As she stood on Tower Bridge, she wondered what he was doing right now. After all this time, she still worried how he was, if he was well, if he was taking care of himself, who he was with...he was still very much in her thoughts.

She was sure by now he had moved on, and forgotten all about her, however. After all, it had been seven years since she had seen him. He wasn't the kind of man who stayed off the market for long. No doubt some extremely beautiful woman had scooped him up.

She just never heard anything...in the public. She knew that much, that he was no longer on Page Six anymore. He didn't live that lifestyle. Of that much at least, Betty was certain. He had become a very well-known novelist, after all. Something she was fairly sure neither of them could have ever predicted.

But things had turned out quite well for Daniel Meade, in his thinly veiled "tell-all" book about his many insanely unbelievable but somehow still all true life events.

He had titled it, "The Real Bitch Wore Dior" and dedicated it to Wilhelmina Slater. There were even rumors of a movie, a sort of real-life version of "The Devil Wears Prada". Of course, Miss Slater (now Slater-Owens)had been milking the publicity for all it was worth.

Daniel's book had been released a little over a year after the last time she had seen him, there in London. Even though she tried to stay in touch with his mother, Claire had been sketchy about giving Betty too many details concerning her son. Eventually, she had stopped calling.

It seemed everyone had managed to move on from those days at Mode except her. On the surface, of course, she had a fabulously successful career there in London, and had dated off and on several quite nice men, although nothing really "stuck". Mostly, she was always far too busy to put anyone ahead of her career. But she realized there were other factors involved.

She smiled, seeing her nephew's picture lighting up her phone, "Justin! How are you? Wait, what time is it there?"

"Same time as it is for you, AB. Turn around."

She turned, and screamed, as she saw him, and ran to hug him tightly. It felt so good to see him again, "Oh my God! When did you get here?"
He looked rather sad and she could tell instantly that something wasn't right. She held him away and looked him straight in the eyes, "What's wrong? Is papi...okay?"

He nodded, "Yeah, Aunt Betty. He's fine. I promise."

"Your mom?"

"Yes, yes, she's fine. Bobby's fine. Elena, May-lynn…
Marc, everyone. Except...well, obviously, you haven't heard yet."

She looked puzzled, and gulped apprehensively, "Heard? Heard what? What are you talking about, Justin?"

He took her hands in his, and she somehow knew her life was never going to be the same. Her heart began beating wildly as she heard the words, "AB...Daniel is…missing. Nobody seems to know where he is. Not his family, or friends. He hasn't checked in with his publisher or… anybody in almost two weeks.

They have a search party out looking for him right now. Helicopters, police, dogs, the whole nine yards. He was in Massachusetts, working on his latest novel and there was a storm. His SUV is gone from the driveway of the house he was renting…."

Betty shook her head, putting up her hand to get him to stop talking. This couldn't be true. She had to keep him from saying anything more. Not out loud. That would make it seem real. She felt her knees start to buckle and her nephew had to help keep her on her feet.

"Oh! I...this...how's Claire?" The woman that she had learned to think of like a second mother had already been through so much in her life. Now, perhaps losing a son...again couldn't be easy for the long-suffering matriarch.

Justin shook his head, helping her to sit down. He sat down next to her, and tried to smile, "She's...you know, a trooper, like usual. Ordering all the police around, yelling at the press to get out of her face and get a real job. Claire!"

Betty smiled, nodding, "Right. I've...got to…" she blew out a breath and wiped at her eyes, before she took out her phone, and found the contact number, then waited for only a few seconds before she heard the still familiar voice, "Betty! You heard, then?"

Betty nodded, then berated herself, realizing of course that the woman couldn't see her, "Yes. Yes, Justin is here, in London with me. I…" she stopped for a second, suddenly processing the very fact that her nephew wasn't a millionaire and couldn't afford to simply fly across continents at will.

"Yes, he's there to bring you home, Betty. Or...rather, here, to Massachusetts to help us find him. I hope that's alright with you? I know it's been some time, but…"

Betty shook her head, "No, I mean, yes! Of course I want to help look for him, Mrs. Meade! I appreciate the…um...
ride."

She heard a slight chuckle, "Yes, yes. And please, it's Claire. I'll see you soon. Have a nice flight, dear."

As soon as she hung up the phone, she bowed her head, sobbing, as she flashed back to one of her last conversations with Daniel, as they both sat on the steps of Trafalgar Square, the day he "accidentally" bumped into her and teased her about not having seen her off when she left New York. Since that night, their "conversations" had become fewer and fewer until all she got was a Christmas card and a Birthday card (two weeks late, of course, since he never seemed to remember exactly when her birthday really was).

She had received an autographed copy of his novel just before it went global, but she highly suspected it was simply something his new assistant had checked off his list of things to do for his boss. Daniel hadn't even written a personal note in the cover to her.

