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to be elected to public office, but then he had dropped dead. An aneurysm had felled him at the age of forty-one. That was when she had really come to love her grandfather. She had watched him swallow his own grief and anguish to console her.
    She understood that she had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but when people called her lucky all the time, she wasn’t sure why. Luck wasn’t money. She would have traded every dime in the family coffers to have her father back. Connie told her that it was worse to be in agony and broke, and she guessed that must be true, but she felt it was more than enough that she’d lost her mother and baby brother in childbirth, and then her father. She had been raised in a huge, cold house and a huge, cold apartment—though not by a cold man. She adored Douglas Alexander Llewellyn. At the age of eighty-five, he remained the iron-fisted, tough-as-nails ruler of all he surveyed.
    But it had never been fear of him that had made her work so hard, take such care in school, or behave with complete responsibility at all times. She loved him. She wanted to please him. And though she loathed politics, she did want to do her part to change the world. Douglas had taught her about giving back; Connie had shown her why she must do so.
    â€œJillian,” Kelly said, bright blue eyes sparkling, “I have never seen you look lovelier. Not even in all those chic gowns you own.”
    â€œShe’s a vamp,” Connie said with a laugh. “We look okay, Mom? I mean, how about me? Your daughter, remember?”
    â€œCute as a button,” her mother said.
    â€œCute? I want to be sultry. Stunning.”
    Kelly laughed. “Your husband adores you, and you’re devastating. You’re both devastating—in fact, I’m afraid to let you go out to that pub.”
    â€œJust Hennessey’s, Mom. And Joe will be there.” She looked Jillian up and down and angled her head in thought. “Though, come to think of it, we may pick up every sodden Irish-American—hell, every sodden man of any nationality—but what the hey, you only go around once, right?”
    â€œWell, off you go, then.”
    They kissed the girls good-night. Tricia was five, and Mary Elizabeth, or Liza, was the baby at four. The excited little girls raved over Jillian’s costume, and as she kissed and hugged them, she found herself loving the clean, baby-powder scent of them in their jammies. They were such a wonderful part of real life, and one day she wanted something as wonderful as what Connie had: a cozy little apartment and people all around her who loved her, really loved her. Family. True, she had a family, but it wasn’t the same as having a husband who’d chosen to love her and children born of that love.
    â€œWe’re off,” Connie said, kissing her mother’s cheek.
    â€œBehave, now,” Kelly admonished.
    â€œBehave? Good heavens, Mother. I want this witch to go wild, have a little fun.”
    â€œShe can’t go too wild, and you know it.”
    â€œWhy not? I’m buying her the biggest Guinness in the place the moment we get there. But don’t worry, because I’ll be there, protecting her.”
    Jillian grinned. Connie was the closest thing to a sister she had. In school, Connie had been a class ahead of her, and from the start, she hadn’t been in the least intimidated by the Llewellyn power, money or prestige. She had allowed Jillian to see the streets of New York, the real streets. They had gotten into a few scrapes, but they had also gotten out of them. Thanks to Connie, she had seen harsh things firsthand: prostitutes on the street turning tricks so they could afford another line of cocaine, AIDS victims dying with no hope, kind priests, rabbis, laymen and women determined to help them.
    â€œYou are going to let loose, right?” Connie asked her, angling her dark head in question as she studied