I suppose it does, for the moment." Rich sighed. "You asked me why I'm with you and not with her or someone else. I'm with you because I want to be with you. Helena and I had a volatile relationship. It wasn't helped by the fact that we competed in the same sport. If I won something and she didn't, I had to hide my elation and help her cope. It got to where we couldn't talk skating at all, and as neither of us had much interest in anything else, it meant we rarely spoke."

"Do you still care about her?"

Rich shrugged. "I'm happy that she's happy. I don't pine after her anymore." Rich took Amy's hand. "I'm with you because you have such a unique view of things. I know you won't give an inch when you think you're right. I know you won't flatter me excessively. You like skating but it isn't your whole life. When I get done on the ice, I can come to you and we can talk about something other than how good my triple axel combination looked. And despite what you say, I think you're lovely."

"Really?"

Rich kissed her for a minute. She was still reeling when she heard him murmur, "Does that answer your question?"

Part 7

Anne couldn't sleep, to her great frustration. She used to have trouble sleeping the night before she was supposed to skate in front of a large crowd until she'd gotten hooked on yoga and relaxation techniques. When all else failed, she talked to Susan. But she'd already been through three sets of yoga exercises and had tried to force her mind to relax twice with no results. She was rattled by today and knew that sleep was bound to be impossible. She was tempted to call Susan in spite of the fact that it was nearly one in the morning. She'd done it before, but she didn't want to do that now, except as the last resort.

Anne tried to think of what might relax her when an idea struck her. With a disgusted sigh, she threw back the covers and got out of her bed. She wore black sweat pants and a dark green T-shirt. Not the most elegant of outfits, so she quickly changed into a blue leotard and jeans, slipping her feet into sandals and pulling her hair back in a loose bun. She stuck the key to her room into her pocket and headed downstairs.

She walked into the hotel bar. There were two bartenders hovered over a man who looked decidedly worse for drink. One of them noticed her and looked up.

"I'm sorry, miss, but we're about to shut down for the night," he said.

"Oh, I don't want a drink," she replied hastily. "Thanks, anyway." Anne spied what she was looking for in a corner of the bar- the piano. "Um...would it be all right for me to play for a while or..."

The bartender smiled. "Be my guest."

Playing the piano was one of Anne's hidden talents and pleasures. Her mother had encouraged her to do it, saying it would give Anne a better feeling for music that she could take with her onto the ice. She'd wanted all of her daughters to do this, but Maralys had only wanted to jump and Alyssa had only wanted to chase after boys. Anne was the only one who'd loved to play.

What should I start with? she wondered. Rachmaninoff or Beethoven?

Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" was irresistible. After some quick warm-up exercises for her fingers, she started playing, losing herself in the music. When she finished, she heard someone clapping. She turned to see the drunk at the bar tipping his glass to her.

"A...a angel that playsh like a angel," he slurred.

Anne decided to ignore him, turning back to the piano. Her fingers were itching to play the song she'd heard so many times in her dreams and in movies, but she forced herself to start playing "Watermark." The beautiful, haunting Enya song had taken her forever to learn because she'd never been able to find sheet music for it and had had to play it by ear, but she'd mastered it eventually. She hummed the melody softly to herself as she played.

"Watermark" always made her feel closer to her mother. It wasn't that her mother had loved the song. Anne didn't know if her mother had even heard the song before she'd died, but something about it made her feel her mother's presence close by.

She blinked back a tear at the end of the song, taking her hands away from the piano. She sensed a shadow falling over her.

"Are you all right, miss?"

Anne looked up to see the bartender who'd given her permission to play looking down at her. "I'm fine," she replied quietly.

"You do play well. Are you a professional?"

Anne smiled. "No. I'm a figure skater."

"Really?"

Anne nodded.

"If you skate as well as you play piano, you must be the best. I heard we had a skating tour in the hotel, but I hadn't seen anyone I recognized. Of course, I'm not a big figure skating fan...but that could change."

Anne blushed. She wasn't going to brag about her gold medal.

"Bill? You need to get back to work," she heard the other bartender say.

Bill groaned. "You'll keep playing until I'm done? If you do, I'll treat you to a coffee."

"I'd like to, but I have to get to bed soon. I have a show tomorrow. I'll play a couple more songs and go."

"Oh, well...another time."

Anne smiled and decided not to tell him that she would be gone the day after tomorrow. She turned back to the piano and, before she could stop herself, playing the song she'd come to play. It was the song that no matter where she heard it or who was playing it, she got lost in the memory of one perfect afternoon in London, in a studio apartment- his flat, he'd called it- when she had been so close to having everything she'd wanted.

The late afternoon sun shone brightly through the windows, but Anne could tell it was going to fade away soon. It was a lazy day, one meant exactly for what she had been doing with Frederick not half an hour ago. Now they were laying in the middle of his bed, a tangle of limbs and sheets.

Anne had known that this moment was where the two of them would end up at from their first date. Instead of "showing her the town," as Frederick had promised Susan he would do, he'd taken her to his favorite out-of-the-way spots throughout the city. They'd been to a horrid play that had bored Anne to death, many wonderful restaurants, chip shops, off-licenses...Anne became steeped in London lingo, but even more so in Frederick. He was the best part of this trip, and she found herself falling deeper in love with him by the day.

So that they had finally come to his apartment for this moment was only natural, only right. And perfect.

Neither of them had spoken from the moment Frederick had shut the door. No words had been necessary. They'd giggled like schoolchildren after skipping out of their afternoon practice session. On the way to his apartment, they'd talked about what Susan and Jamie would do when the two of them didn't show. But the moment they'd pulled up in front of his building, the talk had turned serious.

"Would you like to come up?" he had asked.

She'd nodded, and that had been that.

Now, wrapped in his arms, Anne felt so completely loved and cherished that she would be content to live in this bed forever, as long as Frederick would be the one beside her. She hadn't felt so happy since her mother had died.

Anne heard the stereo playing in the living room. They'd been dancing to music earlier, the prelude to retiring to the bedroom. Frederick must've set the stereo to repeat the CD, because Anne recognized the song playing as the one they'd danced to earlier.

Give me a kiss to build a dream on
And my imagination will thrive upon that kiss
Sweetheart, I ask no more than this
A kiss to build a dream on

"How appropriate," she heard Frederick murmur. "One of your favorites."

Anne raised her head to look at him. "If I didn't know any better, Frederick Wentworth, I would think you'd planned it this way."

"Don't think I didn't," he chuckled. "This is my fully-functional babe lair."

Anne frowned. "Please tell me I didn't just hear you say that."

"You were the one who insisted on watching Wayne's World."

"I know."

"Three times."

"Yeah, yeah."

"In a row."

"You've been waiting all week to get back at me for that, haven't you?"

"Darling, it's not that I don't like Mike Myers. It's just that three viewings of any movie in one day should be banned."

"You sat through a Casablanca marathon."