She felt Justin's hands on her shoulders and heard him encouraging her, "He's going to be okay, AB. Don't worry. We'll find him, I promise! You two...have to finally get that happy ending you deserve but were both too stubborn to go for!"

She got up, still in a daze, as she rubbed her eyes and looked at him in surprise, "Happy ending? Justin...come on, not that again! How many times do I have to tell you, Daniel didn't follow ME here to London because he was in love with me or anything like that, okay? He just needed a fresh start, that's all."

He rolled his eyes, "This is when I really wish I had paid attention in Spanish class or to some of Grandpa's stupid Telenovelas so I could cuss you out in Spanish, AB! You KNOW he came here for you! You were just too blind and he was too chicken to say it to each other!

He'd better not be dead, because I want to yell at him before I kill him! Then you and then him some more! You're both loco! Come on, let's go! I just hope he doesn't have some crazed Kathy Bates-like fan who's got him tied up somewhere in her cabin in the woods!"

Betty rolled her eyes. Sometimes her nephew's imagination went a little overboard. But she couldn't help saying a silent prayer that her former boss was just passed out drunk somewhere and had simply forgotten to charge his cell phone. Years ago, it would have been no big thing for her hard-partying boss to go on a two-week bender.

But from what she had gleaned from the little press he had received in his post-Mode days, he had seemed to use his persona as the hermit-like author as an excuse to all but drop out of the public eye. He had become quite the recluse, at first, working on a few quite amusing screenplays based on some of the craziness that had been his real-life.

For the past two years, however, he had holed up, working on his much anticipated second novel. There had been some speculation about the subject matter this time.

Given Daniel's roller-coaster life, he could pick and choose between any number of things; his bachelor days, before he took over the reins at Mode, and his many one night stands, or the behind the scenes tale of his brother-turned sister, along with her whole backstory of pretending to be dead for two years before her dramatic coming out at Fashion Week.

Perhaps Daniel would write of the nightmarish family drama that unfolded as a result, first one parent then the other being arrested for murdering the woman who carried on a very public affair with his father for over two decades.

Then, there was his public humiliation at the hands of Sofia Reyes, although most people weren't betting that he would want any part of reliving that particular nightmare. Or the night he had come back to his loft to find it on fire, with Betty inside, because Renee had tried to kill her out of jealousy.

There were some people betting that it might be about his wife who died less than three months after they had been married, and his subsequent time in a cult that almost got him killed.

As soon as the Meade jet had taken off and was winging its way to the United States, Betty began pacing up and down the aisle.

She was driving her nephew slightly crazy, but he knew her well enough to know she was worried sick about her former boss and ex-best friend at the moment.

Trying to distract her, he offered, "I bet you anything it's a love story! Ooh, or one of those things about his unresolved issues with his father. There were a lot of things there that Daniel might have wanted to get off his chest."

Betty looked at her nephew with disapproval, "What are you talking about? Who cares what he was writing about right now, anyway, Justin? What does that matter? I just pray that he isn't frozen to death somewhere in his car! He has no idea how to even drive a car. What was he doing driving some silly SUV, anyway?"

Justin put his hand on his aunt, to try and calm her down, "Aunt Betty...sit down, will you? He's going to be okay. We'll find him. Oh, and for the record, he actually can drive. He did drive. Maybe not back when you knew him, when he lived in Manhattan and was the Editor-in-chief
Of Mode, but ever since he became the Fashion world's very own Stephen King and moved up in the mountains to write his best-sellers and crank out screenplays, he always drives himself around in his Lexus."

Betty raised an eyebrow, "Stephen King? Daniel doesn't write horror stories, Justin! Great, you think he got killed by some psychopathic axe murderer?"

He shrugged, "Whatever! For the record, no I don't think he's been murdered. And as far as his writing inspirations, fine, Miss publisher, besides you, since you used to edit all his work at Mode, who would you compare his work to then? Hemingway?"

She smiled, "No! You know I don't even really like Hemingway."

"Well, no offense, but he's no Shakespeare. Or even Neil Simon. But he does show promise. I'll give you that much."

She smiled, "I don't know. He has his own style. It's original. Smart. Dan Brown, maybe? Only a lot funnier. Daniel's writing is very smart and clever. He's good."

"Let's just wait to give him his Pulitzer until we find him first, okay?"

She nodded, chewing on her lower lip nervously, "We are going to find him, Justin! We have to! Daniel has to be okay. I refuse to believe...he's not. That's all there is to it!"

Justin pulled her into a warm hug. It was the only reassurance he could offer her. Apparently, hanging around Cliff and Austin had turned him into some kind of Star Wars nerd, because he kept hearing over and over in his head, "I have a bad feeling about this!"

He prayed to Prada that was just the wine talking. Besides, his Aunt Betty was right; Daniel had to be alright. She was always right. Right?