Scott McCall had lived in the shadow of his father's career his whole life.

The van hadn't been behind him for two blocks before he noticed it. He did not turn around. Instead, he paused as if something in the shop window had caught his eye and studied the reflection. Newer, black, full-sized, cargo-type, no windows behind the cab. Moving too slowly. He knew instinctively it was coming for him. He turned away from the window and kept walking. Hot afternoon, high summer, and the sidewalk was almost empty. Ten paces to the alley, or maybe the store was better, it had to have a back door, no, the restaurant, crowded, better still …

The van slid to the curb and stopped. The driver blew the horn, and against his will, Scott looked back. One sense told him to run, but another said that if the driver was actually stalking him, he wouldn't be blowing the horn. Nor, as Scott waited, rolling down the passenger side window. He was still a safe ten paces from the van; he could make the restaurant even if they came out the side door.

Unless they shot him from the driver's seat, of course …

"Hey, Scott," Mickey Kostmayer called cheerfully, "how do you get to Carnegie Hall?"

Scott shook his head, releasing the breath he'd held too long, and moved to the side of the van. "Practice, practice, practice."

"Uh-huh. And how do you get to be in the orchestra of the major European road company?"

Scott snorted. "I wish I knew. When you find out, be sure to tell me."

"Okay. You get in the van and go audition in Jersey in …" he glanced at his watch "… ninety minutes."

"We'll never make that." Scott opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. "Are you serious?"

"I'm serious. Buckle up." The van was moving before he finished speaking.

Scott buckled swiftly. He'd been in vehicles driven by Kostmayer before. "We'll never make it."

"We'll make it."

"I don't have my violin with me …"

"Lily's getting it."

"Lily's … what?"

Mickey gestured to the phone in the console between them. "Call your dad and tell him I found you. He's in the Jag."

"He's looking for me, too?"

"We've all been looking for you. Call him."

Scott picked up the phone. It took him three tries to dial the number, with the van swerving erratically through traffic. "Sorry," Mickey said, in a tone that said he was nothing of the sort.

"You like an excuse to drive fast, don't you?"

"Well … yeah."

"Robert McCall," his father barked.

"It's Scott. I'm with Mickey."

"He found you. Good. We've been looking everywhere for you."

"I stopped off for some lunch …" Scott began.

"Yes, well, you haven't got much time now. Do the best you can, Scott, and we'll talk about it tonight, shall we?"

"Uh … okay."

"Good luck, Scott. Or break a leg, or whatever it is I should be saying."

Scott grinned. "Thanks, Dad."

He put the phone down and glanced out the window. At least the van was cool inside. Mickey seemed casual behind the wheel, but the van was flying through the city at an insane speed. They really could get to Jersey in ninety minutes.

"What am I auditioning for?" he asked.

Kostmayer shook his head. "I got no idea. I'm just following orders."

"Orders from my dad?"

"Nope. From your fairy godmother."

"I didn't know I had one."

Mickey grinned. "You may wish you didn't, before this is over."

Scott dropped his hand to his leg, and groaned when he felt bare skin. He was wearing cut-off jeans, his most comfortable, worn white in the back. His shirt was sweaty, faded, the collar torn off. "I can't audition like this."

"Scott," Mickey sighed, "don't worry. I told you, it's all taken care of."

"But …"

"You'll see."

"But Mickey …"

"Scott. Trust us."

"Us," Scott repeated uneasily.

"Uh-huh."

Four blocks later, Kostmayer slung the van through a much-too-narrow alley and parked at the back door of a small shop. "C'mon," he said. Scott followed him to the door. It was locked, but when Mickey knocked lightly, it opened immediately. Scott felt the older man's hand on his back, pushing him in first, and then he found himself wrapped in the embrace of the most flamboyant man he had ever met.

"There you are, darlings," the man gushed. He was, Scott noted, wearing rather more make-up than all the Radio City Rockettes put together. "This way, this way, everything's ready." He scooted Scott into the front of the store. The young man glanced back, assuring himself that Mickey was still with them. He'd met gay men before – perhaps half his musician friends were gay, and about that percentage of Becky's culinary friends as well – but this man was way more than just homosexual. He was visibly flaming.

"Here, here," he flounced at Scott, leading him onto a small dais. "Stand right there and let me have a look at you." He dropped back to stand beside Kostmayer. "Good Lord, he's perfect. I wouldn't change a single thing."

Kostmayer folded his hands carefully in front of him. He looked a little wary of the man, to Scott's eye. Not shocked, just watchful. It wasn't particularly reassuring. "Job interview, Heath," Mickey explained. "Lily says something conservative. Black."

"Black." Heath pondered a moment, as Scott grew more and more uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "He could carry pastels, you know. Powder blue, maybe mint. Something summery …"

"Lily said black," Mickey repeated firmly.

"Ah, Lily. Lily has no soul."

The front door of the shop slammed open. "Lily has several souls," Romanov announced briskly. "I keep them in jars on my desk. And if you don't want to be added to my collection, put him in black. Now. We're in a hurry."

"Black. Huh." The man flounced off in a huff.

"Thank God you're here," Mickey breathed. Scott could see his friend relax.

Uneasy, Scott stepped off the dais. "Hi, Lily."

