She stormed into the office and shoved an opened magazine under his nose. "Look, just look at this!"

He glanced down at the photograph of the two of them. "Nice picture?" he said carefully, phrasing it as a question; not sure why she seemed so annoyed.

"No, you stupid shithead! Look at the caption!" she demanded.

He looked again at the magazine, taking it from her and reading what it said beneath the picture. It started: "Boone and Shannon Carlyle arriving at the wedding of…." He realized immediately why she was so mad; she was particularly touchy when it came to being correctly identified as Shannon Rutherford. He thought it had something to do with not wanting to be associated with Sabrina. Shannon hated her with a passion; Boone knew the feeling was mutual. "Shannon, they probably did some research and found out we're married, even if not we were, I mean we are, brother and sister. It only makes sense that we'd have the same last name. Besides, I can't really be that angry, I mean it is my last name."

"But it's not mine! Stupid fucking journalists, they don't deserve the credence of the designation." She snatched the magazine out of his hands and threw it in the trash. He hoped she'd be over it by this evening. He certainly didn't relish the thought of having to spend the entire night with her if she was still pissy.

They closed the store early and began to get ready for Shelly's wedding. He pulled the black suit from the closet for a second week in a row. "Couldn't we just skip the church part?" he asked her hopefully.

"Do you want me to get your mother on the phone to tell you all the reasons why that would just be so wrong?" she responded, knowing he didn't really mean it.

"No," he answered her, defeatedly.

"Besides which, you idiot, you have to be there, you've pretty much planned the whole thing." She pointed out rather smugly.

The pointers that Shelly had asked him for had turned into several phone calls a day and more meetings at her house, caterers, florists; all the places he'd hoped he'd be able to avoid once he's left his mother's business behind him. He'd finally given in to the inevitable and had all but taken over. He knew there'd be details at the church that he'd obsess about if he wasn't there to oversee everything.

He looked approvingly at her in her blue dress, admiring the tight bodice and handkerchief hem. The day after Cindy's wedding they'd taken advantage of the fact that they were already in the city to go shopping specifically to find something special for her. He loved her so much more in blue than the pink she usually chose for herself. "Did you want me to do your hair?"

"Of course," she handed him a brush and turned her back to him.

He stroked the bristles through her hair and found himself leaning forward to kiss her neck. "Boone, we have to leave soon, focus you sex fiend."

"Right." He pulled away from her and tried to decide how he wanted her hair to look that night. He stuck the brush in his pocket and began experimentally to push it into various styles before picking one and shoving the pins into it that she'd had at the ready.

They met Tom and Heather downstairs minutes later. "My heavens, Boone, I'd forgotten how completely different you look in a suit." Heather looked at him appraisingly.

"Uh, thanks, I think." He said, not sure if it was a compliment or not, remembering the last time she'd seen him wear one, when she'd commented that he looked like his own corpse, something that, obviously, hit a little too close to home.

They gave final instructions to the baby sitter, and headed for the church. He left them to find seats as he went to check on things. The service went smoothly, of course, and he thought Shelly looked particularly beautiful in the dress he'd suggested to her that first night.

At the reception hall, he left them again several times during the night. She watched him as he spoke to various people contracted for the night, pointing out to a waiter an empty wine glass here, or a dropped fork there, delegating easily. She knew he'd been an excellent event co-ordinator, before Sabrina had moved him up to business manager, wanting to fast track him through the company.

She left him there, for a short time, early; Tom and Heather wanted to go, so she'd driven them home. She swapped his car for her's, Angie; the baby sitter had asked shyly if she could go for a ride in it. Shannon lowered the roof and drove the girl home. On the way, the girl had turned to her, "You guys just seem so glamorous, this car is so totally cool." She hadn't baby sat for them before and it was the first time she'd been alone with Shannon, so she took advantage of the opportunity to speak her mind.

"Us?" The thought had never crossed her mind, so she was positive that it hadn't ever occurred to Boone.

"Yeah, I mean just look at this car, the way you're dressed, who you are, where you come from…what happened to you." The girl was rambling, it seemed like she was reaching for something, looking for inside information.

Shannon was disturbed by the way she'd characterized them. "You're completely wrong. We own a general store. I don't think you can get less glamorous than that," she pointed out skeptically. "As for the rest of it, this is just a car, just a dress, we're just people, maybe we have money, but it doesn't make up for..." she couldn't finish that thought. "As for what happened to us, it was a tragedy, people died, it wasn't some Hollywood blockbuster where the director called cut and we went home at night." She hadn't talked about the island in a while, and found, surprisingly, that it wasn't that hard anymore. "We're no one special." Except to each other, she thought.

She dropped her off and returned to the reception about half an hour after she'd left. She found him sitting quietly at a table near the door, his feet up on a chair, an almost full wine glass in front of him, thinking to himself, "Shannon, where the fuck are you?" in a "please save me" kind of way. She hadn't told him she was leaving, he'd been busy, and she figured she'd be back before he even missed her. He had his eyes closed and seemed to be trying his best to ignore the woman sitting to his right. She kept leaning towards him trying to engage him in conversation, reaching out to touch his arm repeatedly. Shannon had already noticed the woman watching him during the evening, and figured that she must be trying to pick him up. It seemed from his attitude that she'd missed something while she'd been gone, so thought that might be it. He must have protested that he was married, that his wife was here, and then had it backfire when he couldn't find her, so the woman was still at it.

"Hey there," she broke into his misery.

He sat up and smiled at her.

"You wanna dance?" she asked him.

"Give it up, that's not going to get you anywhere," the woman interrupted, rather drunkenly, before he could answer. "I've asked him several times over the past half hour, and he just keeps saying that he only dances with his wife. If you ask me, I don't even think he has one, at least she doesn't seem to be here, and who'd let him out by himself."

"I think I can persuade him." She leaned down to kiss him. "As for a wife, he has one alright, I'm her, and if you bother him again, you'll have to answer to me." She said protectively. She held her hand out to him; he took it and gratefully let her pull him towards the dance floor.

While they danced, she recounted the conversation she'd had with Angie in her car on the way back. "Glamorous?" he shook his head, "No, I don't think so. Tired, almost ready to go home, yes, but definitely not glamorous."

They danced like they were in high school. Their arms slung low around each other's waists, rocking gently side to side. He nuzzled against her neck, breathing in her scent, his duties for the evening over with and forgotten.

"Take me home, Shan," he asked eventually.