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“He doesn’t even know about it. Neither does Mason. This is all my decision.”
“Well, count me in.” Katie finished her drink in one long swallow.
Tiffany felt cornered. If she didn’t agree, she’d appear headstrong and one-sided, when the truth was she didn’t know how she felt about her half sisters. Some of her anger had dissipated over the past few weeks. But, on the other hand, if she jumped on this bandwagon she might not be able to jump off, and she didn’t want to appear weak. “I’ll think about it,” she said, but then remembered her own wedding day—how she would have loved to have sisters in attendance, or even a father to give her away.
“Do. Just let me know in a couple of weeks.”
“I will,” Tiffany promised. Could she do it? Accept this olive branch that Bliss was offering?
“Good.”
“It’ll be a blast!” Katie predicted.
The waitress came with the check, and before the others picked it up, Bliss snagged the bill. “This one’s on Dad.”
“What?” Tiffany’s head snapped up.
“He insisted.”
“No way. I can pay my share,” Tiffany said. She wasn’t about to take any charity from John Cawthorne. No way. No how.
“Fine with me.” Katie tossed her napkin on to the table. “I’ve got to run anyway.”
“But—”
“Let him pick up the damned tab,” Katie said as she slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “The way I figure it, it’s the least he can do.”
Bliss nodded. “You don’t have to love him, Tiffany. You don’t even have to like him. But let him buy you lunch.”
“Fine.” Tiffany wasn’t sure she liked the idea, but she had more important things to worry about. J.D. and Stephen were at the top of the list.
* * *
At the small table in his room, J.D. reread for the thousandth time the deed and the note his brother had signed. The contract was ironclad. Aside from a few thousand dollars’ equity, Santini Brothers owned this apartment house lock, stock and barrel. And unless Carlo could be convinced to sell the place, Tiffany couldn’t do anything about it.
So much for her independence.
So what are you going to do about it? he asked himself and felt remorse tear at his soul. He’d made love to her. His brother’s wife. True, Philip was dead, Tiffany was a free woman, and yet J.D. didn’t feel right about what had happened.
Yeah, but you planned her seduction. You took her and the bottle of wine to the Zalinski place for the express purpose of making love to her.
His jaw tightened, and he saw his reflection in the window. Alone in the house, his bags packed, he had time to think, time for recriminations, time to realize that, like it or not, he was in love with his brother’s widow. “Hell,” he ground out and reached for the telephone. The room was hot. Stuffy. The heat of late afternoon setting in after a long day. He punched out a number he knew by heart, waited until his father had answered and said, “Hi. It’s me, Dad”
“Jay. How’s it going?”
“I want out.” No reason to beat around the bush.
His father’s silence was condemning. “You’re kidding.”
“No joke.”
“You’ve hardly been in the job six months.”
“I know, but it’s not working.”
“Why?”
“A dozen reasons. I should never have taken the job in the first place.” He waited a second and softened his voice. “I’m not Philip, Dad.”