"Hey, Scott. Glad we caught you." She squeezed his hand, kissed him on the cheek. "You get the sit rep?"

"Just the outline," Mickey answered. "You can fill him in on the next leg."

Lily nodded. "Thanks, Mickey. I knew you could track him down for me."

He shrugged. "No big. Needed the practice."

"As if."

"I'm getting black," Heath announced loudly from the back. "But can't we at least try pastels?"

"No!" the trio shouted in unison.

Scott unconsciously moved closer to Lily. "Who is that guy?" he asked.

"That's Heath," she answered. "And what he doesn't know about men's fashion isn't worth knowing."

"Please don't leave me alone."

Lily laughed. "I'm here, sweetie. Don't worry."

"Your fairy godmother," Mickey supplied. "I told you." He looked at Lily. "You need me, or can I go?"

"You're outta here. Thank you very much."

"Yeah, thanks, Mickey," Scott added.

"Good luck." Kostmayer shoved his hands in his back jeans pockets and made his way out.

Heath stomped back in thirty seconds with pants and a polo shirt, in black. "Here," he said morosely, handing the clothes to Scott. "Go there, try these on. They'll fit wonderfully, of course. But you must promise to come back and try the pastels sometime, without the ice queen."

Scott nodded uncertainly. "Okay." He took the clothes and hurried into the spacious changing booth.

Clothes off the rack never fit him, not since he'd hit that growth spurt at Julliard, but the pants fit perfectly, the hem barely folding at the arch of his foot. Either Lily had made a damned detailed phone call before they arrived – and it was a little unnerving to think that she'd paid that much attention to his inseam – or Heath really was as good as she said. He shucked out of his t-shirt and reached for the shirt. The label said it was pure silk. It felt almost weightless.

There were no price tags on the clothes.

In the main boutique, he could hear Heath and Lily talking. It reassured him to know by their voices where the man was.

"I have more ties for the man," Heath said, to Lily. "You are still the errand girl, aren't you?"

"Bite me," she answered.

"Here. This one he ordered, and this one. But this one …"

"He won't wear that," Lily said. "It's pink."

"It's salmon. And these dots here, these blue-almost-gray, they're just exactly the color of his eyes. He would look simply ravishing in this."

"He won't wear it."

The shirt fit perfectly, too. Scott tucked it in, put on the belt that he'd found on the pants hanger. He rolled his old clothes tightly, then glanced in dismay at his old sneakers.

"Come on, come on, let's have it," Heath insisted, tugging the door open. "Out in the light with you, let's have a look."

Rolling his eyes, Scott stepped out onto the dais again. He was certain Heath was going to come tug and adjust him, but the man simply dropped back and stared. "Holy Mother of God."

"Told you so," Lily said smugly.

"He's … he's …"

"Straight," she supplied. "Find him some shoes. Leather."

"I bow to your superior judgment." Heath disappeared again.

Lily tipped a small box towards him, revealing a pink tie with blue dots. "Can you see Control wearing this?"

"Uh … no," Scott answered honestly. "I can't even see Heath wearing that. And besides, Control wears bow ties."

She shook her head. "He gave 'em up."

"Why?"

"Long story."

Heath returned with shoes, black and leather as ordered, and socks. He gestured Scott to a small stool behind the counter. "Thirteen wide, right? Such lovely big … feet."

Scott licked his lips. "Uh, Lily?"

Lily leaned one elbow on the counter. "Heath, knock it off. You're making him nervous."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, I'm just kidding."

"No," Scott protested, "it's not that, it's … it's …" He had one new shoe on, the other frozen in his hand. "I … could you excuse us for a second?"

"Who, me?" Heath asked. "Darling, whatever you have to say to her, I've heard it before."

"No, really, please," Scott said.

Heath rolled his eyes extravagantly and moved to the front of the shop.

"What, babe?" Lily asked.

"These shoes," Scott answered in an urgent whisper. He gestured with the loose one. "The price on these …"

Lily shrugged. "They'll last forever, Scott."

"But I can't afford these. I never even saw shoes this expensive before …"

"Don't worry about it."

"Lily, I can't …" Suddenly the missing price tags on the clothes seemed ominous as well. He needed the clothes; he could feel his precious ninety minutes slipping away and there was no time to go anywhere else. But he could not, could not, let this woman he barely knew spend this much money on him, even if it cost him the audition. "How much did the rest of this cost?"

"Don't worry about it," Lily repeated firmly.

"But I can't …"

"Can't what?" Heath demanded, flirting back to them. He took Scott's roll of clothes and scooted them delicately into a shopping bag, then wiped his fingers on his shirt. "Afford all of this? Of course you can't, darling. Neither can she."

"But … but …"

"We'll put it on his account," Heath said calmly. "He'll never even notice."

Scott licked his lips. "My dad?" he asked Lily hopefully.

"Control."

He considered for an instant, then nodded. "I'll pay him back."

"No, you won't. I already cleared it with him. It's a gift. Happy bar mitzvah."

Scott laughed out loud. "I'm not Jewish."

She shrugged. "Things change."

"Lily …"

"Put your shoe on. We gotta fly."

"Always in such a rush," Heath sighed. "It's no wonder you're still single."

"Yep," Lily agreed. "Haven't found a man who can keep up with me."

