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Ophelia was waiting.  
    “Didn’t I tell you she was good?” she demanded.  
    “I have to get to the hotel and check on things. I’ve played hookie for long enough.”   
    Her happy expression fell away.   “You’re not going to tell me what she said?”
    “I’m going to be very successful, I’ll meet a beautiful woman who will only want me for my money, and I should avoid black cats, ladders and the number 13,” he joked.  
    “Fine.   Don’t tell me. I’m going to catch the street car and head over to check on Thomas.”
    “You do get days off,” he chided.   Part of him was glad that she was there for Thomas, that he had someone with him other than nurses during the day.   But she needed time for herself whether she acknowledged it or not.  
    “I do. But I don’t want them right now.   I hate leaving him.   I love Thomas, and I want to be with him as much as I can.” She walked away, a sad smile touching her lips.  
    He sighed, hearing the underlying message in that.   Everyone knew that Thomas’ time was limited.   “Just get home before dark, will you?   I didn’t realize how bad your neighborhood was till last night...and we’ll discuss how we’re going to fix that later.”
    She waved at him dismissively as she kept walking.   Watching her go, Vincent couldn’t stop the psychic’s words from replaying in his head—the thing he wanted most.  

 

     
    CHAPTER THREE
     

     

    Ophelia walked through the house one last time.   It was empty.   All the mourners had gone. Along with the sycophants and social climbers who’d come to Thomas' funeral because it was a place to see and be seen. Most hadn’t any affection for the man himself.
    However, it wasn’t just that.   The house was empty because Thomas’ presence could no longer be felt in it.   Even sick and weak, he’d filled the space somehow.   Perhaps, it wasn’t the house that was empty, she thought.   Maybe it was her.
    She’d loved Thomas.   He’d been like a doting grandfather to her during her childhood, and taking care of him as she had over the past few years, she’d bonded with him even more.   She felt useless at that moment.   What would she do with herself?   A job was the first order of business, but it wouldn’t be the same.  
    Of course, nothing had been the same since that night in the kitchen.   Eight days had passed since then, a scant week since she and Vincent had called their truce, so to speak, with that walk through the quarter.  
    In that time, as Thomas had become more and more ill, Vincent had stayed at the house with him.   Seeing him day in and day out, recalling the way he’d touched her, the taste of him, it had been nothing but torture.
    It was only made worse by the fact that she could see it in his eyes, as well.   When he looked at her, she knew that he was remembering it too, in spite of their mutual agreement that it would be horrible mistake.  
    The more she’d thought about it, the less convinced she was that it was the right choice.   She was no longer sure whether it’d been a bigger mistake to send him away than it would’ve been to simply give in to the temptation.   Perhaps Brenna was right, and it was time to stop playing things so safe.  
    As soon as it crossed her mind, Ophelia scoffed at the thought.   Temptation was one thing, but having the courage to simply brazen it out and go after what she wanted was another.  
    She made one last walk through of the kitchen.   Everything had been put away, perfectly in place.   Her heels echoed on the hardwood floor as she exited toward the library.  
    Kaitlyn was just vanishing out the front door, obviously dressed to go out.
    Ophelia frowned at that.   The two of them had been friends, or at least playmates as children. It was only as they’d gotten older and the difference in their social stations had been pointed out by so many of Kaitlyn’s other friends that it’d changed.  
    Ophelia didn’t