Merry Christmas, Daddy. SUSAN MEIER

were on the second floor Gabe led her down a long hall and to a huge bedroom. But when they were behind the closed doors of the bedroom and Candy had been settled in the center of the double bed, Gabe still didn’t say anything.

      “Your family has a lovely home,” Kassandra said, seeking to start a conversation she hoped would lead him into telling her the things she needed to know.

      “Yes. Thank you,” Gabe agreed absently.

      He used the same tone he’d used when he said good morning in the hall the day after the first time she called the police on him, and Kassandra only stared at him. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he had every intention of treating her the same way here as he did in Pennsylvania. “Look, Gabe,” she said. “You can’t give me the silent treatment for the next three weeks. You brought me down here to make your family think you’re engaged—happily,” she reminded him. “This charade isn’t going to work if you keep treating me as if I have the plague.”

      “I am not treating you as if you have the plague.”

      “All right, just a bad case of the flu, then,” she said, attempting to lighten the mood enough that he’d relax with her.

      “Very funny,” he said, though he certainly wasn’t laughing. “To you this is just a big joke, and in this case I’m left holding the bag. We’re going to fail because I don’t know a damned thing about kids and I’m supposed to have been dating you long enough that I would be accustomed to your daughter by now,” he said, revealing to Kassandra that he might not have been reading through the ninety-minute plane ride to Georgia, but rather thinking about their predicament and not liking the conclusions he had drawn. He combed his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “Hell, I don’t know why I bothered bringing you. Once I saw the baby, I should have realized this wouldn’t work.”

      With that, he turned and stormed to the door. “I’m going to get Candy’s things,” he said, bounding from the room.

      Kassandra dropped to the bed, dispirited. She’d never thought of that. A man engaged to marry a woman would have been dating her long enough to know her child. And Gabe didn’t know her child.

      He was right. They were destined to fail. And it was her fault. If she couldn’t come alone, be what he wanted, then she never should have come. He had every right in the world to be angry with her.

      “What the hell is wrong with Mr. Cayne?”

      Kassandra glanced up and saw a short, white-haired woman standing in the open doorway. She wore a simple gray dress and sensible shoes. She clutched a thick black cane in one hand, but her other hand and arm were weighted down with clean linens. “I said, what the hell is wrong with Mr. Cayne?”

      For a full ten seconds, Kassandra sat openmouthed, staring at the woman, not quite sure how to respond. Kassandra might not be a member of the ruling class, but she knew one didn’t talk about the family’s troubles with the maid.

      “Uh, thank you for the linens,” Kassandra said, hoping she’d changed the subject.

      The woman hobbled to the bed and laid the linens on one corner. As she did, sleeping Candy rolled onto her belly and rubbed her face into the comforter. “Well, what have we here?”

      “That’s my daughter, Candy,” Kassandra said.

      “Oh, let me guess,” the old woman said. “I’ll bet this is why Gabriel Cayne went storming out of here a few minutes ago.” Leaning over to get a better look at Candy, she added, “He doesn’t like complications in his life. Wants everything to be perfect. I wouldn’t worry about what he thinks, though. He can be a real uppity pain in the butt sometimes.” She pointed at the towels. “Here, honey, put these towels in the bathroom for me, would you?”

      “Sure,” Kassandra answered, taking the stack from the bed where the maid had set them. Walking to the bathroom, she realized that though she, herself, wasn’t actually saying anything, the maid could be drawing all kinds of conclusions from this conversation, and Kassandra knew she had to nip them in the bud. “Mr. Cayne just wasn’t expecting me to bring Candy along,” Kassandra explained. “At the last minute, I decided I didn’t want to miss Candy’s first Christmas. He wasn’t angry. We were both simply stressed out from the trip. Not only does Candy have more luggage than six adults, but she cried for most of the plane ride. Candy’s not the most wonderful traveling companion,” Kassandra added as she walked out of the bathroom.

      “Nonsense,” the old woman said. “I think she’s perfect. Why, look at her,” she said, smoothing her gnarled fingers along Candy’s feathery hair. “She’s adorable.”

      “Yeah, I think so,” Kassandra agreed, gazing at Candy’s rosy cheeks and velvety skin. Her hair had been matted into little tufts, and the spot right beside her ear held the imprint of Kassandra’s coat button, but in spite of that Candy managed to look beautiful. “It is hard to believe Mr. Cayne doesn’t find her as adorable as we do.”

      The maid looked at Kassandra quizzically. “Do you always call him Mr. Cayne?”

      “Not really,” Kassandra answered, unwittingly thinking of the hundreds of things she’d called him in the past year, particularly the things she’d called him when he woke Candy with one of his parties. “I’m only trying to be respectful.”

      “Well, the hell with that,” the maid said with a cackle. “You can be honest with me.”

      Not thinking that a very wise idea, Kassandra glanced at the linens. “Were you going to change the bed?”

      “Yeah, but you beat me up here,” the maid said, still gazing at Candy who was sleeping soundly. “And now one of us is going to have to hold the little one while the other one works.”

      “Fair enough,” Kassandra agreed, glad to be off the subject of Gabe Cayne. “You hold Candy,” she said, motioning the old woman to the rocker by the bay window. “And I’ll change the bed.”

      “I like the way you think,” the old woman said, her eyes shining. “I could use a few minutes off my feet.”

      Kassandra was half tempted to ask the poor thing how long she’d been working for the Caynes and how much longer she’d have to work before she could retire, but she thought the better of that one, too.

      “Why don’t you tell me where you’re from while Gabe’s out getting your bags?”

      Bags wasn’t the half of it. There was an odd assortment of baby things too numerous to mention. She didn’t want to think about that any more than she wanted to carry on a personal conversation with a member of the staff, but at this moment the conversation was the lesser of two evils. Besides, the question itself was harmless.

      “Pennsylvania.”

      “You work with Gabe?”

      “Not really. Actually, I live in his apartment building.”

      “I see,” the maid said quietly.

      Kassandra shook her head. “No, I don’t think you do. I didn’t start dating him because his company owns the building I live in. I started seeing him because he wanted to see me,” she said, realizing how easily a story could be created by using the actual facts. “Things just sort of fell into place after that,” she added, deciding that this really was simple. Easy enough that they could pull this off—even with Candy—if Gabe would just loosen up enough to give her a few minutes to prime him for his part.

      “No kidding,” the maid said, genuinely impressed, then she cackled. “To tell you the truth, I’m surprised the old scrooge brought you with him. He never brings his girlfriends down here. From what I hear, he’s ashamed of them. In fact, I’m real surprised he’s dating a woman who not only has a brain in her head, she also has enough class to give an old woman a break by making her own bed.”

      Wide eyed, Kassandra gaped at her. “You shouldn’t be talking about him like that.”

      The maid batted her