"I make exceptions for good movies. Besides, listening to you imitate Captain Renault closing the café makes it worthwhile."

Anne pulled the pillow from beneath her head and smacked him in the chest with it. "Jerk. I don't know why I slept with you."

"Don't you?"

"No."

"It's the accent. American babes love the accent."

"Okay, if I hear the word 'babe' come out of your mouth one more time, I'm grabbing this pillow again and pulverizing you with it."

"Would you do that to me?"

"Say it and find out."

Frederick grasped her arm and dragged it around his waist until her head was resting on his chest. Anne smiled and relaxed. She resisted the temptation to start purring. She felt him absently stroke her hair and sighed contentedly.

Give me a kiss before you leave me
And my imagination will feed my hungry heart
Leave me one thing before we part
A kiss to build a dream on

"Susan is going to be furious with us, you know," Frederick said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it's the truth. She doesn't like me. She hates the fact that you're with me. This would have her grinding her teeth into powder."

Anne wasn't sure how to counter his argument. "It's not that she doesn't like you."

"Annie, I know you're trying to spare my feelings or build some sort of truce between us, but it's not going to happen."

"You don't like Susan?"

She heard his muffled curse. "It's not that I don't like her. I don't know her well enough to have an opinion, but she hasn't really given me a chance. How can you like or dislike someone who hates you because-"

"She doesn't hate you."

"Are we truly going to have our first argument over whether or not Susan Russell likes me? Surely there's something else to fight about."

Anne sighed. This wasn't the time or the place for a fight.

"I'll talk to her. I'll make her understand what I'm feeling for you isn't some passing thing or a rebellion. I'll tell her that falling in love won't interfere with my skating or make me lose interest in it. Once she understands that, I know she'll take the time to get to know you better. And when she does..." Anne raised her head from his chest. "She'll love you almost as much as I do."

Frederick murmured, "Is that the truth?"

"Yes. Susan's a reasonable person."

"No, I didn't mean about Susan. Do you love me, Heavenly?"

When I'm alone with my fancies...I'll be with you
Weaving romances...making believe they're true

"Of course I love you," Anne said. "Do you love me?"

"I was born to love you," he said before kissing her. When they pulled apart, her flashed a wicked grin and added, "Babe."

Anne shot up, grabbing the pillow and smacking him with it several times. He laughed and snatched the pillow out of her hands, having a far more pleasant activity in mind to keep her occupied as the song continued to play.

Give me your lips for just a moment
And my imagination will make that moment live
Give me what you alone can give
A kiss to build a dream on.

Anne stopped playing the song, tears streaming down her face. "Oh, Frederick," she murmured, wishing she'd had the presence of mind to bring Kleenexes.

What had happened to them? Why had things gone so horribly wrong? Why had he never written her? He hadn't sent so much as a postcard in response to the scads of letters she'd sent him. And then, at the end, she'd been so angry she'd started to write a goodbye letter, so full of hate and battered pride that she'd known she could never send it. How much worse would things be between them if she'd actually sent that thing?

Well, they can't be much worse than they are now, that's for sure.

Frederick couldn't understand why he couldn't sleep. All that mattered was that he couldn't, so he glanced at his clock-one-fifteen-and hoped the bar would still be open.

He took the elevator to the ground floor. As the doors opened, he could hear the sound of someone playing the piano. He didn't recognize the tune and it ended before he could venture a guess.

"Mr. Wentworth!"

Frederick turned to see the young woman at the front desk waving him over. He walked her way. "Yes?"

"You had a message just a moment ago. A young lady tried to reach you...Hannah. Here." She handed him a slip of paper.

"Thank you." Frederick read the brief message. "She didn't sound worried or anything, did she?"

"No. I reassured her that I'd seen you come in. She figured you were sleeping soundly and hadn't heard the phone ring."

"Thanks again."

"No problem." The girl smiled at him quickly before returning to the calculus book she had propped in front of her.

Frederick's brow furrowed. Hannah's message-I miss you-wasn't out of the ordinary. But why had she called when she had to have known it was two in the morning here?

The piano player started up again with a tune that caused Frederick to stand still. It was all too familiar a song. Too familiar, too haunting, too everything.

Give me a kiss to build a dream on
And my imagination will thrive upon that kiss
Sweetheart, I ask no more than this
A kiss to build a dream on...

"It couldn't be," he mumbled, but started to walk toward the music, which just happened to be coming from the bar.

The song continued as he walked in.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we're closed for the night," he barely heard the bartender said. Frederick waved him away and turned until he found the piano in the corner.

His breath caught in his throat when he saw the slender, petite blonde sitting there.

Anne.

Waves of old emotions and memories coursed through his mind. Like the time they'd tried rollerblading. That late morning at the duck pond when Anne had playfully pushed him in. As retaliation, he'd tossed her in and they both wound up looking like drowned rats. He remembered Saturday mornings spent walking through Notting Hill, enjoying the sights and sounds.

And the big one, the first time they'd made love at his flat, with this very song playing in the living room.

As quickly as the memories surfaced, they faded away to be replaced with something more recent and enduring. Anger.

Anne Elliot was sitting calmly at the piano bench, playing that song. She had no right to do that. She'd ripped out his heart. Was this song a trophy to her? Did she play it and laugh at what a sap he had been? Did she keep his letters, too, and laugh at the passages in which he'd declared his everlasting love to her?

Frederick realized that Anne had stopped playing. He almost missed her whispered words. Even after hearing them, his mind couldn't comprehend their meaning. And he definitely couldn't figure out why she was crying like that.

You'd think she was the wronged party here! She was the one who never wrote me!

"Oh, Frederick what?" he asked, cringing at the sound of his own voice, so harsh and cold.

Anne let out a shocked squeak and spun around to look at him. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I came for a drink, but they're closed. What are you doing here?"

"Playing the piano. I couldn't sleep."

"So I see. What's upsetting you so much about the music?" he asked. If she could play that and pretend nothing had ever happened between them, then so could he.

"I..." Anne swallowed heavily. "Don't you...don't you remember? This was what..."

Frederick frowned. "Of course I remember," tumbled out of his mouth before he could help it. He quickly recovered by adding, "I'm surprised you do."

Anne's face looked puzzled. "It's not something I'm likely to forget."

"Unlike other things."

Puzzlement turned to anger. "I don't know what you're talking about, but I assure you that some things I never forgot."

What did that mean? I'm the one who has the right to be angry here. Not her!

"Your memory seems to be rather selective."

"My memory? Let's talk about your memory for a second."

So she was intent on blaming him for the end of their relationship. "I seem to remember that your coach was the one insisting you leave London," he said hotly. "And you weren't objecting."

"Susan was only trying to spare my reputation-and yours. With Alyssa spreading lies about us, the best thing was for me to leave."

"I wouldn't be surprised if Susan put her up to it."

"Susan would never do that! She cares about me...she's always cared about me."

"Yes, I know she has. How long did it take her to convince you that I was no good for your career?"

