Sam wasn't around, and Andrew, SDI's office assistant, must have been at lunch. I left a note on Andrew's desk to give to Sean and headed out.

Preston and I passed Suz (she'd scored eighty dollars) on the stairs. I told her where we were off to in case Sean came looking for me-or if the police needed a last known location.

18.

I used my key on my father's penthouse door, let myself in. Preston was right behind me, eager to get a glimpse at my father's home. Or, more likely, hoping to find anything that might give her a clue into my family's background. She wasn't fooling me with her sudden desire to see my father's art collection.

There was a big clue on the console table to the right of the door-a bronze of Cupid. Preston looked right past it, her eyes sweeping in all she could in one big glance.

Yes, so far she had kept her word about not sharing with the world that Cutter McCutchan was a Valentine, and she'd also kept the secret about my parents' topsy-turvy relationship.... But could she keep quiet about Dad's and Cutter's ability to see auras? Was her loyalty to my family bigger than her desire for a national-an international-scoop?

I really wanted to trust her, but I didn't, so I had to do everything I could to protect the secret. Now if I could only figure out how.

"Raphael?" I called out, setting my purse next to Cupid. "I need to pick up my car keys."

"Where's the Vermeer?" Preston asked, looking around, her eyes wide.

I gestured toward the fireplace. Dad's waterfront penthouse had stunning views of Boston Harbor. Sunlight cascaded through floor-to-ceiling windows, setting the living room aglow. Right off I noticed three of my father's designer suitcases stacked by the door. If he was going out of town, he hadn't mentioned it.

Preston started toward the painting and stopped suddenly when a tiny giggle came from the other side of the broad couch.

She took a step backward, bumping into me. I steadied her and said, "Hello?"

A head popped up, peering at me over the back of the couch.

I grabbed my chest, willed my heart to beat normally. "Dad, hi."

Preston gave a little wave. "Hello, Oscar. I came to see the Vermeer."

His hair was rumpled, his eyes shiny. "Hello, girls."

I said, "What're you doing home? Shouldn't you be at work?" His office door had been closed when Preston and I left, and I'd assumed he was with a client.

"Just, uh..."

My mother's head suddenly popped up next to his. Her short blond hair stood on end. "LucyD, this is a surprise."

Preston let out a little gasp, then clamped a hand over her lips.

In addition to the unkempt hair, my parents had rosy cheeks and guilty smiles. My gaze dropped to the area rug and I noticed my father's trousers balled up near the end table as if they'd been thrown there....

Realization hit hard, and I threw my hands over my eyes. I let out a squeal.

My father said, "Just came home for some ... lunch."

Mum giggled.

"Is that what they're calling it now?" Preston asked with a straight face, but humor danced in her eyes.

Grabbing her sleeve, I dragged her through the kitchen. Raphael's quarters were off the back hallway. "I'm traumatized," I declared loudly. "I'm scarred for life. I'm going to need therapy."

"I have a good one if you want his number!" Mum called out.

"Scarred!" I yelled back. "Is Raphael even home?"

"In his room," my father answered.

Once I reached the safety of the hallway, I let my hands drop. Would I ever get used to seeing them ... like that?

Preston sagged against the wall. "You have the most interesting family."

"Interesting" was a good word. "Dysfunctional" also worked. "You don't know the half of it."

Her eyes sparkled. "What else is there?"

I really had to watch what I said around her. I knocked on Raphael's door.

"It's open!" he yelled.

Raphael stood in the middle of his one-bedroom apartment surrounded by boxes.

Preston closed the door behind her, leaned against it. "It's safe in here, right? Maggie's not going to pop out of one of the boxes, is she?"

Crisp, creased black pants were specked with cardboard dust, and his white button-down had been rolled to his elbows. His dark salt-and-pepper hair had been gelled, slicked back in a style straight from the fifties. His olive skin glowed with the faint sheen of working hard. "It's safe."

I looked around. "What's all this?"

His brown eyes warmed. "I'm packing."

"This is an awful lot to be taking on vacation, even if it is a month long."

The room was filled with cardboard boxes, taped and neatly labeled. Walls were bare, small nail holes the only hint there had been artwork and photos.

