more softly. “Which puts your maturity on more of an equal level with Duane than your ages would imply.”
She was right. In some ways.
“But you knew all this, didn’t you? Or you wouldn’t have gotten involved with him to begin with.”
Sophie nodded. “Our age difference is only one of many things that are wrong.”
Eyes narrowed, Annie sat back. “He’s not married, is he?”
“No.” Though Sophie couldn’t blame Annie for asking. “He was divorced years ago. Long before I met him.”
“Any kids who hate you because you’re closer to their age than his?”
“Nope. No kids.”
“He’s not an alcoholic, is he? Or abusive?”
“Of course not. Duane’s the most upstanding citizen I’ve ever met. And that’s a big part of the problem.”
“Because he’s a great guy?”
“He’s too good for me.”
“Bullsh—crap.” Red blotches stood out on Annie’s scrubbed cheeks.
“Or, rather, I’m not good enough for him.”
“Stop it. Right now. What’s gotten into you, girl? This isn’t the Sophie I know. The one who had the courage to look life straight in the eye, take it on and win. There isn’t a man alive who’s too good for you.”
Two years ago, while she’d still been celibate, Sophie would have agreed. Eight years ago, she’d have known the words for the lie they’d have been.
“Maybe not, if he were just a man. Trouble is, Duane’s so much more than that.” And before Annie could interject with another diatribe assuring Sophie that no man was more than any other—a reassurance she would love to hear, but that would net nothing—she continued, “He’s running for public office, Annie. For the state senate. He’s got so much energy. So many ideas. He’s smart and savvy, openminded without being easily led. And most important, he’s honest. Arizona—this country—needs him. And he’s a shoo-in to win.”
She’d never met any of his friends. Didn’t know many of their names. She’d never been to the condominium he owned. Or to his law office.
But she knew about his politics.
“And you think you’re somehow going to hurt his chances?”
“I know I would.”
“How so? Because of the age difference?”
“That’s part of it. How responsible is he going to look, at forty-six, squiring around a twentysomething blonde? One who’s involved in the theater, no less? It’s the typical midlife crisis. If nothing else, he’d lose the votes of all the middleaged women who’ve lost their husbands to younger wives.”
“But then, if you’re going on that theory, he might gain votes from all of the men who understand, right?”
“Only those whose vote he’d have had anyway,” Sophie said, having stayed up far too many nights in the past weeks researching twenty years of Arizona voting demographics in an attempt to calm fears she’d only exacerbated. “Men aren’t as likely to cast their vote based on emotions, or personal circumstances.”
“There are plenty of older politicians whose younger wives haven’t kept them from office. There have even been some from Arizona.”
“My age isn’t everything,” Sophie said, sinking into the helplessness that had been sapping so much of her mental energy these days. “My reputation leaves a lot to be desired, as well.” There were other things, but this one Annie knew about. She’d been there.
“You were a college kid, Soph. Lots of coeds get a little wild for a year or two.”
“Not as wild as I did. And most of them stick to guys their own age. Who aren’t married.”
“You were looking for security. To be cared for. Protected.”
“I was acting like my mother’s child.”
“But at the same time, you won a scholarship to one of the nation’s most prestigious universities, from which you graduated with honors. And in a few short years, you’ve made a name for yourself in an industry that is almost predominantly male. Your net worth has got to be more than most middle-class couples when they retire.”
Sophie didn’t discuss her income with anyone—including Duane. But Annie was in the business. She knew what kind of money was involved in production. And she knew how many shows Sophie did.
What she didn’t know was that a good portion of Sophie’s income went to organizations that provided older, sibling-type companions to troubled or lonely kids. And provided after-school facilities to them, as well.
“Have you and Duane talked about any of this?” Annie asked, after too long a silence.
“Some.” The age difference. Her past reputation, which he’d have learned from his friend Will Parsons. And the politics.
“And?”
“He asked me to marry him.”
Chapter Three
“HE ASKED YOU TO MARRY HIM?” Annie squealed, but not so loudly that other patrons looked over at them, thank goodness. “See, he’s not worried at all.”
Sophie didn’t share her friend’s excitement. “He’s asked before.”
“How many times?”
“I don’t know. Maybe six. Or seven. He knows I’m going to say no.”
But he didn’t know her middle name. And she hadn’t asked his.
She hadn’t asked to see his condo, either.
Duane had his place in her life. Nice. Neat. Clean. Controlled.
“And?” Annie asked again, as their waitress refilled their glasses of tea.
“He’s always relieved when I do.”
“He is? You sure about that?”
“Of course. I’m not alone in my fears, Annie. Duane feels them, too. Why do you think we’ve been seeing each other for two years and you’re only now hearing about him? Other than Will Parsons, he hasn’t told any of his friends, either. And he wouldn’t have told Will except that we see each other in Shelter Valley, which meant Will was going to hear about it anyway.”
“He’s been keeping you a secret?” Annie’s words held accusation.
“We decided together to keep quiet about our friendship.” No one would understand. But their choices suited them. Until they didn’t.
“Do