"What?"

"Please. You may have been able to bury your head in the sand, but I never did. Susan came to me the day after we...after that afternoon to tell me to leave you alone. She said that you had a bright future ahead of you and that I would only get in the way. She wasn't expressing any new opinions, just the same ones she'd had of me since the first day we met. So tell me, how long did it take her to convince you to write that letter?"

She was back to being puzzled. "What letter?"

He scoffed. "You know what letter. 'You were nothing but a fling, a rebellion, everything I'd never allowed myself to experience. Please do not write to me again or attempt to contact me in any other way.' Remember that?"

The last thing he expected was for Anne to turn pale. Her face continued to lose color. She looked like she was about to pass out. He rushed over to see if she was all right, but just as he got close, she shot up from the piano bench and ran away.

Frederick was left to stare at her retreating figure. His head felt as though he'd already had the drink he'd come for.

She sent the damn thing...so why did it look like she'd been shocked to hear her own words?

"'You were nothing but a fling, a rebellion, everything I'd never allowed myself to experience. Please do not write to me again or attempt to contact me in any other way.' Remember that?"

Anne had blindly made her way back to her room, getting no farther than closing the door before dissolving into tears.

Oh, God...what happened to my letter? What happened to the letter I sent pleading with him to call me? How did the other letter get sent? I know I threw it away...didn't I?

Lost in her misery, Anne completely forgot that she'd meant to ask Frederick why he'd never written to her.

Author's note: "A Kiss to Build a Dream On" music & lyrics by Bert Kalmar, Harry Ruby, and Oscar Hammerstein II.

Part 8

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, George Knightley welcomes you to the Fire on Ice Tour!"

To loud applause, the women burst out from one side of the ice, the men from the other, skating toward each other as the music started playing. George had decided to go with a medley of dance songs for the introduction, as the men and women skated toward each other, then away from each other, before finally the pairs joined together and the singles skaters found their partners.

To smooth out any possible problems, George had prudently paired Georgiana with Frederick and Anne with Rich.

The skating continued, colored lights flashing, and then the spotlight appeared and introduced everyone to specific music, also chosen by George according to what he felt best described the skater being introduced. Each skater performed a special jump or spin after their introduction, and they were introduced in the order in which they would perform.

All things considered, the opening number went well for something that had been thrown together with only one day of practice. Georgiana and Charlotte had garnered the most applause. Carl had gotten the best reaction for his back flip. Lizzy and Fitz took the crowd's breath away with their lift. Rich had the only goof when he'd stepped out of his triple loop, but it was overlooked when, having just enough time to get something else in, he'd done a quad lutz.

After the crowd had settled in, Charlotte stepped to the ice to begin the show as those who would skate later retreated to the games set up to keep them occupied until it was their turn to skate..

Lizzy was almost too busy watching Fitz attempt to top her pinball score to notice Anne Elliot sitting by herself, reading a book. She noticed that there were shadows underneath the young woman's eyes, indicating a sleepless night. And was it her imagination, or did it seem like Anne had been staring at the same page for the past ten minutes?

Lizzy didn't know Anne all that well. Everyone knew who her parents were, of course. Lizzy felt a kinship with her based on that alone. She knew all too well what it was like, having parents who were so immersed in the skating world that the idea of their children not being skaters was foreign to them. Although to give her own father credit, Thomas Bennet had always encouraged his daughters to do what they wanted to do. It was just that he wrapped himself up in his music and didn't leave it often enough to counteract his wife.

At the thought of her mother, Lizzy frowned slightly. She hadn't spoken to her mother in five months. Not since she and Fitz had gone to her parents' house for Christmas, which had turned out to be a mistake. Frances Bennet had never quite gotten over Lizzy's marriage to a relative of her bitter rival, Catherine de Bourgh. Come to think of it, she'd never gotten over the fact that Lizzy skated with him. But now that resentment was heavily entwined with a deep hatred of Fitz's sister, whom Frances blamed for her younger daughter's death.

That's Mom for you. She'll never admit it to anyone, not even herself, that Lydia died because of her. If she hadn't turned Lydia away for deciding to walk away from skating, she might still be alive.

Lizzy mentally shook herself. There was no point in continuing to debate the "what ifs" and "if onlys" surrounding her sister's life and death. So many things had gone wrong that to single one out as the main cause of her decision to leave London was pointless. Frances, however, saw only one cause, and it was Georgiana's interview in the Tribune. So seeing Georgiana's brother at her dinner table for Christmas had been a bitter pill for her to swallow, and it had made the holiday dinner difficult to bear as a result.

Perhaps it might've been easier if Frances hadn't asked very pointed questions about Georgiana, such as where she'd gone and what she was doing. Frances had asked whose life Georgiana was ruining now and accusing her of all sorts of things. Finally, Fitz had had enough and stormed out. Lizzy had been behind him two steps later, informing her mother that if she couldn't be more civil to her husband, they wouldn't be back.

Frances, of course, screamed that Lizzy was no daughter of hers and never had been, to take the side of a deceptive, manipulative viper against that of her own family, and that had been the last time Lizzy had spoken to her.

Thomas called every Saturday night, for which Lizzy was grateful. He sent along no messages from her mother, which hurt Lizzy more than she had thought it would. For all their differences of opinion, Lizzy loved her mother and wished that things would've gone better between them. She wasn't surprised that they hadn't, though.

Lizzy again had to remind herself to get off the subject of her family, because at the moment she needed to focus on Anne. Charlotte had talked about bringing her out of her shell on this tour, and Lizzy was for it one hundred percent. Not only did she feel a kinship with Anne because of her parents, but also because of her sisters. Lizzy definitely knew what it was like to deal with difficult sisters, and if the things Lizzy had heard about Alyssa Elliot were true, then Anne was deserving of a lot more courage than anyone gave her credit for.

Lizzy walked over to her, noticing the title of the book Anne was reading. Lucy Talk by Fiona Walker.

"Is that one any good?" Lizzy asked, then wished she'd found some other way of starting a conversation when Anne jumped visibly.

Good grief, she really is on edge today.

"Excuse me?" Anne asked softly.

"Your book. Is it any good? I tried reading Snap Happy by her and couldn't get into it at all, but a friend of mine says she's a good writer."

"Yes, it's a good book," Anne replied. "It's a bit like Bridget Jones's Diary."

"Hmm...maybe I could read it when you're done?"

"Sure." Anne absently tucked a wisp of white-blonde hair behind her ear.

"Mind if I sit? Or would you rather keep reading?"

Anne looked at her page several times, as though surprised at what she was reading. "I don't think I've been reading at all," she admitted. "This is the same page I tried to read last night."

"Yeah, that's happened to me on a couple of occasions, especially when I'm nervous. I tried reading She's Come Undone while I was at the Olympics four years ago. Not a good time to read a book like that. When you're at the Olympics, you should only read light-hearted comedies and things like that."

