“Why? Did he tell you that?”

“No, Madame el. He did not need to.”

Claire didn’t reply as Madeline’s words registered. She and Phil were friends. He’d protected her and Nichol when they needed it most. He’d stayed true to her family when the world was in chaos. She wanted him happy, and if Taylor did that, she wouldn’t be the one to spoil it. After all, he’d been the one to support her and Tony. Had he not traveled back to Europe and brought Tony to the island, Claire’s life, as well as Nichol’s would be totally different.

A few days later, Claire asked Phil to her office alone. As they sat and talked, their years of friendship were evident. As with many of the relationships in Claire’s life, it had begun rather unconventionally—Phil was sent to California to spy on her—yet with time things change. When he stood to leave, Claire reached up and hugged him. “You know I only want what’s best for you.”

Phil nodded. “The feeling’s mutual.”

“I like Taylor. She’s been around for a year and feels like one of the family.”

His cheeks rose and the flakes of gold sparkled in his eyes. “We weren’t hiding. We’re trying to be professional.”

Claire rubbed his shoulder. “As long as you know that we know, we’re good. I don’t want to ever make you feel uncomfortable. Honesty has always been our strong suit.”

“All of you are our responsibility,” Phil said. “Neither Taylor nor I nor Eric would allow anything to happen. I don’t want you to think our loyalty is divided.”

“It better be,” Claire proclaimed.

Phil took a step back. “What do you mean?”

“When you first started working for me, it was just me. Then you brought Tony back, and then Nichol came. Now our little man is on his way.” Claire smiled. “I’ve never felt less protected because you had more than me to babysit.”

Phil’s smile broadened at the term. “Babysit…” He said shaking his head.

“Taylor can be on that list too. I know you, and I know you won’t let any of us down.”

“Thank you. Just so you know,” Phil said as he opened the door, “there’s only one Mrs. Alexander.”

Until we have seen someone’s darkness, we don’t really know who that person is. Until we have forgiven someone’s darkness, we don’t really know what love is.

—Marianne Williamson

TONY WOKE WITH a start from the sensation of falling—from where he didn’t know—down to an unknown chasm. The downward sensation could either end in a crash, the ramifications undetermined, or by sheer will. That wasn’t even a conceivable choice. Anthony Rawlings couldn’t plummet into the unidentified abyss; he chose will. The subconscious decision was evidenced by his increased heart rate as well as elevated temperature. Tony’s brow glistened in the moonlit room. Taking a deep breath, he reached for his anchor, his rock, his life, but the bed beside him was empty. The more he groped toward Claire’s side of the bed, the more he found only cooled, lonely sheets. Looking to the clock near the side of the bed, he saw that it was a little after 2:00.

Sighing, he threw back the covers, sat, and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. “Claire?” he called, quietly, so as to not wake her if she were asleep somewhere else. Evenings past, he’d found her that way, sleeping on the sofa before the large fireplace. Her back had been giving her bouts of pain, and Tony knew that some nights she was having increasing difficulty staying comfortable and asleep. Not finding her on the sofa, he smirked. The best chance of her location was behind the door to their private bathroom. Nichol had done the same thing to her, especially late in the pregnancy. Two or three trips in one night were not uncommon.

Opening the door, he stepped onto the cool tile floor. The room was empty. As he returned to the suite, he heard her voice coming from the darkened nursery. “Tony, why are you awake?”

The smile that came to his lips did little to hide his relief. He knew his anxiety at ever losing her again was both unfounded and obsessive. It was his most discussed topic with his therapist. Over time he’d come to realize that of the few people who’d occupied a place in his heart, Claire was the only one who remained. The others had either died or disappointed him beyond repair. Her steadfastness gave him something he’d never before had, and there was a part of him that feared losing it. That wasn’t Claire’s issue; it was his.

If asked, Tony would tell the world he didn’t need the psychobabble shit. He’d tell them he was done and it was all a farce. However, he knew that answer wouldn’t be the truth. Like Jim at Yankton, his current therapist expected honesty, and somewhere in the last three years, Tony had found an acceptable outlet in the weekly sessions. Claire didn’t need to be bothered with his irrational thoughts; truly, she’d dealt with enough of them from both him and herself. Tony would never speak to Brent or Tim of anything so personal. Perhaps that was the difference between most women and men. Claire had cut back her therapy to once a week, claiming that speaking to her friends, especially Courtney and Meredith, was as helpful as speaking to Dr. Brown.

Tony’s personal relationships with his friends had changed over the years, since Claire. Everything in his life could be divided into BC or AC: Before Claire or After Claire. It was hard not to think that way: the difference was too extreme. From his cold detached way of conducting business, to his peripheral personal relationships, and his private life, what Tony lived now in the AC was almost a dream in comparison to the way he had lived.