The occasion was a dinner at his house, ostensibly to celebrate the upcoming nuptials, but Carlo had drunk too much of his own wine and become surly, Frances had repeatedly touched Philip’s arm and brought up his ex-wife and children, and J.D., seated across from Tiffany, had caught her eye time and time again. His gaze wasn’t openly hostile, nor was it friendly; just intense. He managed a smile or two during the meal but clearly felt as uncomfortable with his own overbearing family as she was.

Philip, Carlo and Mario, Carlo’s brother, were leaving for a convention that night in Las Vegas. Upon Philip’s return, he and Tiffany were to be married. She only had to get through this dinner and the next week, then she’d become Mrs. Philip Santini. Sweat broke out on her forehead as she tried to concentrate on the conversation while picking at her rack of lamb and seasoned potatoes. To make the meal even more uncomfortable, every once in a while Mario and his wife would lapse into Italian and everyone at the table, aside from Tiffany, understood the conversation. She sensed that she was being spoken about, but never heard her name and silently prayed that the ordeal would be over soon.

God, it seemed, had other plans.

The family lingered over coffee and sherry as the clock in the front hallway of the old brick house chimed eight.

“Don’t you have a nine-thirty flight?” Frances asked, startled as she counted the chimes. They were over an hour away from the airport.

Philip glanced at his watch. “It is getting late. We’d better get a move on, Dad.” He looked across the table. “You wouldn’t mind giving Tiffany a lift home, would you, James?”

Tiffany froze. The thought of being alone with J.D. truly alone—was terrifying. “I thought you were going to drop me off,” she said, trying to pretend that she didn’t really care one way or the other.

“Change of plan. We’re running late, so you’ll need a ride.” Philip winked at her and for the first time, Tiffany wondered if he was being a bit condescending.

“But—” She looked across the table at J.D. and caught the amusement in his gaze.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be good,” he said. “Trust me.”

Her words caught in her throat and she swallowed hard. She wanted to argue, but couldn’t risk making a scene in front of Philip’s parents. They already had reservations about her and she couldn’t let them think she was a spoiled, insecure little girl. “Fine,” she agreed with a smile that felt as phony as it probably looked. She’d foreseen something like this happening with Philip’s schedule so tight, and she’d offered to drive herself to his father’s house, but Philip had been adamant about their arriving together.