A hunger pang reminded her that she hadn't taken time for breakfast. Since Heath wasn't picking her up until noon, she made her way across the street to Victory's Banner, a cheery, pocket-size vegetarian cafe operated by the followers of one of the Indian spiritual masters. Instead of a musty, incense-scented interior, Victory's Banner had powder blue walls, sunny yellow banquettes, and chalk white tables that matched the tieback curtains at the windows. She took an empty table and began to order one of her favorites, homemade French toast with peach butter and real maple syrup, only to be distracted by a platter of golden-brown Belgian waffles passing by. She finally settled on apple pecan pancakes.

As she took her first sip of coffee, the door to the restroom at the back opened and a familiar figure emerged. Annabelle's heart sank. The woman would have been tall even without her high-heeled woven slides. She was broad shouldered and well dressed in crisp white slacks and a short-sleeved coral blouse that complemented her shoulder-length light brown hair. Her makeup was "well applied with subtle eye shadow that emphasized her familiar dark eyes.

The cafe was too small to hide in, and Rosemary Kimble spotted Annabelle right away. She clutched her straw purse more tightly. Her big, broad hands had long, toffee-painted nails and a trio of gold bracelets encircling one wrist. It had been nearly six months since Annabelle had last seen her. Rosemary's face was thinner, her hips rounder. She approached the table, and Annabelle experienced an all-too-familiar barrage of emotions: anger and betrayal, compassion and repulsion… a painful tenderness.

Rosemary shifted her purse from one hand to the other and spoke in her low, melodious voice. "I just finished breakfast, but… Would you mind some company?"

Yes, I'd mind, Annabelle wanted to say, but she'd only feel guilty afterward, so she tilted her head in the general direction of the opposite chair. Rosemary tucked her purse in her lap and ordered an iced chai, then began fiddling with a bracelet. "I hear through the grapevine that you landed a big client."

"Grapevine Molly."

Rosemary gave her a wry smile. "You don't call, you don't write. Molly's my only source of information. She's been a good friend."

Unlike Annabelle, who hadn't. She concentrated on her coffee. Rosemary finally broke the awkward silence. "So how's Hurricane Kate these days?"

"Her usual interfering self. She wants me to get an accounting degree."

"She worries about you."

Annabelle set her cup down too hard, and coffee sloshed over the brim. "I can't imagine why."

"Don't try to blame all your troubles with Kate on me. She's always driven you crazy."

"Yes, well, our situation sure didn't help."

"No, it didn't," Rosemary said.

Annabelle had waited nearly a week after her world had crashed to call her mother, hoping by then she could manage her announcement without crying.

"Rob and I've called off our engagement, Mom."

She still remembered Kate's screech. "What are you talking about?"

"We're not getting married."

"But the wedding's only two months away. And we love Rob. Everybody does. He's the only man you've dated who has a head on his shoulders.You complement each other perfectly."

"Turns out too perfectly. Get ready to laugh." Her voice had caught on a snag. "Turns out Rob is a woman trapped in a man's body."

"Annabelle, have you been drinking? "

Annabelle had explained it to her mother just as Rob had explained it to her-how he'd felt wrong in his body for as long as he could remember; the nervous breakdown he'd suffered the year before they'd met but never quite gotten around to mentioning; his belief that loving her would cure him; and his final realization that he couldn't keep on living if he had to do it as a man.

Kate had started to cry and Annabelle had cried right along with her.

She'd felt so stupid for not suspecting the truth, but Rob had been a decent lover, and they'd had an okay sex life. He was nice looking, funny, and sensitive, but she hadn't considered him effeminate. She never caught him trying on her clothes or using her makeup, and until that awful night when he'd started to cry and told her he couldn't go on any longer trying to be someone he wasn't, she'd assumed he was the love of her life.

Looking back, there'd been hints: his moodiness, frequent references to an unhappy childhood, odd questions about Annabelle's experiences growing up as a girl. She'd been flattered by the attention he'd paid to her opinions, and she'd told her friends how lucky she was to have a fiance who was so interested in her as a person. Never once had she suspected he was gathering information, weighing her experiences against his own so he could make his final decision. After he'd broken the devastating news, he'd told her he still loved her as much as ever. She'd cried and asked him exactly what he expected her to do about that?

Her broken dreams had been painful enough, but she'd also had to face the humiliation of telling her friends and relatives.

