After providing directions to the gardening crew and instructing Rob to stay with them and for Todd to

go back and forth between the gardeners and her, she dove into the bathroom. That's when it hit her.

She shuddered at the sight of the toilet, and for reasons she couldn't explain or didn't want to think about, she wondered if she could do it. This. The toilet. Her new life.

The thought of her father unexpectedly flitted through her mind-his smile, his larger than life laughter.

God, she missed him.

But what she hadn't admitted to anyone was that she was angry at him, too.

"Don't you dare go weak on me now," she whispered heatedly, wiping at the foreign feel of a teardrop

in her eye.

"What's wrong?"

She jerked her head up and found Todd standing in the doorway, the camera trained on her, capturing

her pathetic moment.

"That won't make the final cut," she warned him.

He only smiled, then focused on the toilet. "I'd cry too if I had to clean that."

"I wasn't crying."

He moved the camera to the side of his face, still taping. "Yeah, right."

"I wasn't," she claimed.

Todd shook his head, his grin wide and happy. This was the Todd she had known for the last week.

But she now knew that lurking inside was a teenager who needed to know more about his own father.

No question, it wasn't her job to tell him. But surely she could cajole him into asking his mother or Ben about his dad.

"Hey, Todd," she said, when he started to return to the gardeners.

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking about what you said the other day. About your dad always being gone. And your parents fighting."

His jaw set.

"Maybe you should talk to your mom about that, or better yet, talk to Ben."

"No way. My mom would kill me if I talked to Ben about it."

Her shoulders came back in surprise. "Why?"

"Because she made me swear I wouldn't tell anyone about my dad and his women."

"What?"

His eyes went wide with panic. "Oh, man. You can't tell anyone that." He rushed over to her. "I didn't

mean to say that."

"Todd, it's all right. But-but surely you're wrong."

"Wrong?" He scoffed. "Hard to make a mistake when your parents are screaming at each other because

your mom tells your dad that she knows about his hookers."

The scrub brush dropped out of her hands.

"Todd, that can't be true."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"Oh. Well. Of course not.' It's just..."

Just what?

"You're nice and all, Julia. But face it, you being nice and sweet won't make everything okay. It doesn't

work that way."

He left the room and headed back to the gardeners.

Julia's head spun the rest of the day. Was he right? Though right or wrong, what should she do? Should

she tell Ben even after knowing that the boy's mother didn't want Ben to know? She finished cleaning by two in the afternoon and had to get started on the painting. Fortunately, the paint store had taken pity on her and sent over two college kids to help" her out. They had the small living area and kitchen of the house painted by six o'clock. They would have to finish up in the morning before the new furniture arrived the following afternoon.

At six-thirty, she locked up the house. She was exhausted.

After making plans to meet back at Rocco's in the morning, Rob, Todd, and Julia headed home.

It was dark on Meadowlark Drive. After flipping on the lightswitch, she dropped her purse, poured

herself a glass of wine, then headed back to her bedroom for a nice long bath.

She had rarely seen Ben during the last two days. It still surprised her to think that he was an undercover

cop. Having met his upper-class St. Louis family, it astounded her that he had left that life behind. It impressed her as well. Ben Prescott could have taken the easy way and lived a life of wealth and privilege simply by going to work for his brother. Or he could have been like their sister, Diana, who clearly didn't work at all. Could she be as good as Ben? Could she rise above her moneyed past and succeed in this new world? She also remembered his "date" with Sonja that had gone awry. Julia felt horrible about the disaster. The hairdresser wouldn't return any of Julia's phone calls.

She grimaced. Her list of concerns was growing by the day. Sonja. Todd. What to say to Ben about his friend Henry and his hookers. Ben's door was closed when she walked by, a light burning underneath. She started to knock, but couldn't bring herself to do it. Not yet. She had to think things through.

She kept going.

Before she allowed herself to sink into a tub of warm water, she took a hot shower, scrubbing every inch

of grime from her body. Then she plugged the tub, dumped bubbles in, and soaked. She closed her eyes,

sipped her wine, and willed all the aches and pains and worries to go away.

She was quiet, and she might have fallen asleep. Which could have explained why Ben walked into the bathroom without knocking.

Her eyes flew open, and Ben froze with his hand on the knob.

In the weeks he had been staying there, the shared bathroom had never been a problem. They kept

different schedules and, she had to admit, she always remembered to lock the door leading to his room.

But not tonight.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice deep and gruff. "I thought you took a shower and were done."

She sunk low in the tub, the bubbles covering her breasts, and tried not to think about the tingling that

instantly swept through her at the sight of him. She remembered his promise that they would make love. The arrogance appalled her. But deep down she knew that they were inching toward that eventuality. The Sonja setup had been an insane excuse to derail this mad train they were barreling along on.

But tonight there was more in his expression than arrogant sensuality. There was a weariness, his features more ravaged than usual. There was a dangerous edge to him that made it look as if at any second he would lash out.

He backed out and closed the door without another word.

Pulling herself out of the tub, she grabbed a towel and told herself she wasn't disappointed. She tugged

on a T-shirt and pulled on a pair of velour warm-up bottoms. Just to be nice, really, she popped her head into his room to tell him the bathroom was all his.

But her heart twisted when she saw him.

He sat on the edge of the desk chair, his head in his hands, his elbows planted on his knees. The minute she opened the door, he straightened with a jerk.

He didn't say anything; he just stared at her, his dark eyes rimmed with emotion, his jaw tight, his shoulders seemingly massive and granite hard underneath his navy blue T-shirt. A cops' T-shirt, she realized in the back of her head. He had been wearing cops' T-shirts the whole time.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Nothing," he said coldly.

"It's not nothing."

The frustration on his face was palpable. "What do you want from me?" he demanded, his voice tired