Anne smiled. "I read Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series at the Olympics."

"You're kidding! You like those, too?"

Anne nodded. "My favorites. I love mysteries, especially funny mysteries."

"You should try Joan Hess's Maggody series. Those are some seriously funny books."

"I'll have to remember that."

There was a loud roar of applause and a minute later, Charlotte appeared, sweaty but glowing. "They loved me out there," she said. "The rest of you don't stand a chance. I'm their all-time favorite. The rest of you are going to get rotten tomatoes thrown at you."

Lizzy noticed that Anne's face seemed to get even paler. "Ignore her," Lizzy said. "She says that every time she starts off a tour. It's only to goad us into skating our best."

"Right."

"Are you nervous?"

Anne nodded slightly. "I thought I could do this, but now I'm thinking that I should just go home."

"We all felt that way the first time we were on the tour. Skating's a little different when you're getting paid, isn't it?"

"I want to do well."

"You will. You've got the gold medal to prove you can do it."

"I sometimes think I won that because no one else could stay upright on their skates."

"Now that isn't even close to the truth. Helena Hampton skated an excellent program, and the judges still thought you were better." Lizzy smiled. "I know how you're feeling, though."

"You do?"

Lizzy nodded. "Yeah. It's a little strange to be considered the lesser sister all your life and then to suddenly be thrust into the spotlight. You're still dealing with those thoughts of inferiority and wondering what the hell you're doing here. You were supposed to be the mediocre talent, not the gold medalist."

"Yes," Anne agreed quickly. "It was always supposed to be Alyssa or Maralys."

"It was always supposed to be Lydia," Lizzy said wistfully. "But it turned out to be me, with almost no support from my mother. Whatever happened to your sisters, anyway?"

"Alyssa still skates, I think." Anne's voice was so soft that Lizzy had trouble hearing her over the noise. "Maralys got married in lives in Nebraska."

"Nebraska? How did she end up there?"

"That's where her husband is from." Anne's eyes darted to look at something before returning to Lizzy's face. "I...I was sorry to hear about your sister. I always thought Lydia was very talented."

"Thank you," Lizzy replied, glancing over her shoulder when Anne's gaze slid away again. The only person she saw was Frederick Wentworth, but why the sight of him would make Anne so jittery was unclear. "Anne, is something wrong?"

"No, not at all." This was said very quickly and was obviously a lie. "I just didn't sleep well last night."

"Oh." Lizzy decided not to push the subject. "So, how did your family react to your gold medal?"

Anne's eyes had started to flicker away again, but she looked back at Lizzy after she'd finished the question. She didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry," Lizzy said. "I don't mean to pry. Well, I do, but if you don't want to talk about it, I'll understand. It's just...I know where you're coming from, Anne. I know what it's like to carry parental pressure on your shoulders while still not being considered the best in the family. I know what it's like to have a sister who's more than willing to humiliate you just to further her own career."

"But your sister's dead," Anne objected.

"She wasn't four years ago when she plotted with George Wickham to break Georgiana's knee. I'm just saying that if you need someone to talk to, about anything, just let me know."

Anne nodded. "Thank you, but most of my problems...well, they're not exactly family-related."

Lizzy turned again, just fast enough to catch Frederick staring at Anne. Suddenly, she had a flash of intuition. She'd remembered the rumors that had floated around about Alyssa Elliot spreading lies about her sister in an attempt to damage Anne's reputation, but she'd forgotten what those rumors had been about.

Now she remembered.

"It's Frederick Wentworth, isn't it?"

Anne turned a very bright red. "I..."

"You don't have to say anything more. I can see that it is. This isn't the first time you've seen each other since your sister started telling those stories about the two of you, is it?"

"No, of course not. But..." Anne swallowed heavily. "It's the first time we've been near each other. We've barely acknowledged the other's existence since that...that summer."

Lizzy sensed Anne's discomfort with the topic and decided to switch back to a safer subject. If she continued on this way, Anne was be nothing than a bundle of nerves before she was to take the ice and who knew what might happen.

"Have you read anything by Jennifer Crusie?" Lizzy asked. "I think she's my favorite author. I bought all of her books just before I went to Worlds' last year."

Lizzy was rewarded by Anne's visible relaxation, and the two talked books until Charlotte joined the conversation.

Frederick should've been concentrating on the dart board in front of him, but all he could concentrate on were the giggles coming from the trio of women behind him. When his dart went well wide of the bulls-eye, he shrugged sheepishly and watched as Arthur Hurst and Marc Gercourt took their turns.

He hadn't been able to sleep at all, trying to figure out Anne's odd reaction to his paraphrasing her only letter to him. Well, he doubted he'd have been able to sleep regardless, but that gave him the excuse he needed to stay awake. He kept thinking about that damn song, which kept playing over and over in his mind.

He'd been right, of course, about Susan's reaction to their relationship. The minute he'd turned the ringer back on his telephone that afternoon in his flat, it had started shrieking. And on the other end of the line had been Susan, demanding to know if Anne was there. Even before he'd gotten out the answer, she'd started haranguing him about preventing Anne from practicing.

That was the only thing that witch cared about, furthering Anne's career. If Alyssa was the one spreading those tales, she got the leech part right when she described Susan.

Actually, Frederick had never told anyone that he'd known for a fact that it was Alyssa Elliot who'd started the stories about Anne. At the time, he hadn't wanted to further damage Anne's fragile psyche, which had taken a beating as it was from her sister's machinations. Later on, it hadn't really mattered anymore. He hadn't been important enough of a skater then for the story to make headlines. Neither had Anne. He supposed that some enterprising young muckraker might one day unearth the story, but given the fact that both he and Anne had denied a relationship then and now, he doubted it.

But back to Susan. Frederick was tempted to spit whenever he thought about her.

Susan had shouted at him that he was going to ruin Anne's career, that he was a distraction, a rebellion, a fling and nothing more. She had told him without hesitation that he was nowhere near Anne in talent and that he would never amount to anything as a skater. She had begged him to leave Anne alone so that she could "soar." She hadn't gone so far as to threaten him, but by the time she might've been desperate enough to think about it, Alyssa Elliot had made her unexpected arrival in England. The one thing that Frederick had understood clearly was that Susan Russell was determined to see Anne become a success. She was determined enough to let nothing stand in the way of that dream, and in the end, she had succeeded in driving them apart. He had only to read Anne's letter, an echo of Susan's words, to realize that. He would be willing to bet that Susan had stood over Anne while she wrote it, giving her little suggestions about how to make it that much crueler than it needed to be. And all the while, Anne was probably giggling at how silly he'd been.

The worst part of it was that he never did figure out why Susan had done it. She had gained nothing. She was an anomaly in figure skating-a nobody coach with only one champion skater. Sure, it did happen sometimes, but usually, skating coaches had some sort of track record. Usually, skating coaches had been successful skaters themselves. Susan Russell was a choreographer, and not the most popular one of those, either. Anne's success had not gained Susan any recognition or more skaters.