Raphael watched me take everything in. "I'm moving out."

There was a sudden pain in my chest, like a thorn wedged in my heart. "Where?"

Preston picked up some Bubble Wrap.

"I'm moving in with Maggie," he said. "Her house. In Cambridge."

Pop. Pop.

Of course. It had been a stupid question but the only one my brain could form at that moment.

"It seems so sudden." There was a catch in my throat. He hadn't mentioned a thing about it yesterday.

His eyes locked on mine. "I woke up this morning, rolled over, and looked at the empty space next to me, and I realized I don't want to spend a single night away from her, and that I didn't have to."

"Awww," Preston said. Pop. Pop.

"It is rather sappy." His fingers flexed as though he was itching to steal the Bubble Wrap from her.

She added, "Another Oscar Valentine success story. His success rate is quite remarkable, isn't it?"

Raphael didn't take her bait. "He isn't the King of Love for nothing."

I couldn't worry about Preston's suspicions right now. My mind was too wrapped up in the moving boxes. I sat on the arm of the sofa. Selfishly, I was going to miss Raphael always being around whenever I needed him. At the same time, nothing made me happier than seeing him so happy. Loved. I wouldn't want it any other way. He and Maggie were meant to be together. It was destiny. And I wasn't about to stand in the way of it.

I stood, hugged him tight. "What is Dad going to do without you here full-time?"

He smiled. "I believe he has plans of his own."

"Oh?" I said. "Like what?"

"Not for me to say."

There was a tap at the door. My father stuck his head in. He was freshly showered. If he'd been fazed by the interruption from Preston and me, he didn't show it. He was as cool and calm as ever. "Preston, I thought you'd like to see the Vermeer. And I've just obtained a Gandolfi. You must see it. Come."

She snapped to attention, but as she glanced at me her eyes were wide and blank.

Apparently, her studies of the masters were limited. Luckily, she was a quick learner and my father a good teacher. She was about to endure a crash course of Art 101.

"Enjoy," I said, waving as she followed him out of the room.

Raphael said, "What is that about?"

"Preston has a newfound appreciation of the arts."

Wisely he said, "Cutter?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Have you warned him?"

"Not yet."

"You'd better soon."

"He's due back in town this weekend. We're having dinner. I can bring it up then."

Raphael picked up the Bubble Wrap Preston had left behind. "So annoying, this."

Yet I yearned to pop a few of the bubbles myself.

"Is Cutter staying in town for good?"

"I'm not sure. He's been traveling a lot with his art. A different gallery, a different city, every other week, it seems."

"Mmm," Raphael said.

"Hmm," I agreed.

He lifted an eyebrow, amusement in his eyes. "Running from your father?"

"As fast as he can. I'm hoping they will come to a compromise; otherwise I'm scared Dad may push Cutter away for good."

"Oscar must learn patience."

"And Cutter has yet to learn the value of his gift." A lesson I had learned the hard way.

"Did Em leave my car keys with you?" Preston and I still had to go to the millinery and then check out the tip she had received on Tristan Rourke.

Raphael pulled a key ring from his pocket. Folding his arms across his chest, he said, "Do you want to take the back way out?"

"My purse is on the console table. Besides, I need to rescue Preston."

"Ah."

I kissed him good-bye and as soon as I reached the hallway I heard a pop, pop. I stuck my head back in the door.

Raphael smiled. "Irresistible."

I left him to his packing and popping and found Mum in the kitchen, shredding a carrot.

"Do you have time for a salad?" she asked.

"Sorry. We can't." I eyed the sofa. I'd never be able to sit on it again. "When did you start liking salads?"

"People change," she said, biting into the carrot with gusto.

"Do they?" I asked, ripping the bandage off emotional wounds. "Truly?"

She waved the carrot at me. "I hear what you're saying, Lucy. And the truth is, I don't know. But right now, this minute, it doesn't matter. And if I'm okay with it, then you should be, too."

I didn't think it was that easy.

She added, "This may last one week, two. One year, two. Who knows? Life is about living, not about constant worrying."

Ha! She didn't know my life very well. I sat on a stool. "But how, when you know there may be pain in the end?"