"Maybe it's not a man you should be looking for."

"Maybe you're right. Bill me."

Heath slapped a form on the counter. Lily signed it quickly, flipped it over and slid it back. Scott noticed that she gave him no opportunity to glimpse the final total.

"Take the ties," Heath reminded her.

She snatched up the three boxes and dumped them in the bag with Scott's clothes. "The pink one's coming back. You know it as well as I do."

"We'll see," he answered. "The man's tastes are infinitely more refined than yours."

Lily shook her head. "Thanks, Heath. Scott, let's hit it."

Scott grabbed his shoes and followed her closely out. "Interesting place," he said, when the door was safely shut behind him.

"Yeah," Lily answered. "He's one of your dad's old clients."

"Really? What'd Dad do for him?"

"I have no idea." Lily opened the trunk of a sleek little Mercedes, black with blacked-out windows, chrome everywhere. She gestured and Scott dropped his sneakers in. "Right violin?" she asked.

Scott took the case out and held it against his chest. "Yeah, thanks. How'd you get into the apartment? Becky's supposed to be at school …" From her look, any question about how Lily Romanov had gotten into his apartment was purely rhetorical. "Oh."

Lily slammed the trunk. "Let's go."

"Are you okay to drive? I mean, if you need to, um, rest up or whatever, all this running around …"

She flashed him a knowing smile. "I love you, Scott, but you're not driving my Benz."

Scott shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for asking."

"I never do."

He slid into the passenger seat. Lily flipped some button, and his seat slid back, giving him a comfortable amount of leg room. "Thanks. Nice car. Very nice."

"Yeah. My boyfriend bought it for me." She started the car, then handed him a manila folder off the dash. "I got them to fax me the piece they want you to play. Just sight-reading, plus whatever you have prepared."

Scott nodded. That was pretty standard. He opened the folder. "I'm auditioning for West Side Story?" he asked incredulously.

"Evidently."

"Are you kidding?"

She glanced at him, then spun the wheel one-handed and inserted the Mercedes into a gap in traffic that was much too small. "You don't want to?"

"Of course I want to, everybody wants to, the music is killer … how did you do this?"

"Well," Lily began, crowding over two lanes, "I was trying to get tickets to A Chorus Line for Munchie and his wife. It's their anniversary, he was supposed to get them two weeks ago and he forgot and … never mind. Anyhow, I was talking to a producer, and he was telling me that his brother's doing the road company for the West Side revivaland their first violin got in some beef with his wife, something about the wife, the nanny, and a meat hammer, or maybe a tack hammer, and his left hand is going to be in rehab for the next several months."

"Ouch."

"Personally I would have let him keep the income and got it in the divorce, but that's me. So all their violins are moving up a chair, but they're short and the company leaves two weeks from yesterday, and did I know anybody? So I called his brother and played him your tape. And he asked if I could get you out there to audition for him and the conductor."

"Wait – my what? What tape?"

Lily reached and pushed a hand-labeled cassette into her tape player. Symphonic music filled the car; the Mercedes, Scott noted, had a better sound system than his apartment. But the tape sounded like crap. Then with a start he recognized the music. "That's me."

"Yes, I know."

"That's Salzburg. Where did you get that?"

"Your dad copied it for me."

"I … but … where did he get it?"

"I don't know. He played it in the Jag, and I made him copy it for me."

"Why?"

"Because I like it." Lily frowned in concentration, sliding the car onto the freeway. "I take it with me everywhere I go. Usually in my Walkman, but man, it sounds sweet in here, doesn't it?"

"It's all stretched out, it sounds like crap. You take my tape with you? Like … when you work?"

"Uh-huh. It's an anchor."

"A what?"

"When things get really dark, it reminds me that there's still light out here on the other side."

"My music? Or just any music?"

"Well, any music helps, but yours is the best. Because I know you. Because I know the heart the music came from. It makes it personal."

Scott stared at her. As complimentary as it was, this clearly wasn't flattery. He felt like his heart was going to burst. "I don't know what to say."

Lily glanced at him. "Don't ever think that what you do isn't important, Scott. Like Tolkien said, in the darkest corners, sometimes it's the only light." Then she looked away, popped the tape back out. "Look at the sheet music. I'll get you there on time."

Scott rubbed his eyes impatiently, took a deep breath, and opened the folder again.

Becky Baker paused in the middle of writing an answer on her exam. Her pencil hovered over the paper; her vision blurred and the question and answer swam away. She felt ever so slightly dizzy.

It could have been the heat, but it wasn't. Been here before, she told herself. There was no fighting it. Visions came when they came, not when they were convenient. It had been months since she'd had a clear, strong one. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

The world shifted. Everyone she knew, everyone she cared about, was suddenly crowded into her mind. Everyone was moving, and everything was gray.

The gray separated, into light and dark, and still everyone was moving. Scott and his father and his mother, Mickey and his lady, Control, Mira, Lily. People she barely knew came, and people she did not know at all, and they were all moving, shuffling like those toy football players on an electric vibrating field, into light, into dark. All jumbled, all moving. Where am I? Becky wondered. Am I moving, too?

The dark grew darker, and people began to vanish into it.

They would not come back.

