He rose. He paced. Smoke curled from the cigarette between his fingers, then disappeared into the half-light. He knew better than that, even if she didn’t. If it were true that he’d treated the whole affair like a problem to be carefully solved, it was only because that was his make-up. But he loved her, and if he were sure of anything, it was that she loved him too. How was he going to get over that wall she’d erected?

Go back to the way things were? Impossible. He looked out at the city as the darkness began to soften. In the east, the sky was just beginning to lighten with the first hints of pink. Suddenly he realized he’d watched too many sunrises alone. Too much had changed between them now, Blake mused. Too much had been said. You couldn’t take love back and lock it away for convenience’ sake.

He’d stayed away from her for a full week before she’d gone to Rome. It had been much harder than he’d imagined it would be, but her tears that night had pushed him to it. Now he wondered if that had been yet another mistake. Perhaps if he’d gone to her the next day…

Shaking his head, he moved away from the window again. All along, his mistake had been trying to treat the situation with logic. There wasn’t any logic in loving someone, only feelings. Without logic, he lost all advantage.

Madly in love. Yes, he thought the term very apt. It was all madness, an incurable madness. If she’d been with him, he could have shown her. Somehow, when she came back, he thought violently, he’d take that damn wall down piece by piece until she was forced to face the madness, too.

When the phone rang he stared at it. Summer? “Hello.”

“Blake?” The voice was a little too sulky, a little too French.

“Yes. Monique?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I always forget how much time is different between west and east. I was just going to bed. You were up?”

“Yes.” The sun was slowly rising, the room was pale with light. Most of the city wasn’t yet awake, but he was. “Did you have a good trip back to California?”

“I slept almost the whole way. Thank God, because there have been so many parties. So little changes in Hollywood—some of the names, some of the faces. Now, to be chic, one must wear sunglasses on a string. My mother did this, but only to keep from losing them.”

He smiled because Monique demanded smiles. “You don’t need trends to be chic.”

“How flattering.” Her voice was very young and very pleased.

“What can I do for you, Monique?”

“Oh, so sweet. First I must tell you how lovely it was to stay in your hotel again. Always the service is impeccable. And Summer’s arm, it’s better, no?”

“Apparently. She’s in Rome.”

“Oh, yes, my memory. Well, she was never one to sit too long in one space, my Summer. I saw her only briefly before I left. She seemed…preoccupied.”