I told myself that, but I was having one hell of a hard time implementing it.

I reached out and touched his arm. It was hidden by his shirt sleeve, but I almost felt as if I could feel the tattoo burning into me. “I need to know that you weren’t just playing me, Evan. I mean—I guess if you were then it was my own damn fault. I’m the one who said I wanted this to be temporary, right? I’m the one who said three weeks.”

I pushed up off the curb and turned to look at him. I felt the tears trickle down my face, but I wasn’t sobbing anymore. I was a wreck, but at least I was a wreck with some semblance of control.

“But then you asked if I was staying, and I guess I thought—I mean, maybe I hoped—”

“What?” he asked.

It was just one word, but he said it with such soft hope that it gave me courage.

“I came here because you’re right. Because I’m not being true to myself. I want art, not politics. Beauty, not bills and bartering. And so I came here to tell you that. Because, because—” I shook my head, not yet ready to put everything into words. “But maybe I presumed too much. Because I didn’t know about her. I didn’t know about—”

“Ivy,” he said, and I had to close my eyes to block the pain of that one simple word.

His hands closed over my shoulders. “Look at me,” he said.

I hesitated, then slowly opened my eyes. I saw warmth in his face. Warmth and desire and what looked remarkably like happiness. I think I may have even seen love.

And then, without warning or pretense, he leaned in and kissed me so gently it almost made me cry again.

“Come on,” he said after he pulled away. He twined his fingers in mine and started to walk toward his car.

“Where are we going?”

“I have a few things to tell you,” he said. “I think we’ll start with Ivy.”

The car ride was quiet, primarily because Evan wasn’t saying a damn thing and neither was I. He seemed content to wait. I was afraid to break the silence in case I was wrong and it hadn’t been happiness I’d seen in his eyes. And if he was taking me to meet the girlfriend he had secreted away in a tower, then I didn’t want to know about it until the last possible second.

Mostly, though, I was willing to just surrender. I’d worked myself into a frenzy over something I was beginning to believe was a misunderstanding. And I’d twisted my own life and future around because of guilt and fear. I needed to learn to step back—and Evan was the only one I trusted.

I hoped like hell I wasn’t wrong.

But when we reached Evanston, I couldn’t stand it any longer. “How much farther?”

“Five minutes.”

I swallowed, then nodded. “Okay,” I said, and was irritated by the way my voice broke. I glanced sideways at him. “Don’t break my heart.”

“Never,” he said, with such firm certainty that an errant tear escaped down my cheek.

I brushed it away, annoyed at myself for being an emotional mess.

We were in a neighborhood near Northwestern now, and he pulled onto a side street and then up to the gate of a stunning mansion with a beautiful manicured lawn. “We’re here,” he said, as he keyed in a gate code. The gate swung open and he pulled up toward the house, and as the driveway angled around, I caught sight of a pool, a tennis court, and a guesthouse on the property.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“My house,” he said, and then killed the engine.

“Yours?” I wasn’t expecting that. “But the houseboat …?”

“I prefer to stay there.” He opened his door and got out of the car. “Come on.”

I took a deep breath and followed him, not at all sure what to expect but certain of only one thing. If I tried to guess, I would undoubtedly be wrong.

The front door had a keypad lock and he punched in the code and then stepped inside. I followed, then looked around in silent awe at the beautiful interior. I’d grown up in a fabulous home, and the condo I now lived in was stunning. But the interior of Evan’s home was an absolutely perfect mix of beauty and comfort. It reflected money and taste along with an ultimate sense of home. It felt cozy and inviting. And that just made it more odd to me that he didn’t want to actually live there full-time.

“It’s me,” he called, his volume surprising me. “Who’s home?”

A moment later, a large woman in black drawstring pants and a scrub-style top came in from an adjoining room with a dishtowel in her hands. “Mr. Evan! Why didn’t you call? I would have held dinner for you.”

“Don’t worry, Ava. I’ll fix us something later.” He indicated me. “This is Angelina Raine. She’ll be staying the night.”

Before I could react to that news, Ava took my hand and was clutching it warmly. “How wonderful! We’ve heard so much about you.”

I glanced at Evan in surprise. “Thank you. I appreciate you putting up with us on such short notice.”

She waved the words away, and I thought she was going to say something else, but the pounding of feet on the floor above us caught all of our attention. The pounding was followed by a woman’s voice calling, “Evan! Evan!”

Ivy, I assumed, but there was something odd about the voice that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

And then there she was hurrying down the stairs with the same excitement as a child expecting presents. Her hair was long and unkempt, and it was hanging in such a way as to cover her face. She wore a pink sweatshirt with a giant purple heart on it and Converse tennis shoes. She skidded to a stop in front of us and pushed her hair back out of her face—and when she did, I had to force myself not to gasp.

The woman’s face was so scarred that it was almost unrecognizable as female. She had only half of her nose, her eyebrows were completely missing, and her mouth was twisted now in a strange contortion of a smile. That contortion, however, was filled with so much joy at the sight of Evan that it seemed to light her up from the inside, and made tears sting my eyes. After stopping for just a second, she launched herself into his arms crying, “I missed you! What did you bring me? What did you bring me?”

“Something very cool,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet, opened it, and took out a two dollar bill. “Do you know what this is?” he asked, handing it to her?

She studied it intently. “Money.”

He laughed. “Well, yeah. But how much?”

Her scarred eyes widened just a little. “Two! Wow! I’ve never seen that before! Is it real? Will it buy Twizzlers?”

“It is and it will.”

“Thank you!” She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you! I miss you!”

“I love you and miss you, too. And guess what else I brought you?” he asked as she released her grip. He nodded toward me. “A new friend.”

She turned to me and smiled wide, revealing remarkably perfect teeth. “Hi! You’re pretty!”

I had to laugh. “Thank you,” I said. “So are you,” I added, and was rewarded with her vibrant smile. “And I love Twizzlers, too.”

“Really? Wow! How old are you?” she asked.

“Almost twenty-four,” I said.