Home. Where was that exactly? Every time she’d tried to talk to Nick about moving in with him over the last two weeks, he’d dodged her, telling her they’d talk about it when she felt better. She was feeling fine, but if one more person treated her with kid gloves she was going to punch them. Her temper had been her biggest problem lately as she learned to live without caffeine. Her stomach, on the other hand, had been much better, which she hated to admit.

She’d been so bored during her leave that she’d even accompanied Nick to kick off his campaign in Richmond and to several events in southern Virginia. Following an initial burst of interest from the media about her long-ago almost-abortion, she and Nick had settled back into the usual grind of fending off just a small horde of reporters everywhere they went.

Buckling under enormous pressure, they had agreed to give Darren Tabor their first exclusive sit-down interview as a couple next week. Sam had major reservations about the idea and was doing it only to help Nick’s campaign.

She parked on Ninth Street and contemplated where she wanted to be. Her dad’s house was dark, as it often was these days as he and Celia finalized the plans for their Valentine’s Day wedding. The thought of her father getting married on Valentine’s Day made Sam want to gag, but they were so excited that she couldn’t bring herself to object. She’d even grudgingly agreed to wear the red satin bridesmaid dress Celia had chosen for Sam and her sisters. Double gag.

While her dad’s house was dark, Nick’s was lit up like he was having a party. Sam locked her car and headed for Nick’s. Inside, she found her sisters waiting for her.

“What’re you guys doing here?” she asked, dropping her coat over the sofa. It drove Nick crazy that she couldn’t hang it in the closet like a “normal” person, which was why she so enjoyed dumping it on his sofa.

“We’re helping Nick with something,” Angela said.

“With what?” Sam asked.

“Oh, a little project named Samantha,” Tracy said as she linked her arm with Sam’s and led her to the stairs. “Right this way, Samantha.”

“He’s the only one allowed to call me that,” Sam snapped.

“When can you go back on caffeine?” Angela asked. “I liked you better with a bad stomach and a happy disposition.”

“Bite me.” In the doorway to the bedroom, Sam stopped and gasped. “What the hell?” Hanging on the closet door was the most exquisite ice-blue gown Sam had ever seen. She broke free of her sisters and pounced on the dress. “Oh my God, is that silk? Where did this come from?” She let out a most un-cop-like girlish squeal. “Oh my God! It’s Vera Wang? Seriously?”