Becky searched their faces, trying desperately to remember who went into the dark, trying to keep track, but there were too many, moving too fast. A dark-haired man, a young woman. She could not keep track of the ones she knew any more. Everything was moving into chaos. Everyone was moving away …

Then it snapped.

She sat straight up in her chair. She was back in real time, back in her classroom. It was hot, and the box fan in the window just blew the hot air around. Her pencil was in her hand, the answer to the accounting problem still half-written. Beside her, a classmate gave her a worried look and returned to his own exam.

Becky shook her head hard, trying to clear it. She didn't know whether to be afraid or overjoyed. There had been so much darkness in her vision, but the light had been so bright, too. She wished she understood. Everyone moving, that was nothing new. Everyone was always moving. But into darkness, into light …

She took another deep breath and let it go. The answers would grow clearer over time. They always did. Sometimes she even understood in time to help.

With a final shake, she went back to her exam.

Scott McCall stepped onto the conductor's podium. Sacred space, forbidden space, but it was where they'd told him to stand. The room was bathed with harsh white florescent light, and he reached to tilt the music stand so he could see the notes. He glanced up. Past the rows of empty folding chairs and metal stands, back where the percussion section should be, the conductor and the producer and the newly-promoted concert master stood, talking quietly, waiting.

Scott was dressed better than any of them. He could have come to the audition in his cut-offs.

But the clothes gave him confidence. He looked good – damn good – and he knew it. The shoes hugged his feet. He felt taller, yet less awkward. He felt great.

He wondered if the woman who had appointed herself his fairy godmother knew all that. She was behind him, somewhere, in the hallway. Waiting. The beautiful young woman who had been his father's lover …

Scott shook his head. None of it mattered now. None of it could matter. Not the woman or the clothes, not the men who waited patiently to hear his music. Only the music itself. He closed his eyes, tucked the violin under his chin, flexed his fingers one last time. His little routine, making the transition from Man to Musician.

He played.

They had not said whether they wanted the show music or his audition piece first. He played the Mozart, with his eyes closed. The music flowed from him, from the violin, the bow, like cascading light, like sweet water. Every note, true and clear. Every attack definitive, every pause sharp. Every phrase full, complete.

He had never played better in his life.

He reached the end of the section and stopped, opened his eyes and lowered the violin. Sheet music next. He reached to adjust the stand again.

"Never mind," the conductor said. His name was Hricko, Scott reminded himself. Herman Hricko and he had an accent that said he was from somewhere in central Europe.

Scott dropped the violin all the way to his side and waited, confused. He had played brilliantly. Hadn't he? Or maybe the best that Scott McCall had ever played wasn't really all that good …

"You're in," Hricko said.

"Oh. Thank you."

The producer said, "Leave your information with Rachel. We'll get a contract to you in the morning."

"Okay."

The two men walked out, talking probably about some new matter. The concert master, a man of about forty whose name Scott could not remember if he'd even heard it, came around the orchestra chairs to meet Scott at the side of the platform. "I'll get your music," he said. "And a schedule. Please tell me you're a fast learner."

Scott shrugged. "My girlfriend says I am."

The man raised one eyebrow. "That one?" he asked, gesturing towards the hallway. "That's a hell of a compliment."

"No," Scott answered. "That's my future step-mother."

"Lucky dog. Just stay away from meat hammers, okay?"

"Okay."

"We're gonna have to work in extra rehearsals somewhere," the man sighed. "We leave two weeks from yesterday. You have a passport?"

"Yes."

"Good. Be here in the morning, eight. I'll introduce you around."

"I'll be here."

"What's your name again?"

"McCall. Scott McCall."

The man nodded. "Joe Bradley. Good to meet you."

They headed back for the city. The whole audition had taken less than half an hour. Scott squirmed and bounced in the passenger seat, reading the itinerary over. "I can't believe this. England, France, Germany, Italy … this is great. I can't believe I got this." He considered. "I can't believe you got me this."

"I got you the audition," Lily corrected gently. "You got the rest yourself. You were really good, you know."

Scott grinned. "I think it's the clothes."

"I think you'd play that well stark naked." The woman grinned slyly. "And I might pay quite a lot to see that."

He blushed furiously. "Uh … no."

"Just kidding. Well, mostly."

Scott gazed out the window while his cheeks cooled. They were flying through traffic again, even though there was no need to hurry. He thought about saying something, then decided against it. His comments always made his father cranky, and Kostmayer just drove faster. He wasn't sure about Lily, but he wasn't taking any chances.

He couldn't believe she'd gotten him this gig. It would solve so many of his money problems, give him steady income and low expenses for the next six months. Plus it would get his music career back on track. Give him a big fat reference on his resume. Let him meet the people in the industry who could give him his next gig, and the one after that. This was a huge break. He intended to make the most of it.

Not bad, coming from his dad's ex.

And she was, he was quite certain, the ex. Robert and Lily had had a fight, and a big one, judging by the force of the back blast Scott caught from it. A few months ago, in the middle of an entirely different argument, his father had suddenly begun to rant at him about how Lily Romanov was entirely a Company drone and how Scott was never, ever to trust her. The rant had lasted until Scott had pointed out, unwisely, that he hadn't even mentioned Lily. Which had set father off on an entirely different rant.

