Steve was talking to them, asking questions and listening to their answers with an interest that could not be feigned, and they chattered without reservation. Ginny watched with her heart in her throat, aching to reach out but unwilling to intrude. She felt suddenly like an interloper in a clique that excluded her. Could this be the man she had always considered coldly dangerous? This man who had gone to one knee on the floor to help a child button her hightop shoes? Impossible to believe, if she had not witnessed it for herself. The ruthless gunman of her experience was a gentle, loving father to his two children.

Tears stung her eyes, and she did not know if they were for her loss or the fact that Steve had finally become the man she had never thought he wanted to be….

A soft voice murmured in her ear, “Be patient, Ginette, and they will learn to know you soon. After all, it has been so long since they last saw you, and they were so small.”

Tante Celine. A gentle hand was on her shoulder, the soft squeeze familiar and comforting. Her aunt’s reminder eased some of the pain Ginny felt at the realization she was a stranger to her children, and she managed a nod. It was true, yet to wait, quietly watching while her children seemed oblivious to her existence, was the hardest thing she had ever done.

Another rose petal fell soundlessly to the gleaming tabletop, a bloodred tear that felt as if it came from her heart. Would they accept her? Or had she been gone from them so long they would resent her absence? Oh, how could she tell them of all she had endured, the nights she had longed for them, planned their futures together?

The enormity of her past soared like a specter to haunt her as she watched them quietly, regret deeply scouring her with razor-sharp talons. It was not regret for what she had done, but what she had not done—the nights she had not been there to tuck them into their beds, to sing them to sleep and to comfort childish tears. Oh, please God, do not let it be too late!

Then finally Steve glanced up at her, his mouth slanted in the half-mocking smile that had the power to make her heart drop to her toes.

“Laura, Franco,” he said, “we have a guest with us this morning.”

A guest! Ginny’s eyes flashed, but she held her tongue and her breath as two pairs of childish eyes turned toward her with frank curiosity.

“She is very pretty,” Laura blurted, then caught her lower lip between tiny white teeth. “I mean, good morning, madame.”