Misinterpreting her silence, Ashley reached over to take her hand. "Spence, you still haven’t spoken to your mother?"

"What?" Disoriented, Spencer stared at her a moment. "No, no, not since… Not since I retired."

"Why don’t you call her?"

"I can’t."

"That’s ridiculous. She’s your mother."

She sighed, wishing it were so simple. "Ash, you know her. She’s a very stringent woman, very certain of what’s right and what’s wrong. When I left tennis I did more than disappoint her, I… wasted what she’d given me."

Ashley answered with a short, explicit word that made her smile. "From her viewpoint that’s the way it was," Spencer went on. "As Paula Carlin’s daughter I had certain responsibilities. In marrying Eric and giving up my career I shirked them. She hasn’t forgiven me."

"How do you know that?" Ashley demanded. Her voice was low under the insistent music, but rich with annoyance. "If you haven’t spoken to her, how can you be sure how she feels now?"

"Ash, if her feelings had changed, wouldn’t she be here?" She shrugged, wishing they could have avoided the subject for a while longer. "I thought, at first, that when I started playing again it might make the difference. It hasn’t."

"But you miss her."

Even that wasn’t so simple. To Ashley, family meant something warm and loving and eternal. She’d never understand that Spencer looked not so much now for her mother’s presence or even her love, but simply her forgiveness.

"I’d like her to be here," Spencer said finally. "But I understand her reasons for not coming." Her brow clouded for a moment with a realization that had just come to her. "Before, I played for her, to please her, to justify the time and effort she put into my career. Now I play for myself."

"And you play better," Ashley put in. "Perhaps that’s one of the reasons."

With a smile Spencer lifted Ashley’s hand to her lips. "Perhaps that’s one of them."

"Here’s your pizza." The waitress plopped the steaming pan between them.

They ate amid noise and their own casual chatter. Even the pressure of the upcoming matches had no effect on Spencer’s mood. The cheese was hot and stringy, making Ashley laugh as Spencer struggled against it. The contents of the squat bottle of Chianti lowered as they drank leisurely, content to let the meal drag on. Tennis was forgotten while they spoke of everything and nothing at all. A group of teenagers poured in, laughing and rowdy, to feed another succession of quarters into the jukebox.

Why am I so happy to be in this loud, crowded room? Spencer wondered. The cooling pizza and lukewarm wine were as appealing as the champagne and caviar they had shared in Paris. It was Ashley. The place never mattered when she was with her. Abruptly it occurred to Spencer that it was herself as well. She was being herself. There weren’t any guards, or the need for any. Ashley was the only one she’d ever been close to who required none from her.

Her mother had wanted her to be perfect—her glass princess. All through her youth she had done everything in her power to please her. With Eric, she had been expected to be the cool, well-mannered Lady Middleton, a woman who could discuss art and politics intelligently. She was to have been like crystal, many-faceted, elegant and cold.

All Ashley had ever expected her to be was Spencer. She accepted her flaws, even admired them. Because she had wanted her to be herself, she’d been able to be just that. Not once in all the time she had known her had she ever demanded that she fit a pattern or requested that she conform to any standards but her own. Impulsively she reached over to take her hand, then pressed it to her cheek. There was warmth against warmth, flesh against flesh.

"What’s this for?" Ashley asked, allowing her fingers to spread.

"For not wanting glass."

Ashley’s brows drew together in confusion. "Am I supposed to know what that means?"

"No." Laughing, Spencer leaned closer. "Have you drunk enough wine that your resistance is down and you’ll be easily seduced?"

A slow smile spread. "More than enough."

"Then come with me," Spencer ordered.