She was not a relative of Anne's, although Anne had mentioned once that she had been her mother's dearest friend. Perhaps that might explain her hopes for Anne, but it wouldn't explain her actions.

Frederick couldn't think of anything he'd done to earn her dislike, outside of being late picking them up at the airport when they first arrived. And if that was the reason for Susan's dislike, well, then she needed to get a life.

Why do you keep dwelling on this? What's done is done. You can't go back and insist that Anne stay with you in England. You can't kill her sister like you considered doing for a while. You can't make her see that Susan was praying we would break up.

"Frederick?" Arthur was saying.

Frederick looked up to see that his fellow countryman was giving him a strange look.

"Sorry. I was woolgathering there. Is it my turn?"

"Yes...I say, is something the matter?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Because you have not taken your eyes off of the lovely Miss Elliot in five minutes. She is quite an angel, is she not?"

Frederick's jaw clenched. "I suppose if you're into that type," he replied.

"Well, now, you know as well as I do that I am not, but I can still appreciate beauty when I see it. All kinds of beauty." Arthur winked, which brought a frown to Marc's face.

Frederick would've grinned, but he wasn't about to get pulled into the ongoing lover's quarrel that existed between Marc and Arthur. The two had been seeing each other secretly until two years ago, when a former lover had outed Marc just days before Marc had planned to out himself. Arthur might've accepted this even though he wasn't willing to do the same, except that the lover was a recent lover Arthur hadn't known about. Since then, their relationship could be called rocky at best and had taken yet another turn when Arthur decided that he was actually bisexual. It was a sham, and Frederick knew it. He'd known Arthur Hurst for almost fifteen years and Arthur had been clear from the beginning about his sexual orientation. Frederick suspected his friend's newfound bisexuality was just a ruse to make Marc jealous, but he wasn't going to say so and offend Arthur. Frederick decided it was better to avoid the line of fire and remind Marc later that he was straight.

"I'm sure," he told Arthur as he reached for his darts.

This time he had little trouble hitting the center of the target.

"Not bad," he heard a voice behind him say. Frederick turned to find Richard Fitzwilliam grinning at him. "Mind if I join in after this game's done?"

"I don't, but don't go far. I think it's about over." Frederick was proven right a few minutes later when Marc won with a triumphant yell. Arthur glared at him and walked away, over to where Anne was.

Frederick and Marc both glared after him, although when he caught Rich looking at him strangely, he turned his attention back to the dart board.

"Are you in, Marc?" Frederick asked.

"Of course I am." Marc drew himself to his full height of five-feet-five and puffed out his chest. "I am determined that this year, I shall beat the Russians."

Rich snorted. "We all make that our goal, and every year they make mincemeat out of us."

"Ah, but I have been practicing harder than I practice my skating."

"There's a comment to be made here, but I'm not going to say it," Frederick heard Rich mutter.

"You mean that it's obvious he hasn't been practicing his skating because he can't even do a double axel?" Frederick muttered back.

"That would be it."

Marc had been too busy setting up the game and sneaking glances over at Arthur, who was flirting blatantly with Anne, to hear them. He had finished choosing what game to play but got so mad at Arthur that he stormed off.

"What's the deal with him?" Rich asked, motioning in the direction that Marc had taken.

"You didn't know that he and Arthur had an on-again-off-again thing going?"

"I knew they had at one point, but I thought that when Marc decided to reveal he was gay that Arthur didn't want any part of him." Rich picked up three darts and began the game. His first two darts landed outside the circle, but his third got him fifteen points.

"It wasn't the revelation that got to Arthur. It was the man who did it before Marc could."

"Ah, I see." Rich nodded sagely.

"So now they go through stages. Sometimes, they'll be together and things will be wonderful, then they'll have a spat and Arthur will bring up the fellow's name and they'll break up again." Frederick took his turn and earned thirty-two points.

"So in reality, they're mad about each other but Arthur won't let him forget he screwed up once."

"Basically." Frederick gave Rich a hard look. "You don't have a problem with it, do you?"

"With what-with Marc and Arthur being gay? No. Why would I have a problem with that?"

Frederick shrugged. "I know some male skaters secretly do, that's all. I meant no offense."

Rich was concentrating on the dart board. He aimed his darts and threw, hitting the bulls-eye once and coming close with a second. "No offense taken," he replied. "I try to be as unlike my father as possible."

"Your father disapproves of what you do?" Frederick asked as he aligned himself with the dart board.

"Let's put it this way. He's been to exactly two of my competitions. One was when I first started out, where he razzed one of the other boys for wearing lace at his wrists. The other one was my first Olympics, when he got on my case for trying a more artistic program. When I was a jumping bean, he didn't like it but he could put up with it. His son was participating in a sissy sport but he was being manly about it. When I realized my lack of artistry was getting me killed in the standings and made a change, I was no longer a son he could be proud of. After he made me so nervous that I fell during the technical program, I told my mother not to bring him to my competitions anymore."

Frederick threw his darts, hitting the bulls-eye twice.

"Not bad," Rich said with a smile.

"Thank you very much." Frederick stepped aside to watch Rich throw. "I sometimes wonder what my father would have made of my participation in figure skating. He wanted me to be a hockey player."

"Were you any good at it?"

Frederick smiled at the memory. "God, no. I was terrible. But I loved to play."

"How did you get into this, then?"

"My sister Sophie was a coach. She coached little kids, and when I got too good for her, she arranged for Jamie Benwick to see me. He liked what he saw...and that was that. I've been with Jamie since then. You?"

"Kind of the same way. I was with a small-town coach, won a competition and attracted the notice of Frances Bennet. She offered to be my coach. My father...was more than happy for me to move to Chicago. Out of his sight, he could forget what I was doing. So I went to her, and she coached me until last year."

"Do you have anyone now?"

Rich shook his head. "I've been kind of flying solo. I skate at the same rink with Lizzy and Fitz, so every once in a while I get a little help from Edward Gardiner, their coach, but that's about it. Now that I've gone pro I don't think I really need one."

"I didn't know Edward still coached them."

"He's planning to return to broadcasting when the new season starts. Until then, he's still with them. I think it's mostly to give Georgiana a little extra support until she's confident in her skating again, but in such a way that won't hurt her pride."

"Decent of him to do." Frederick let his darts fly, his lead over Rich growing rapidly.

"How's your girlfriend doing?" Rich asked, pulling the darts out of the board.

"Fine. She said she misses me when I talked to her this morning. I again extended her an invitation to visit us, which she refused. I think she's determined to prove she's not the possessive, jealous type."

Rich had taken aim, but lowered the darts. "That's not why Amy's here."

Frederick looked at him for a moment, confused, before he felt like smacking himself in the head. "I didn't mean your girlfriend was possessive," he said. "I didn't mean for you to take it like that."

Rich shook his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. This whole thing with Amy is new and we're still getting to know each other. That's why she's here instead of in Seattle with her internship."