But then somewhere, too, they'd made up – his father and Lily. Robert hadn't objected in the least to Scott and Becky helping with the Fall of the Wall party she'd organized. Not a single negative word about her. Scott had thought they might even be back together. But then Robert had begun dating Scott's neighbor, Mira.

Scott shook his head. It was all too complicated, trying to keep track of his father's love life. And he didn't really want to. It was enough that Lily and his father were still friendly, and that Lily had gotten him this gig.

He was going to Europe. He was going to get paid to play music, every day, and he was going to Europe, for six months, hotel rooms and catered food and a different city every week, trains and planes and music. Europe.

Then he sat up straight. "I can't go."

Romanov glanced at him. "Hmmm?"

"I can't … I can't take this gig."

"Okay," she answered calmly.

"I'm sorry," Scott said earnestly. "I know you went to a lot of trouble, you and Mickey and … but I can't. I can't leave Becky." His heart broke. He wanted this trip so badly, but Becky had been left too many times in her life. This would kill her. He could hear his mother's logic, and his father's, the arguments, it's only six months, you can call every day, you're supposed to be adults, for heaven's sake, she must realize what an opportunity this is for you …

Lily said, simply, "Take her with you."

Scott stared across the car at her. "What?"

"Take her with you," the agent repeated.

"I … I … she has school."

"Summer semester's almost over, isn't it?."

"We can't afford it."

"I have a billion frequent flyer miles. She can stay in your room. Now you're down to food. And that's assuming we can't get her a job with the road company. She does have skills, you know."

"She doesn't have a passport."

Lily smiled wryly. "I have dozens. I'll loan her one."

"But … but …" Scott looked out the window again. Take Becky to Europe? Show her all the places he'd been, share all the new places with her? The cities, the train rides, the crappy hotels, the shows … she would love it. She would love all of it, and he would love sharing it with her.

As if getting this amazing gig hadn't been enough, now he could share it with the woman he loved. It was too good.

It seemed impossible.

"Look, I'm not telling you what to do," Lily said. "If you don't want to go, it's no skin off my ass. I had nothing better to do today anyhow. But if you want to go and you want to take Becky with you, it can be arranged. Believe me, it would be no sweat."

He took a deep breath. The possibilities spun through his mind, tumbling over each other. Becky with him in Europe. The trip of a lifetime. "Really?"

"Really. Whatever you need, just tell me. It can be arranged."

"My fairy godmother."

Lily chuckled. "Remind me to run Kostmayer over when I see him."

Becky let herself into the apartment, put her book bag down. There were lights on; she could hear movement in the kitchen. "Scott?"

"Be right out," he called. "How'd the test go?"

"Good, I think." She kicked her shoes off and hung up her jacket. "If I get through the final next week, then I'm done until September."

"Yeah," Scott called. "About that." He appeared in the doorway with a stem glass in each hand. He was trying not to grin. "How would you feel about taking some time off?"

Becky blinked at him. She felt the vision return; everyone moving. It passed. "Why?"

"So we can go to Europe for six months." He quit trying to fight the grin and went with it.

She smiled uncertainly. "What?"

He kissed her and handed her a glass of champagne. "Europe. Six months. Road show. I got a gig. You're coming with me. We leave in two weeks."

"What?"

Scott laughed. "Europe. I know you'd have to take a semester off school. But you could eat in every great restaurant in Europe. It's not a bad trade-off."

Becky stared at him.

"But," Scott faltered, "if you don't want to, then we don't have to go. I know how important school is to you, and you've only got one more year. I just thought … but if you don't want to …"

"You could go without me," she said quietly.

"I'm not going anywhere without you," Scott answered firmly. "Not ever again. If you don't want to go, I'm staying here."

"But …" She paused. Everybody moving. "I want to."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

He grinned, and kissed her, and they both spilled champagne. Becky laughed. "I think we need to drink or neck, but not both."

Scott nodded, stepping away. "Drink first." He held his glass out. "To Europe."

"To Europe," she toasted, and they drank.

Then he took her glass away and gathered her in his arms. "Now neck."

They kissed long and slow. Then Becky made a vague gesture towards the couch. They'd been together long enough that Scott understood: He was so much taller than her that she was getting a kink in her neck. They sat, snuggled close, and kissed some more.

"Would you really have not gone without me?" Becky asked.

"Absolutely."

"But this is such a great chance for you."

Scott shrugged. "But you're chance of a lifetime. Besides, if I went without you, I'd spend the whole time being miserable and missing you. Now I can go and really enjoy it."

Some time later, when they had to break for air, she said, "You didn't even tell me you had an audition."

"I didn't," he laughed. "I think I got swept up in a Company operation."

"What?"

He explained, swiftly, about being accosted by Kostmayer and then by Heath, and taken over state lines by Romanov. "It was wild. They just sorta passed me around like cargo." Scott shook his head. "Mickey says she's my fairy godmother."

Becky hesitated, listening for intuition. There was nothing. There never was, where Lily was concerned. "Did you tell your dad you got the job?"

His face fell. "I forgot."

"You should call him."

"In a minute." They kissed again. "We're going to Europe," he said in disbelief. "We're getting paid to go to Europe."

"Your mother is going to hit the roof," Becky said dourly.

