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dreams of Mona Mother-in-Law dripping diamonds and disappointment as she dissolved into a Dali-esque stream. But by Sunday afternoon Emily couldn’t stand the cement-walled Wharf motel room one minute more and went to see the seals on the nearby pier. She could usually watch them, and the people watching them, for hours, but today everyone seemed to be tired or fighting.
    She didn’t want to fight. She didn’t want to feel. She didn’t want to know she was the biggest dupe in all the universes.
    By Sunday night, after an entire nacho salad and two margaritas, she was ready to fire up the electronics. According to her phone record Elliot made only one more call after the three she’d disconnected Friday night. On principle, he always refused to leave voicemail, but he’d left one this time.
    “Where are you?” His voice was tight, controlled; she could hear the party in the background. She deleted the message. What did he care? He was probably glad to be rid of her. I had it right the first time, at the coffee shop. I am such an idiot .
    But his e-mail was somehow harder to ignore: “Please tell me you are safe and well.” Still smarting, she answered: “I am safe and well. We are through.”
    She stayed up half the night trying to decide whether to ask for her things from his apartment or just write them off. She would miss her flute, but it’s not as if she’d played it in a decade. And there was no time like the present to give formal notice to her tenant. Looked like she’d need a new place to crash.
    Finally she gave up on sleep and went to work. At four-thirty, she was the only one there save for the Allie, the other coder with insomnia. As she sank into her work, the sun, that old reliable, started to rise, warming the room and settling her nerves. If only it could reset her heart.
    ****
    Elliot’s first IM arrived at nine o’clock sharp.
    “Late for work?”
    “Early. Coding now.”
    “Please call when break. Please.”
    She cut off the app, which felt a bit like cutting off arm or a major tree root or something, and realized she had to pee. Dammit . Now her concentration was broken. After depositing the old coffee, she picked up a cup of fresh joe and settled back down to the mess on her screens.
    It didn’t work. As she was trying to roll the tightness out of her shoulders, Josh’s head and shoulders popped over her half-wall. He looked the worse for wear. She tried to guess at his troubles, but, you know, politely.
    “So the anniversary went well?”
    “See the gossip page today?”
    Shit. Heart in her throat, she typed in the address for the Daily . Sure enough, the Page Three photo was from the party. Scalding hot, and most definitely inappropriate for minors.
    The photo was shot through the window. She knew it – that flash behind her eyes had actually been from the outside. But how?
    Josh came round the wall into her guest chair, tossing the paper version on her keyboard. “Looks like your beau’s got some ’splaining to do. Or maybe not – I see you’re already missing a certain fancy ring.”
    Her ass was one-third the picture, with a slightly fuzzy but still very recognizable Elliot leaning over, readying to smack. Her thong was front and center, her legs slightly apart.
    Smart to go for the extra-special wax job, whew. No bumps.
    Emily tried to shrug it off, show she didn’t care, but it turned to a shiver instead. The motion shook loose a sob.
    “Hey, hey. It’s just the Daily , nobody will see it who matters.” He waggled his eyebrows the way that always made her smile, and she hiccupped. “And if they do, they won’t care. They’re consenting adults in the privacy of their own home. So to speak.” He frowned. “But – and isn’t it a big butt, sorry I had to say it – he’s not the right guy for you. He’s not old enough yet to appreciate a good woman.”
    She looked at the photo again. Her ass looked great at that angle. And her Elliot, well, she’d never seen