"Was it an important internship?"

"She thought it was at first."

"I am impressed. She must care about you a great deal, and I must say that it couldn't have happened to a better man. She seems like a lovely girl."

"She is." Rich threw his darts, which of course didn't go where he wanted them to.

Anne changed into her skating costume the moment she saw Carl Denny reappear in the game room. Although it would be a while before she skated, she wanted to be ready. She needed to relax, and she didn't want to go through the hassle of changing clothes after she'd relaxed.

Anne wore a simple costume of silvery gray. There were no sequins on it, but she felt the shimmer of the material more than made up for it. She'd never liked sequins, anyway. She pulled her blonde hair into a severe knot at the top of her head, allowing small tendrils to frame her face. She didn't wear much in the way of makeup, but she didn't feel she needed it.

After she finished grooming herself, she found a small corner in which to secret herself. She sat down and rested her chin on her knees. She put the headphones she'd brought along over her ears and turned on the Discman. The sounds of the beach assailed her eyes, and Anne closed her eyes.

Susan had always said she had a great imagination, which was why relaxation worked so well for her. She could picture herself at the beach. It was early in the morning and the birds were just starting to fly overhead. She liked to walk barefoot on the beach, letting wet sand grit between her toes. Sometimes she would deliberately plant her feet in that wet sand and let it squish over her feet. The waves would then run over her toes and wash away the mud.

Anne sometimes thought she could feel the sun on her face, warm and bright and cheerful. Although Anne tended to be melancholy at times, her favorite days were sunny. Usually, a sunny day could cheer her up.

The water gently lapped the shore. In real life, Anne always felt the temptation to run into the water and swim about, but she usually didn't do that, and she didn't allow herself to do it in her imagination.

"Anne?"

Someone was calling her name, but Anne wouldn't open her eyes.

"Anne?"

Instead, the voice became part of her picture. And although she had no idea whose voice it was, the voice took on a human body...Frederick.

In her mind, he wrapped an arm about her waist as they kept walking. She leaned her head on his shoulder as she wrapped her arm around him. Things were so peaceful here, so quiet. She wanted to forget that the rest of the world existed...

"ANNE!"

Anne had to open her eyes this time, because now she did recognize that voice, and it was Frederick.

She turned the machine off and stood up, stretching as she did so. "Yes?" she called.

Frederick had been standing not five feet away from her but hadn't seen her. "They've been calling you for five minutes now," he said. "You're on next."

"Thank you," she replied, slipping off her headphones as he started walking away. "Frederick?"

"What?"

Anne heard music for the pair who skated before her coming to an end. This was really the last place she should be doing this, but she told herself she might never be calm enough again to ask...or be relaxed enough to hear the answer.

"Why didn't you ever answer any of my letters?" she asked. "Or call me or anything?"

Frederick stared at her as though in shock. Before he could answer her, she heard someone shouting, "Anne Elliot! Get out there!"

Anne brushed past him, not aware of something dawning in his eyes. She slipped off her skate guards and glided onto the ice, waiting calmly as she was introduced.

Oddly enough, she found skating in front of such a large crowd to be fairly easy once she got started.

Part 9

After Anne had asked her question and walked away from him, Frederick had been unable to do anything more than stand there, stunned.

"Why didn't you ever answer any of my letters? Or call me or anything?"

In the year before her letter had come, Frederick had sent her at least one letter a week. They'd agreed not to call each other except in case of serious emergency, but by the time he'd decided enough time had passed for the situation to qualify as an emergency, no one would answer at her number. He'd called ten times a day without luck.

Frederick had been so desperate that he'd called her father's house only to have Alyssa pick up the phone. She'd recognized his voice immediately, of course, and had purred the news that Anne had disappeared with Susan for a few months and hadn't left a forwarding address.

That should've been the death knell right there, Frederick thought grimly, but he remembered that he'd still had hope. If she'd been gone all the time, then she couldn't have gotten any of his letters. So he'd waited, and waited, and finally the one letter had come.

"Why didn't you ever answer any of my letters?"

Was it possible that she hadn't received any letters from him? And that, because she hadn't, she hadn't written any in return? Was it possible that the letter he'd received had been her angry response to what she had perceived as a betrayal?

That's impossible. Surely she would've gotten at least one of them. If she was like me, she would've been eager for the post to come every day, praying that this time, the one thing she wanted in the world would arrive.

Frederick dimly heard the roar of applause that followed Anne's performance, but it made him realize that she was about to cross his path again, and it was time they had a talk about what had happened. He had to know the truth.

What makes you think she knows the truth any more than you do?

But he refused to let himself think it, refused to think that anyone would be so...so...manipulative that she didn't stop at mere persuasion. Not even Susan Russell.

Anne was slipping on her skate guards now, and Frederick stepped forward to stop her. She was sweaty and her face was flushed, but the exercise had brightened her violet eyes.

"Anne..."

"Don't talk to me, Frederick. I don't know why I asked. I don't need to know the answer, but I do want you to know one thing. That letter you received?"

"The only letter I received."

"What?" Anne's eyes widened in shock, and right then, Frederick knew what the truth was. Anne didn't have to confirm that she'd written him, probably as much as he'd written her, because he knew what had happened.

"In the year before you sent me that letter, I didn't hear from you once."

"That's impossible. I wrote you sheets and sheets, every week. Almost every day."

"If you did, I didn't get them." Frederick sighed and wondered how on earth he was going to explain the truth to Anne and make her believe him.

"But..." Anne's voice faded. "How....did....why...."

Frederick noticed that some of the technicians were standing around, staring at them. He glared at them and they scattered, but he knew this conversation was going to have to take place somewhere private.

"I have to skate soon," he said quietly. "Meet me in the hotel bar when the show ends. I think I know what happened...and Anne, I think you know, also."

Anne nodded slightly and walked away, dazed. Frederick's heart hurt for her, because she was having to deal with a betrayal that was far greater than anything she'd ever experienced.

Perhaps.

He can't be right. Susan would never have done anything like what he's suggesting. Susan loves me. She's like my mother. She knew how important Frederick was to me. For God's sake, she encouraged me to continue writing to him!

Anne had planned on returning to the game room to talk more with Lizzy and Charlotte, but she knew that carrying on anything resembling normal conversation would be impossible. She returned to her small space and closed her eyes as if relaxing. Her mind, however, was quite the opposite.

He may be lying. Maybe he's only pretending to have written me in order to...to....

Try as she might, Anne couldn't think of any reason why Frederick would lie to her. The truth was staring her in the face.

She hadn't gotten any letters from him. He'd received only one letter from her, the last and worst one she'd written.

If the truth about their missed communications was there in front of her, so then was the explanation for it.

Susan.

A choked cry emitted from her throat at the thought. Susan's scam was all too simple to figure out. Susan had pretended to be her friend, had comforted her when Anne had sobbed long into the night about Frederick's defection, had even suggested that Anne fly back to England to see him towards the end.