Scott closed his eyes. "I think I'll call my dad first."

He did. Robert was predictably pleased. He was also surprisingly supportive of the idea of Becky going along. "I can arrange a passport for her," he offered, "but Lily's probably got closer connections. Let her handle it."

"I'll call her," Scott promised.

"And Scott – don't worry about money. If you need any help with it …"

Scott flushed. He was getting too damn old to be in his father's pocket. "It's okay, Dad. We'll figure it out."

"I'm sure you will, but … unexpected things happen. It's only money."

Which meant, in Robert-speak, I love you. "Thanks, Dad. I'll let you know."

"Whatever I can help you with, Scott. I'll drop by in the morning, shall I, and we'll see what needs to be done."

"Sure. You, uh, wouldn't be willing to tell Mom for us, would you?"

There was a distinct pause. "Let me know if you need any money, Scott." The phone went dead.

Scott turned to Becky. "Let's have dinner."

Control shook his head, pausing between bites of pasta. "Your good deed for the day, was it?"

"It was fun," Lily said. "And he was so good at the audition."

"I'm sure he was. He's very talented. He always has been."

"Oh, Heath sent you ties. One's pink." He cocked one eyebrow at her. "I told him you wouldn't wear it, but you know how he is."

"I'll look at it." Lily popped to her feet. "Not right now …" he began. There was no point. She'd already trotted into the living room and returned with the ties. He considered the pink one. "It's not pink. It's more salmon."

"I told him. He insisted."

"I'll wear it," Control replied serenely. Then he grinned. "Mostly to keep you from thinking you know everything about me." He put the ties aside and continued his attack on the pasta before him. Flat fettuccini noodles, broccoli, mushrooms, creamy garlic sauce. "Becky's?" he asked, gesturing with his fork, his mouth full.

"Becky's recipe. I made it."

"It's good."

"Thanks."

They ate in silence. Or, rather, Control ate; Lily, he finally noted, toyed with her food and watched him. "What?"

"Nothing."

He arched one eyebrow. "If there's arsenic in here, the garlic is covering it nicely."

She smiled brightly. "Oh, good. I was worried."

Control went on eating, a bit more slowly. "I can't say as I'd blame you."

"I would never poison you, love. Tear your throat out with my bare hands, maybe, but never poison you."

He finished the pasta. She bounced to her feet again and refilled his plate. "You don't have to wait on me, you know." Then he shook his head. "Except you do, and that's pretty much all you do, isn't it?"

She'd been home from Europe for four days. This was the first time they'd been alone together – and he couldn't stay.

"I don't mind," Lily answered. "I find my own amusements."

Control considered her. Lily Romanov was a beautiful, resourceful woman, and she was fully capable of amusing herself. He didn't want to consider what amusements such a woman could find on the streets of New York City. How many men – no, he emphatically did not want to think about it. But while he was stuck in the office twenty or more hours a day, trying desperately to staunch the bleeding wound that was central Europe, he could hardly ask that she sit quietly at home and wait for him to show up for dinner.

The quiet fear lurked in him, always, that he would lose her to someone more amusing – or at least more attentive. He couldn't even blame her. The fault would be entirely his.

Yet here she was, cooking dinner for him, attending his every need.

And if he'd said, I've got twenty minutes, leave the dishes, let's go screw – even if he put it just that baldly – she'd not only be agreeable, she'd be enthusiastic. My drive-by sex life, Control thought grimly. She'd called it that once, apologized later, but it was absolutely true.

He wanted more. Sometimes they had more. Much more. He wanted more now.

Except that he had to get back to the office.

Lily was still watching him. "What?" he snapped.

"When was the last time you ate?" Lily asked quietly.

Control bristled. "Breakfast."

"Today?"

"Maybe yesterday," he conceded. "I've been busy."

She shook her head. "I bet you've lost ten pounds since I saw you last. Doesn't anybody take care of you while I'm gone?"

"No."

Lily sat back. She had gone silent. Not quiet, as she'd been before. Silent. There was a difference; Control could feel it in the air between them. He'd snapped his reply once too often. She wouldn't argue with him about it. She understood all the 'whys' of his temper. But she wasn't going to step into the line of fire again, either. She would stay silent, or nearly so, until he left.

And next time he showed up, it would be as if nothing had happened.

It was how their relationship had always worked.

In a city full of men more amusing, more attentive.

"I don't know why you stay with me," Control said quietly.

"Yes, you do," she answered.

He nodded. He did. Though he very much doubted that his answer and hers were the same. He put his fork down. "It's going to be bad, Lily. Worse than you've ever seen."

"I know."

You don't, Control thought. You have seen some damned awful things in your time, but you have seen nothing like the Balkans are about to become. His mind flashed in gory detail to a sunny morning, pleasant and cool, walking across a new-plowed field, the rough ground at his feet, the sod turned, and as he walked he kicked a clump of grass aside and there was a face staring up at him, a young woman, dead and rotting, covered with grass and dirt in a field that had perhaps been her family's farm. He remembered the horror as he looked around and saw the whole field had been turned, and his eyes met Robert's and they knew, they both knew, that the field had been planted with the bodies of the innocent, as far as they could run in any direction.

They had sworn to themselves and to each other that it would never happen again.

