She pretended to think hard. "You really don't like ice cream," she said, guessing. "In fact, butter brickle gives you hives."
"No." His tone was a bit impatient, but she didn't notice.
"Aha!" She shook her finger at him. "You really didn't like my restaurant as much as you said you did, and now you're trying to find a way to tell me the awful truth. Is that it?"
"You know it's not." He hesitated, and she finally be gan to realize he was serious. "But that does have some thing to do with my confession. Your restaurant, I mean."
Charity frowned. "What is it, Ross?" she said sharply. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." He'd faced senators and corpo rate power brokers with less trepidation than he felt here. "It's just that... I've been lying to you."
Lying? If there was no hidden wife, she couldn't imag ine what he could possibly have been lying about that would make him look so stern. A shock of fear ran through her. Her hands gripped the counter and she stood very still.
"What do you mean?"
"Charity-" He reached toward her, but she jerked back stiffly.
"Tell me," she ordered.
He wanted to-if he could only find the words. She de served to hear it from him, but every time he tried to for mulate a way of saying it, it sounded worse.
Then it was too late, because Aunt Doris was bursting into the kitchen waving the evening newspaper. "Guess what, Ross," she stated loudly. "A strange thing has happened. They've got your picture in here by mistake."
Charity saw the expression on Ross's face change. She turned stiffly toward her aunt. "Let me see," she said hoarsely, holding out her hand for the paper.
But Aunt Doris was showing it to Ross. "See? They've got it in a story about some other fellow named Ross. He's just landed some major contract in Australia, and there's this long article about it, with your picture attached. Isn't that odd?"
But Ross wasn't looking at the picture. "Charity," he said again, staring at her. She avoided his gaze, feeling shell-shocked.
"I guess it's because the two of you share the same first name," Aunt Doris babbled on. "His name is Ross Carrington . But they used your picture."
Charity's throat felt tight but she managed to speak. "Ross Carrington," she echoed. She took the picture and stared at it. "Isn't that strange?" she repeated mechani cally. Dropping the paper onto the counter, she turned to the ice cream. "One scoop or two?" she asked Ross, dig ging the spoon deep into the creamy substance.
"Charity," he whispered, putting a hand on her arm. "I wanted to tell you."