"You remember my ex-fiance Rob. Funniest thing…"

Try as she might, she couldn't get past what she'd come to think of as the "ick factor." She'd made love with a man who wanted to be a woman. She found no comfort in his explanation that gender identity and sexuality were two different issues. He'd known this monster hung over them when they'd fallen in love, but he hadn't said a word about it until the afternoon she'd had her bridal gown fitted. That evening, he'd taken his first dose of estrogen and begun his transition from Rob into Rosemary.

Nearly two years had passed since then, and Annabelle still hadn't overcome her sense of betrayal. At the same time, she couldn't pretend not to care. "How's the job?" Rosemary was the longtime marketing director at Molly's publishing company, Birdcage Press. She and Molly had worked closely together to grow the market for Molly's award-winning Daphne the Bunny children's books.

"People are finally getting used to me."

"I'm sure it wasn't easy." For a while Annabelle had wanted it to be hard, wanted her old lover to suffer, but she didn't feel that way now. Now she simply wanted to forget.

The woman who'd once been her fiance gazed at her across the table. "I just wish that…"

"Don't say it."

"You were my best friend, Annabelle. I want that back."

The old bitterness resurfaced. "I know you do, but you can't have it."

"Would it help if I told you I'm not sexually attracted to you anymore? Apparently the hormones have done a job on me. For the first time in my life, I've started to look at men. Very strange."

"Tell me about it."

Rosemary laughed, and Annabelle managed a smile in return, but as much as she wished Rosemary well, she couldn't be her confidante. Their relationship had robbed her of too much. Not only had she lost trust in her ability to judge people, but she'd also lost her sexual confidence. What kind of loser could be in an intimate relationship for so long without suspecting that something was seriously askew?

Her pancakes arrived. Rosemary rose and regarded her sadly. "I'll let you eat in peace. It's been good seeing you."

The most Annabelle could manage in return was a quiet "Good luck."

Do you get invited to many of Phoebe and Dan's parties?" Heath asked a few hours later as he steered his BMW into the long, wooded drive that led to the Calebow home. A hawk circled in the afternoon sun above the old orchard to their right, where the apples were just beginning to turn red. "A few," she replied. "But, then, Phoebe likes me."

"Go ahead and laugh, but it's not funny to me. I've lost some great clients because of this."

"I'd be lying if I didn't tell you it's nice having you at my mercy for a change."

"Don't enjoy it too much. I'm trusting you not to screw this up."

She was afraid she already had. She should have been up front with him about today's affair, but she always got pigheaded when workaholics started ordering her around, another legacy from her childhood.

The tires clattered on a narrow wooden bridge. They rounded a bend, and an old stone farmhouse came into sight. Build in the 1880s, the Calebow property was a rustic gem in an area of affluent suburban sprawl. Dan had bought the house in his bachelor days, and as their family had grown, he and Phoebe had added wings, raised the roof, and expanded the grounds. The end result was a charming ramble of a house perfect for a family with four growing children.

Heath parked in the drive next to Molly's SUV, which had Tigger sunshades suction-cupped to the glass. He shifted his weight and tucked his keys in the hip pocket of his khaki slacks. He wore them with a designer polo and another of his TAG Heuer watches, this one with a brown crocodile strap. Annabelle felt a little underdressed in gray knit drawstring shorts, aqua tank top, and J. Crew flip-flops.

She saw the exact moment when he spotted the multitude of pink balloons tied to the spindled railing that surrounded the old-fashioned front porch.

He turned to her slowly, a python uncoiling for the strike. "Exactly what kind of party is this?"

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and tried to look adorable. "Uh, funny you should ask…"

His grim green eyes belatedly reminded Annabelle that he had no sense of humor when it came to business. Not that she'd exactly forgotten it.

"No bullshit, Annabelle. Tell me right now what's going on."

He'd trample her if she tried to stage a retreat, so she attempted a chipper sort of savoir faire. "Relax and enjoy yourself. It'll be fun." She didn't sound convincing, but before he could crush the life out of her, Molly appeared on the front porch with Pippi at her side. Both of them sported glittery pink tiaras, Pippi's accessorized with a strawberry pink princess gown, Molly's with bright yellow capris and a Daphne the Bunny T-shirt. Heath's already grim expression grew even more forbidding.