What would she have done if I had gone to England to see him?

A rhetorical question, of course. Susan had taken a calculated risk with that suggestion. It was all right for her to say it because she'd known Anne would never do it. Anne had been too proud, too afraid of having her love thrown in her face, to risk returning to England to be rejected. Susan had known that, used that against her. To keep her from Frederick.

WHY???

Why had Susan done it? Why had she broken Anne's heart, betrayed her trust, shattered her faith in love? Why?

That was the burning question, and one she needed to have answered before she talked to Frederick again. She stood up and dashed into the game room.

"Anne! There you are!" Lizzy waved her over. "We were just talking about going to the Empire State Building. Have you ever been up there? It's got a great view, especially at dusk."

"I...I may not be able to do that," Anne said weakly. "Does anyone have a cell phone I can borrow?"

"Sure," Lizzy replied. "Fitz!" No answer, and she frowned. "Fitz Darcy!"

"Uh-oh. Wife on the warpath!" Carl shouted. "Run, Fitz! Run! Run!"

"He isn't Forrest Gump," Lizzy muttered, but she spied her husband playing darts and groaned. "Fitzwilliam George Darcy, you'd better not be betting any money on that."

"I'm not," he called.

"Yet," Rich added with a gleeful grin.

"Anne needs to borrow your cell phone. Is that okay?"

"My telephone, your telephone, hon. Go ahead. It's in my skate bag."

"I'm not even going to ask what it's doing there." Lizzy rummaged through his bag until she found what she was looking for. She handed it over to Anne. "There you go. All yours."

"I'll pay you whatever my charges are," Anne said.

"Aah, don't worry about it. Fitz and I make enough money that we can afford one phone call, unless you're planning on calling China and talking for a few days."

"This shouldn't take very long," Anne murmured, walking away from the noise. The only place to escape everything was in the women's locker room, which was fortunate because it allowed her escape Frederick as well. With trembling fingers, Anne dialed the number she knew as well as her own.

After four rings, the phone was picked up. "Hello?"

"Susan, it's Anne."

"Anne, darling! How are you? Have you skated today already? I was hoping to get to talk to you later tonight, because I wanted to tell you that I talked to Maralys and she wants----"

"Shut up, Susan."

There was a long silence. "Excuse me?"

"I know what you did."

Another long silence. "I don't know what you're talking about, Anne, but...."

"It's not going to work. I know the truth about you. It took me eight years, but I finally figured it all out. It was you."

"Me? What did I do?"

"I always wondered how it was that Alyssa just happened to show up when she did, and how she found out about our arrangement with Jamie and Frederick. You told her, didn't you?"

"No! I would never do such a thing! Why would I have done that? The press humiliated me just as much as they did you."

"No, they didn't. You were just a choreographer trying to find a new coach for her late best friend's daughter. I was the one mooching off of other coaches, remember?"

"That's such bad history that I'm amazed you ever want to remember it, dear. I can understand that seeing Frederick and having to share ice with him is what brought this up, but you'll never be able to truly move on until you put this behind you."

"Stop it, Susan. I know the truth."

"What truth is that, Anne?"

"I know that you took Frederick's letters...and mine. And after I threw it away, you found that last letter I thought about sending to him and you sent it."

"Is that what he told you?"

"He didn't have to tell me anything. I'm a grown woman. I figured it out for myself. I'm not stupid, you know."

"I know you're not stupid, but I think you're letting your emotions get the best of you. You're not thinking clearly on this because if you were, you'd see that what you're thinking is untrue."

"Untrue?!" Anne shrieked. "How can it be untrue? How can you explain the fact that I wrote him so much and he never received any of my letters? Or that he wrote me so much and I never got anything from him?"

"He only claims that he wrote you. Probably to make me sound guilty and himself seem like a saint."

"That's all you're going to say? You're not even going to have the guts to admit what you did?"

"What do you want me to say, Anne? It's not true. I didn't steal his letters or block his telephone calls."

Anne froze. Telephone calls?

"What telephone calls?" she asked, her voice cold.

Susan hesitated again. "See? That's what I mean. He never called you. Surely, if what he claims is true and he wrote you and never received an answer in return, he would've called."

"What's your point?"

"Why didn't he call? Did he tell you that when he was filling your head with his other lies?" Susan sighed. "Anne, I know he's easy to believe. You believed him before when he told you he loved you, remember? But he's lying about this. He never wrote you. He never called."

Anne's eyes started to fill with tears. She felt as though she were missing something, but what it was stayed just out of her reach. It was something she should remember, she knew that much.

"Why would he lie about it? What motive would he have after all this time?" Anne whispered.

"I wish I knew, dearest. Maybe he's still got feelings for you, although it would show he had incredibly poor manners to say so, considering the fact that he's got a girlfriend. Did you ask him why he never wrote you?"

"Y-yes."

"There lies your answer. He wanted someone to blame other than himself. I am, and always was, his handy scapegoat. I didn't lie to you, Anne. I didn't do anything to bring about the end of your relationship, either by intercepting phone calls or stealing letters or whatever it is he's telling you. If he couldn't reach you by phone or letter, he could've hopped on a plane and come to you. You were in Kellynch the whole time."

Anne sat down heavily, still trying to think of what she was forgetting. Susan was starting to make sense. Why would Susan have lied to her? Why would Frederick lie to her now?

Which one of them was telling the truth?

Anne put a hand to her head, groaning. "I don't know what to believe," she said.

"Believe me, Anne. I've never lied to you before, have I? I've always taken care of you. You're like the daughter I never had, you know that. I've never wanted anything more than your happiness. Remember when you were six and your mother wouldn't let you buy those red patent shoes? Who bought them for your birthday? When Alyssa cut the laces of your skates, who borrowed a spare pair from Jordan Cooper so you could still compete? And you've been the same for me. Who helped me out when I needed a loan to fix the roof of my house? That was your mother's money you gave me when no one else would. Who insisted on changing our phone number when I was getting those obscene phone calls? You even had the presence of mind to tell me not to have our number listed because that was how the pervert was getting it. Who..."

Susan continued talking, but that elusive something clicked in Anne's mind. Susan said she was getting those obscene phone calls about a month after they'd returned from England. Susan had been greatly distressed by them, but not once had Anne ever picked up the phone and heard some weird, crazy guy talking dirty.

Not once.

Surely, in the month between the first time Susan complained about the man and the time Anne had encouraged her to change their number, surely she would've picked up the phone and heard him.

The phone number had been changed and had, also at Anne's insistence, been unlisted. So if Frederick had wanted to call, he wouldn't have been able to get through because the number was no longer connected.

"Did they ever figure out who that pervert was?" Anne asked softly.

"What?"

"The guy who was making those obscene phone calls that freaked you out so much. Did they ever figure out who was behind them?"

"They who?"

