And yet with all the people in the city, Marjorie was intensely lonely. Maybe she was dumb and being a moony virgin, but she missed Rob. The time she’d spent with him made her feel more alive than she’d ever felt before. It was like someone had finally seen her—the real her, under all the layers—and was fine with all her parts.

Maybe that was why, after so briefly being part of a duo, it was so hard to go back to her normal solitary life. Why she wasn’t completely satisfied with spending her Friday nights at bingo with Agnes and her friends. Why going to a yarn store and picking out a new pattern was no longer all that exciting when she didn’t have anyone to show her creations to. Why lying in that small, twin bed that folded out from the closet felt like a death sentence.

She missed kissing. She missed hand-holding. She missed Rob’s laugh when she told a corny joke.

She missed Rob.

He was her first real love, and she’d fallen fast and fallen hard. It was going to take time to get over him, but the misery would eventually end.

But in the city full of thousands and thousands of faces, she could have sworn she saw Rob everywhere she went. It bothered her. She’d hear his laugh, and turn around and see no one there. She’d see a shirt that he’d worn and follow the owner, only to find it on the back of a completely different man. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she’d seen a dark-haired man that looked just like him get into a cab.

She’d confessed her “Rob-haunting” to Brontë, who’d given her a sad look and suggested she go on a date. She’d offered to set up Marjorie, but Marjorie went to a speed-dating round instead.

Every man there had been intimidated by her height. She’d walked away humiliated and full of despair. Not that she’d wanted any of the men. She’d compared them all, mentally, to Rob, and found them lacking. They lacked his smile, his protective instinct, his charm, his everything.

Marjorie supposed she’d just have to deal with being haunted by his memory for a bit longer. There were worse things than thinking you caught a glimpse of the man you’d loved for one brief shining moment in your life.

***

“More tea, Marj?” Agnes held up her floral teapot. “I know how you love your Earl Grey.”

Marjorie held out her dainty china teacup. “That would be wonderful, thank you.” She glanced around Agnes’s tiny flat. Pictures and knick-knacks covered every inch of surface, and the small apartment seemed utterly crowded with memories. “Your home is lovely. Mind if I look at your photos?”

“Not at all,” Agnes said, beaming. She poured Marjorie a new cup of tea and then picked up her phone. “I’m just going to send Dewey a selfie while you do that.”

Marjorie grinned and took a sip of her drink. “So you and Dewey are still a thing?” She’d introduced the two of them on the island, mostly because she wanted to spend more time with Rob. To her pleasure, they’d hit it off.

“Still a thing,” Agnes agreed. “He’s coming to New York for some lady time in two weeks. Doctor’s appointments are holding him back, but we manage with Facebook.” She looked at Marjorie proudly. “I’m grooming him for husband number seven.”

Heh. “I’d be more than happy to be a bridesmaid at your ceremony if you manage to get that one down the aisle.” Marjorie took another sip of tea and then set the cup down. She walked to the curio cabinet in the corner that was littered with picture frames. Some of the photos were in black and white, some in color, some of children, some of Agnes herself at varying ages. Fascinated, Marjorie gazed at the pictures and paused at one of a handsome sailor dipping a much younger Agnes on the dance floor. They looked so incredibly happy. “Who’s in this picture?”

Agnes moved over her shoulder and looked. “That’s husband number two. Kurt. Sweet man. Died in Korea two years after we married.”

Oh. She felt a painful squeeze at the thought of the vibrant, happy couple in the photo having such an unhappy ending. “I’m so sorry, Agnes.”

“It’s all right, Marj honey. I met a lot of good men after him, including Dewey.” She beamed. “Think, we both found love on the island!”

“Not me,” Marjorie said in a soft voice. She straightened and turned away from the picture. “Mine was a liar and a bad man.”

“Really?” Agnes looked fascinated. “What did he lie to you about?”

She confessed to Agnes the truth of Rob’s business—The Man Channel, and the Tits or GTFO crew. She told her about how she’d never had a clue until the day of the rehearsal dinner, and how hurt she’d been.

Agnes simply cocked her head and looked mystified. “He said that was who he was and that was the end of it?”

Marjorie shrugged. “He said he’d change for me and asked me what I needed him to do. He was just saying whatever he could to try and get me to change my mind about how I felt about him. But there was no way I could back down after learning that about him. I felt betrayed. Especially after those awful men tried to get me to take my top off for them.” She shuddered. “And to find out that he was their boss . . .”

“Huh,” Agnes said. “That’s so interesting. Do you read tabloids, honey? I find that they have the best crossword puzzles.”

Marjorie smiled. “Do they now?”

“Well, that, and pictures of shirtless men in Hollywood. I’m only human,” Agnes said with a cheeky wink. She moved to her kitchen area, humming, and found a stack of magazines and began to flip through them. “I’m pretty sure I have something here you’ll want to see.”

“I really don’t read the tabloids,” Marjorie told her. She’d poked through a few after getting back from the island, her curiosity burning about Rob. What she’d seen there had been awful. Pictures of him partying on a yacht in Ibiza with Victoria’s Secret models. Rumors of drug-fueled orgies. D-listers sharing “sex secrets.” After that, she was done. She didn’t want to learn anything more.

All that shit is fake, he’d told her. I’m not like that.

It was easier to believe in tabloid Rob than the one she’d met on the island, though.

Agnes wagged a finger at her and continued flipping through a magazine. “I promise you, you’re going to want to see this one. Ah, here we go.” She pushed against the spine of the magazine, ensuring it laid flat, and then handed it to Marjorie. “Read that.”

A gorgeous picture of Rob in a business suit, phone at his ear, stared up at her. She couldn’t help herself, she gave a little gasp and gazed down at the picture for far too long. He looked so good. Tanned, shaved, handsome, his collar popped open—no tie for him. Sunglasses covered his eyes, and she wished she could see them.

The picture next to him was of a sheikh of some kind, and she frowned. What did these two have to do with each other? Then, she read the bright yellow headline for the first time.

Billionaire playboy sells The Man Channel and all affiliated stations to Saudi prince in billion dollar deal! There was a smaller headline underneath that read AND THEN GIVES ALL THE MONEY TO CHARITY!

Her eyes widened. She picked up the magazine and began to read, frantic.

Nothing about handsome billionaire Robert Cannon, 32, has ever been predictable . . . except for his love of partying. It seems, however, that scandal’s favorite billionaire is turning over a new leaf. Reports coming out of boardrooms state that Cannon has sold the incredibly lucrative The Man Channel and its spinoff stations to a powerful Saudi billionaire for over a billion dollars. When asked why he was getting out of the cable industry, Cannon’s reps were notoriously closed-mouthed. One source says that despite the fact that ratings have been up, Cannon was unhappy with the business itself. She said that “someone opened his eyes, and he didn’t like what he saw.” VERY MYSTERIOUS.