Aida was bone-weary. Her foot ached. She wanted comfort. Wanted Winter. It was strange to be peeking behind the scenes of his home without him there. Over the past couple of weeks she’d gotten too used to him . . . the way he smelled, the way he laughed. How the mattress sank when he crawled into bed. How he sounded when he came inside her.

Their routine at the Fairmont had been nothing short of bliss, and now it was over. Now she was back to her normal life, where every day was different and nothing could be counted on. Because now that she’d had the entire day to mourn the loss of her possessions—and the locket, in particular—she reasoned that maybe she’d been so devastated to lose them because before Winter came along, they had been her routine. Things. They’d been the only constant in her life. City to city, job to job, stranger to stranger, she could always count on the comfort that her dependable pink Westclox and Sam’s old photograph provided.

The locket had grounded her. But now it was gone, and there was nothing she could do to bring it back. She had to hold her shoulders high and keep going. Besides, Sam would’ve hated that he’d become her crutch, after he’d spent years encouraging her to live fearlessly.

She was good at being fearless. Damn good. That was something. And she wasn’t destitute like she’d been when Emmett Lane had shoved her into the orphanage. Her possessions had been replaced. She was surrounded by nice things and nice people. Lots to be thankful about.

If she only had Winter by her side, she might even be more than thankful—she might be happy. After all she’d been through over the last twenty-four hours, imagine that. If Winter could make her happy on a dismal day like this, how could he make her feel on a good day?

“Do you require anything else?” Greta asked, breaking into Aida’s thoughts.

“What’s that?”

“Anything else?”

After everything they’d already done for her? Aida couldn’t possibly have any other needs. If anything, she should be asking what she could do for them. Then inspiration came to her. A whim. “I would like someone to hang a mirror over Winter’s bathroom sink.”

Greta and Astrid stared at her. “Oh, he won’t like that,” Astrid finally said.

“I know. But I’d like to have a mirror in there for grooming, and Winter needs to stop feeling sorry for himself. Sometimes people require a little push.”

“I do not—” Greta started.

“Blame it on me,” Aida said firmly. “And while you’re at it, have someone bring the full-length dressing mirror into his bedroom. How he dresses without help is beyond me.”

“He had the dressing mirror in his closet lowered so that he only sees himself from the neck down,” Astrid volunteered.

“Astrid Margaret Magnusson!” Greta chastised.

“Well, he did. And Aida’s right. It’s time for some changes.”

Aida smiled. “Good, it’s settled then.”

“Anything else?” Greta said, her voice thick with annoyance.

Aida looked at Astrid. “You said you’ve never driven a car, not even once?”

She shook her head. “Winter won’t allow it.”

“And this coupe just sits here collecting dust? Shame, don’t you think?”

“It was my mother’s.”

“It’s lovely. Does it run?”

“All the cars run. Jonte takes them out around the block every Wednesday.”

Aida caressed the curve of the spare whitewalled wheel attached to the side of the car above the running board. “Someone taught me how to drive in Baltimore a few years ago. I think I still remember. Want to learn? My treat for everything you’ve done for me today.”

“Nej, nej!” Greta protested. “He will be very angry.”

“Just around the block,” Aida assured her. “You can stand here and watch us.”

“Really?” Astrid said, suddenly swept up in the idea of it. “Bo showed me how to shift gears once. I think I could do it.”

“Of course you can. Duck soup. Easy as pie.”

Greta mumbled a string of Swedish words under her breath.

“Greta!” Astrid said with a grin.

The housekeeper’s pink cheeks darkened. “I will not fetch the automobile key. If you are planning mutiny against your brother’s rules, you can ask Jonte to help you.”

• • •

After dropping Velma off at Gris-Gris, Winter spent the day in his Embarcadero office making calls. When dinnertime rolled around, he asked Bo to take him to Russian Hill. He hated driving by the house he’d shared with Paulina; though it had been sold more than a year ago, the sight of it still filled him with guilt and gloom. But what brought him here this time didn’t have anything to do with his past. It concerned Aida’s past, and it had taken him all day and a shameful amount of money in long-distance calls and lawyer fees to find it.

Worth every goddamn penny.

The address he was hunting ended up being down the street from his old house, two blocks from Lombard. Small world. Winter asked Bo to park the Pierce-Arrow right in front of a three-story Spanish Colonial attached home. Well kept. Cypress trees flanking the crooked steps. Shiny white Duesenberg behind an elaborate metal gate in the driveway.

“I’ll be right back. Shouldn’t take long.” Winter buttoned his coat and marched up the steps to the entrance. A bored maid answered his knock and blanched at the sight of him.