And that's when Anne knew the truth. The tears spilled over, and Anne took a deep breath before she said, "The police. You said you'd called the police and they were looking into it."

"Oh, of course that's who you meant? No, I don't think they did."

"Right." Anne sniffled. "I imagine it's pretty difficult to find someone who doesn't exist. Don't you agree?"

Susan didn't say anything.

"You almost had me believing you. You...you...why? Why did you lie to me then? Why are you lying to me now?"

"Anne, you have to understand...."

"I understand everything, Susan, except why. Why did you steal Frederick's letters and mine? Why did you make up a story about an obscene phone caller so our number could be changed? Why did you do this to me?" Anne's voice rose with each question.

"I did it for you. It was all for your benefit."

"My benefit?! What possible benefit could there have been from having my heart destroyed? How dare you presume to do that to me?"

"Anne, please let me explain."

"Why? So you can continue to lie to me? Why would I want to hear anything you had to say?"

"Because I saw what falling in love did to your mother! I didn't want that happening to you! Don't you see? Frederick was just like your father. He was charming and seductive and handsome, just like your father was. And you fell for his lines just as your mother fell for your father's. And look what happened to her!"

Anne couldn't say anything even if Susan had allowed her the chance to speak.

"She went from being the best in the world to being a housewife, because your father couldn't handle the fact that his wife was a better, more talented skater than he'd ever be. He belittled her because she'd been a pairs skater, saying that she hadn't had the talent to do it on her own. He made her life miserable! Why do you think she spent so much time with you girls? It was to get away from him!"

"That still gave you no right."

"No right? I took you in after your mother died! I protected you from your sister!"

"You helped her spread lies about me so I'd leave London and Frederick," Anne said coldly.

"No! I never did that! Alyssa did that all on her own."

Chills started racking Anne's body. "But you're the one who encouraged her to come, weren't you?"

"I...I admit that I thought....I wanted to prove to you what sort of man Frederick Wentworth really was."

"Only he didn't fall for her ruse! So you had to come up with another plan to get me away form him." Anne was starting to sob. "You...you were wrong about him. You...couldn't have been more wrong. He loved me...and you took that away from me! For nothing!"

"It wasn't for nothing...Anne, if you had married him, you wouldn't have come close to winning a gold medal. You would've become just another housewife, living her life through her children. Can't you see that?"

"Frederick encouraged my skating! He gave me ideas for how to make it better. He wanted me to win just as much as he wanted to win himself. You can't say that."

"But Anne----"

"No! You've lied to me, and I don't care what your reason is anymore. You've betrayed me in such a way that I can't forgive. I just wanted to let you know that as of now, your services as my coach and choreographer are no longer required." Anne looked at the phone, ignored Susan's squawking, and pushed the end button.

She sat in the locker room weeping until a tentative Lizzy came to tell her that the show was ending.

Frederick didn't sit next to Anne on the bus back to the hotel, but he did notice that her eyes were red, a clear sign that she'd been crying. His heart ached for her for the first time in seven years. Now he knew that she'd been a pawn, just as he had, a pawn to one woman's...what? Ambition? Drive? Determination? Manipulation?

Evil, that was a good word for Susan. He didn't care what explanation she would eventually give Anne, he knew that sheer malice and jealousy had been her motivation.

When the bus stopped in front of the hotel, he was the first one out, making a beeline for the hotel bar, hoping Anne hadn't changed her mind. He found a free table and sat down, waving a waiter over and ordering a gin and tonic for Anne and a whiskey sour for himself. Two minutes later, Anne appeared, searched the room and found him. She walked briskly around people, taking a seat before him. She picked up the drink that had just arrived it and downed it in one gulp.

"Another one of these, if you please," she told the waiter who'd started to walk away.

"Right away, ma'am," he replied.

Frederick looked at her for a long minute before he finally found his voice. "I know you're probably...that you think I'm lying to you."

"No. I don't. I know the truth. It was all Susan."

Frederick sighed in relief, but then thought that might not be the right reaction to be having. "I know you care about her and that it must be hard for you to believe."

"Not anymore. I called her, and she still denied it. She tried to tell me that if you'd really been intent on seeing me, you'd have called or flown out to see me. And I thought she was right, until I remembered that she'd changed the phone number."

Frederick inhaled sharply. "So that was why I could never reach you."

Anne nodded. "She said we had an obscene phone caller. And you know what? I'm the one who suggested we change the number. I played right into her hands, didn't I?"

"You couldn't have known."

"But I could've called you and I didn't. But I thought...I thought you didn't love me anymore, and I was so scared to call. I just kept writing and writing and waiting for you to answer...and I told Susan everything. She comforted me and told me not to give up hope."

"After doing everything she could to discourage you from seeing me? I find that hard to believe."

Anne snorted. "She was devious. Why is that so hard to believe? We were flying home and Susan told me that...she apologized for the way she'd treated you. I remember saying something about how she should be telling you she was sorry, not me. She said, 'Maybe I will.' Then she said that if you were what I wanted, she would do everything in her power to keep us together in spite of Alyssa trying to drive us apart. When I wrote...the letter you got, I read it to her. She insisted it was too harsh and that I should give you one last chance. She....she mailed the letter anyway. And you got it...and you've hated me ever since."

"Anne..."

"And you've had good reason. I mean, I did write it. I was angry enough to say those things to you."

"But you didn't intend to send the letter. I doubt you really meant half of what you said." Frederick took her hand. "I know burned pride when I see it, believe me." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Anne, I'm so sorry that you had to find out about Susan this way."

"There wasn't an easier way for me to find out. Ah, here's my drink." Anne picked it up and took a sip this time.

"Did...did she tell you anything about why she did it?"

"Does it matter? The fact remains that she did it. We lost eight years because she...she wanted...well, I don't really know what she wanted. She claims she was protecting me from a man like my father. She said she didn't want what had happened to my mother to happen to me."

"Let me guess. Susan is divorced."

Anne gave him a small smile. "Yes."

"I'm beginning to see it. It doesn't mean that I forgive or excuse her for it, but I'm starting to get an idea of how she works."

Anne took a bigger drink this time. "Then you're ahead of me at this point. I still don't understand her. She knew I was miserable without you and she didn't care." Anne's eyes started to fill with tears. "And now it's too late. Everything we had is destroyed."

"It's never too late," Frederick said quickly. "Now that we know the truth, we can move past it and..."

"There you are, darling! I've been looking all over for you!" A loud voice called over the noise of the room. Frederick quickly let go of Anne's hand and stood up.

"Hannah!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Hannah Musgrove hurried over to him and threw herself into his arms. "Darling, I got home from taking you to the airport and realized how much I missed you. I couldn't sleep a wink last night, so I decided to hop on a plane and come to you. And here I am. Surprise!"

Frederick put his arms around her. "Surprise, indeed," he said. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Anne slide out of her chair, leave some money on the table for her drinks, and walk away.

And there was nothing he could do to stop her from going.

Continued In Next Section