It had happened dozen times since, and it was going to happen again.

"I don't want you to go," he said.

His beloved nodded solemnly. "All right."

"Just like that."

"We've been through this before, kedves. Say the word, tell me where you want me, I'm there."

Control closed his eyes. Just like that. Keep her close, keep her safe. Keep her from seeing the horrors he had seen. Keep her alive. Keep her for himself.

Keep her waiting at home, or finding her own amusements on the streets of New York?

That wasn't fair. She had never for an instant given him reason to doubt her faithfulness. But then, he had never disrespected her abilities and her independence enough to ask her to quit the Company for his comfort.

Loving Lily Romanov, and letting her remain who she was, was the hardest thing he had ever done.

"There may come a day," he said, "when I won't be able to let you go again."

"Tell me when," she promised. In her eyes, though, he saw relief. She was glad he hadn't reined her in just yet.

It was still an adventure to her.

Control shook his head sadly. "My Lily, my Lily."

And she was in his arms.

The sheer quantity of the details began to weigh on Scott and Becky while she cooked dinner. "What about the apartment? Are we going to sub-let it?"

Scott nodded, then shook his head. "Two weeks isn't much time to find somebody we trust not to trash the place."

"Maybe your dad knows somebody. Or Lily does."

Scott nodded thoughtfully. The idea of a spook bunking in his apartment was mildly comforting. He knew how little time they actually spent at home. "We'll need to put all our personal stuff in storage."

"We have the storage bin in the basement," Becky reminded him.

"But it's half-full already. Maybe we could use somebody else's, too. Like Mira's. Does she have any room, you think?"

Becky laughed out loud. "Mira's locker is so full it's busting at the seams. Just like her apartment."

"Oh."

"I don't know what to pack," Becky mused, flipping the steak burgers over. "I mean, do I just wear jeans all over Europe?"

"Yes. I did last time."

"We need at least some good clothes. For shows and restaurants and whatever."

"Maybe a couple outfits. Damn, I need to see if I can get my tux fixed." At his last formal concert – more than a year ago – he'd caught the cuff of his sleeve and torn it, badly.

"You need a new tux," Becky said. "You've had that one forever. It's shiny."

Scott scowled. "Like we can afford that."

She shrugged. "You need it. We'll find a way."

"Hmm." Scott had not told her his father had offered money for this excursion. He hadn't expected to find a need for it so quickly. Still … well, hell, he'd let Control buy his audition clothes. What was the difference?

"Dinner."

They ate, and they discussed. They looked at Scott's rehearsal schedule, with extras hand-written all over it. It didn't leave much time for anything else. "You're going to get stuck with this all," Scott said apologetically.

"I'll manage," Becky assured him. "Let me get through my final next week and then I've got nothing else to do." She paused. "Well, except work, and tell them I'm leaving in two weeks." She frowned. "They are not going to be happy."

They ate for a moment in silence. "Look," Scott finally said, "Maybe this is a bad idea. If you want to just call it off …"

"No," Becky said emphatically. "It'll be tough, but we can do this. I just have to get my brain around it, you know? Start thinking of the planning as … part of the adventure."

"An adventure," Scott said skeptically. "That's one way to look at it."

"It's the only way to look at it." She leaned and kissed steak sauce off the corner of his mouth. "We're going to have a blast."

"An adventure," Scott reminded himself, staring at the phone in his hand. "It's going to be a great adventure."

He glanced towards the bathroom door, waited until he heard the shower start, then dialed the phone. Maybe she wouldn't be home. Maybe he'd get the answering machine, or …

"Hello?"

"Hi." Scott cleared his throat. "Hi, Mom, it's me."

"Scott, what's wrong?"

"Why does something have to be wrong?"

"You only call when something's wrong, Scott."

"That's not true," Scott protested. "I called you when … ah … I called for your birthday, didn't I?"

"Ah, yes," Kay answered. "Because you'd forgotten to send a card."

"Mom."

"I'm sorry, Scott. You just called to chat, then?"

"Is this a bad time?" he asked, a bit too eagerly.

"No, no. My show's on tonight, but it doesn't start for another half hour. How's, uh … Becky?"

Scott winced at the pause. Kay still couldn't quite remember his girlfriend's name. That, or she just hated to say it. "She's fine. She's great. Listen, um, I have some great news. I got a gig."

"A what?"

"A gig. A job. Playing music."

"With your band?" Kay asked uncertainly.

"No, violin. A real job." Scott winced again. Any job where he played music, he'd insisted to his mother, counted as a real job. He'd fallen into her way of talking already. "A steady job, in an orchestra."

"Oh, Scott, that's wonderful! I'm so glad you won't be wasting your time with that band any more. That was just going nowhere for you."

"Mom!" He caught himself. The band had dissolved a year ago, and she knew it. But it wouldn't do any good to argue with her. "Anyhow. It's with a road company. European tour, six months. We leave two weeks from yesterday."

"Six months? Oh, Scott, that's wonderful. Such a great opportunity for you."

"Yeah, I know. I can't believe Lily even got me the audition."

"Lily?" The temperature in her voice dropped thirty degrees in that one word.

