“Tack, mitt hjärta.”

“You’re welcome.” She laid the clothes on the windowsill. “Bo said it was faulty wiring that caused the fire, and that she lost everything.”

“Mmm.”

“But I have a feeling it had something to do with the bootlegging.” When he didn’t answer, she perched on his lap. “I can tell you’re upset. I’m sorry.”

He ran his fingers along one strand of her lemony blond hair. “Someone is trying to scare me into giving up the business. I don’t want you to be frightened. I’ll take care of things.”

“I know you will.”

“But until I put a stop to it, I’d like you to be mindful when you’re out. Not frightened, but mindful.”

“I always am.”

“Use good sense and have someone with you at all times, but if we allow ourselves to be intimidated, then—”

“They win. Got it. I’ll be sensible.”

“Good girl. How do you feel about another shopping trip?”

“For Aida?”

“I’ll call the department store and coax them into letting you in before they open to the public. Bo can ride with you. And Jonte.” And a couple of extra guards to man the doors, and take a circuitous route in one of the old cars. Better safe than sorry.

“Count on me. I can be ready in an hour.” She gave him a sleepy smile and clasped his hand. “Will Aida be moving in here permanently?”

“She leaves for New Orleans in a week.”

“For good?”

He shrugged.

The tips of her slim fingers folded over his. “Are you in love with her?”

His stomach tightened. Was he? He remembered how miserable he’d felt those few days when they’d been apart after the fight about Sook-Yin. And he knew how relieved he felt now, knowing she was only a few yards away, safe inside his home. He wanted her to sleep in his bed . . . wanted to see her when he woke up.

He wanted all of her, not just an affair.

And he definitely didn’t want her to leave. The thought of it filled him with a black despair that rivaled the pain of losing his family.

“I might be,” he finally answered honestly.

“I think she might be in love with you, just from the way she was looking at you that day when she tried to give the coat back. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look at you that way. Definitely not—”

“Don’t say her name.”

“Sorry.”

He lightly squeezed her hand. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t force Aida to stay.”

Maybe not exactly force her, but he could tip the scales. Talk to Velma behind her back and get her to extend her contract. Only, he’d already promised he wouldn’t.

He could take a train to the speakeasy in New Orleans and threaten this new club owner to drop her. Tempting, but he nixed the idea almost immediately. She would see through that deception in a heartbeat.

No, he couldn’t force her.

Why couldn’t Aida just see what was right in front of her face? They were so good together. Great in bed. More than great: exceptional. Marvelous. And they got along famously. Honestly, she was one of the few women he’d enjoyed as much out of a bed as in one. Christ, he even enjoyed arguing with her.

And she loved it out West—she said as much all the time. So why shouldn’t she put down roots and start her séance business here? Not only could he help her buy a place she could work out of, like she wanted, but he could help steer rich patrons her way. She could have what she’d dreamed about. And if anything ever did tear them apart, God forbid, she’d be set up to do what she wanted, instead of injuring herself every night for a roomful of drunken idiots.

And he’d be right here to take care of her if she needed anything.

It was a simple solution. Why was he the only one seeing it? Worse, if he tried to convince her, she’d probably just stubbornly argue her way around it.

“So you’re just going to let her go?” Astrid said. “That doesn’t seem like you at all.”

He let his head drop back against the chair. “What can I do? Lock her up? Threaten her?”

“Sure, that’s what every girl dreams of, Winter.”

He gave her a cross look, then glanced out the window, watching golden light piercing through a blanket of fog. “What do you suggest, then? Since you’re such an expert in these matters, what with your many years of experience.”

“At least I’ve got sense enough not to marry someone I didn’t love.”

He couldn’t disagree with that.

She stretched her legs out, releasing his hand, and stood to leave. “Pappa once told me that everything he did in life was something to please Mamma, and that he was only happy when she was happy.”

“Yes, so?”

“So if you want her to stay, maybe you should make her happy. What does she want?”

It sounded so simple, but what if the thing Aida wanted most was to leave?

“Figure that out,” Astrid said as she padded out of the room.

He shoved the photo of Paulina inside the bottom drawer of his desk. Maybe he’d eventually put it in storage or send it to her parents. If he forgot Paulina’s face . . . well, then he just did. He’d flagellated himself for too long. It was time to let it go.

He exhaled wearily and headed back to his bedroom. Aida was lying facedown on his bed, a towel draped around her, hair wet. The contents of her handbag were strewn across the bedspread—some crumpled bills and change, a metal lipstick tin, a cheap pocket mirror, her lancet, a few opened letters.