Stephen managed a thin smile. “Good I thought maybe I was in trouble again.” He disappeared through the doors and Tiffany heard his footsteps on the stairs. A few seconds later he’d tuned up his guitar and notes were wafting through the floorboards.

“I should tell him not to wake Christina,” she said, but decided it wasn’t the time. Instead, she turned and faced the man she loved, the man who had taught her that it was all right to be done with grieving, the man who had used her so callously.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

“It’s simple. I came to Bittersweet to tell you that you don’t own the house, that Santini Brothers do. They bought Philip out to cover his gambling debts.”

Pain burned through her soul.

“So I’m tossed out? Me and the children?”

“Nope.” He tore the deed and note in half, then half again. “It’s forgiven.”

“What?”

“The debt. It’s been taken care of.”

“How?”

“My father’s had a change of heart,” he said, still shredding the documents and letting the small confetti-like pieces fall to the floor.

“You paid him.”

He didn’t answer.

“You didn’t have to, you know. I would have taken care of it” She should have been offended but found the gesture somehow comforting. Maybe their relationship wasn’t for naught “I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I said I’ll pay you.”

“Drop it, Tiffany. You and the kids, you’re part of the family.”

“Don’t lie to me, Jay. It belittles us both. I never have nor will I ever be part of the Santini clan. That was your father’s choice. Not mine.”

His jaw worked. “I said, things have changed.”

She didn’t believe him, but changed the subject to the worry that had been gnawing at her for the past hour. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“In the morning.”

“Nice, Jay.” She couldn’t hide her disappointment. How would she live without him? These past few weeks had been glorious torments, a kind of bittersweet pleasure that she would miss. As she would miss him. She looked at him and wondered if she’d ever be blessed with his smile again, ever feel his lips on hers, ever quiver at his touch. Oh. foolish, foolish woman. Pull yourself together. He doesn’t care about you. Never has. Never will. Your love for him is a joke.

“And when were you going to tell me about the deed?” she demanded, chasing away her painful thought of love or the lack of it. “Or were you going to wait until Carlo decided to evict me?”

“That’s not happening.” He was firm.