Scott paused. He thought about telling her that he was certain Lily and Robert weren't a couple any more. But it really wasn't any of her business. None of his, either, for that matter. He went on as if he hadn't noticed the change. "Yeah. She knows the producer, or his brother, or something. She knows everybody. So they lost a violinist, and she got me an audition, and just like that I got the gig."

"Well." Kay's voice remained chilly. "I'm very happy for you, Scott. However this came about."

He took a deep breath. "Yeah, we're really psyched. Lily's going to help Becky get a passport in time, she says it's no problem at all."

"Pardon me?"

"What? Getting the passport?" Scott knew perfectly well that wasn't what she was talking about. "She says she'll get an official one, walk it through channels for us."

"Becky's planning to go with you?"

Scott forced a smile into his voice. "Well, sure, Mom. What did you think, I'd just leave her for six months?"

"Oh, Scott …"

"This is a great opportunity for her, too. She can see all the world capitals, try out all the different cuisine, it'll be great."

"Scott, really, now … you should be concentrating on your career, not on this… "

"Mom. I love her. I'm not going without her."

"Oh, Scott. This just isn't a good idea. What will the conductor think?"

Scott rolled his eyes. The conductor would think, thank God I don't have to watch out for that one and hookers. Or, oh, what a shame he's not gay. If he thought anything at all. "Mom …"

"And you really can't afford this, can you?"

He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. "Dad said he'd help us with the money if we needed him to."

"Oh." If Lily's name had been cold, that 'oh' came out frozen. "I see. You father knows all about this, does he?"

"Well … I called him first, yeah. But just because he already knew about the audition. Lily called him to try and find me."

"Called him or just rolled over and nudged him awake?"

Scott flushed. "Mom!"

"Scott, this is ridiculous. You cannot take that woman with you to Europe like some … some … baggage. You just can't. You're making a fool of yourself."

"Mom …"

"I mean, I suppose it would be different if you were married, but honestly, Scott …"

Scott blinked. He missed whatever she finished her sentence with. "I'll call you right back," he said over her voice, and hung up over her spluttered reply.

He walked to the bathroom door and knocked loudly. "What?" Becky called over the shower.

"I called my mom," Scott said.

"What?"

"Kay. I called Kay."

"I've still got conditioner in. Come in here and talk to me."

Scott stepped into the steamy bathroom. "I called my mother," he said again.

"Oh," Becky groaned. "What'd she say?"

"She said we should get married."

There was a distinct pause. "What?"

Scott grinned. "She said we should get married."

"Your mother said that?"

"Yes."

"Oh." There was a longer pause, and then the water stopped. "What'd you tell her?"

"I told her I'd call her right back."

Becky slid the shower door back and peered at him. "Why?"

"Because I had to come in here and ask you to marry me."

She stared at him. "What?"

The setting was wrong, Scott realized, too late as always. The steamy bathroom, her soaking wet and naked, him back in his cut-offs. There should have been roses and champagne and such. But it was too late to back down now. "Will you marry me?"

Becky just stared.

"Becky?"

"A-a-are you s-serious?"

He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard her stutter when it was just him. "I am."

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"I didn't stutter that time."

"Yes?" He stepped to the side of the tub and wrapped his arms around her. It didn't matter that she was wet, or that he was, now. "Yes?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Becky laughed. "Oh, yes."

They kissed deeply. "I gotta call my mom back," Scott said.

"Call her later," Becky protested.

She was already naked. He didn't bother with even token protest.

"Next summer?" Becky whispered later, in the satisfied sleepy dark of their bed.

"Before we go," Scott murmured back.

"Before we … in two weeks?"

"Yes. Mom says." He stirred toward wakefulness. "Is that okay?"

"It's okay with me."

"It'll have to be awful simple," Scott continued. "If you've got your heart set on something bigger, it could wait until we get back."

Becky chuckled in the dark. "Oh, yeah. I had my heart set on trying to stand up and talk in front of a thousand of your mother's closest friends."

"Mmmm. I bet she did."

"She's going to have a fit."

Scott sighed. "We could not tell her. Run off to Vegas, tell her afterwards."

"We could," Becky agreed warmly. Then she sighed. "It would break her heart. She'd never speak to you again."

"I'm not sure that would be a bad thing."

"Scott."

"I'm serious, Becky. If she's going to be this much of a pain in the ass every time we try to do something with our lives …"

"She's your mother."

"She's a pain in the ass."

"But she's still your mother. And you can't …" She sat up in the darkness. "You can't throw your mother away just because she's annoying."

Scott sat up with her, wrapped his arms around her. Becky had left everything, home and family, mother and father, to escape the abuse of her childhood. She was right. Of course she was right. "We'll deal with her as best we can," he allowed.

"Thank you," Becky whispered.

They settled back under the covers. "I don't even know about licenses and stuff like that," Scott admitted. "I suppose I'd better find out tomorrow."

"I'll find out tomorrow," she corrected. "You have rehearsal at eight."

"Oh, damn. My dad's coming over."

"I could tell him."

"No, I … maybe we could call him in the morning, before I go. I'd like to tell him in person, but I just don't see us having the time."

"And your mother."

"And my mother." He shook his head. "We've got to keep this simple, Becky. We don't have time for anything fancy."

"Nice and simple," Becky agreed.

They believed it, both of them, with all their hearts.