The morning after delivering his shocking news, Vincent stayed attached to his phone, speaking to various people while beating a path from his office to the balcony and back again. Every time he passed through the living room, I heard snippets of conversation. He used a good amount of Italian with someone, and two names I recognized came up, George and Marco.

While Vincent tried to save his family's reputation, I prepared for my parents' arrival. It was theater night, and Vincent and I were expected to meet them for an early dinner at an over-the-top joint Dad chose. So, I opted for my heather gray sweater dress with keyhole collar, a designer splurge from Mom. My black cashmere cardigan ended up in the spare room closet swathed in plastic, a note pinned to the sleeve instructing me to keep it covered to deter moths. Since Bates hadn't burned it in a ritual, I paired it with my black knee-high boots. Of course, I'd be showing off my new bracelet, and I made sure it hung below the cuff of my sleeve as we left the apartment.

We needed the Bentley for this trip, and on our way to the parking garage, we ducked into Trinity Church so I could play photographer. I handled things swiftly, and while Vincent spent that time at the font site, I avoided it like the plague. At the restaurant, the Maitre ď greeted us like he knew Vincent, which didn't surprise me, and we were escorted to the table where Mom and Dad sipped on waters.

Mom popped out of her seat, one hand holding the hem of her slinky gown while the other reached for me. "You look lovely, Reese. A romantic getaway to Italy will do that to a girl, huh?"

"Thanks, Mom. You look lovely, too."

Dad took his turn to hug me while Vincent fielded handshakes, and I dropped into a chair being held out, feeling exhausted already. Thank goodness, we didn't have to give them the real reason we were in Verona. The waiter had our waters on the table before Vincent could sit down, and Dad quickly capitalized on the moment by raising his glass.

"Here's to romantic getaways even when they interfere with holidays," he said, smiling pointedly at Mom.

This prompted her to blush as she toasted him, and I felt a lump clog my throat. Was this Dad's way of keeping Mom's spirits up? Had he encouraged her to come to Manhattan to take her mind off Theo?

"Tell us about your trip," Dad asked. "Was the weather nice?"

"Verona and Venice were both stunning," I said. "Next time I want to stay longer. We did go into a jewelry shop near the Adige river and Vincent found this for me." I gave them an eye-full of my wrist candy while flashing Vincent an adoring smile.

"Now that is stunning." Mom leaned across the table to give the piece her scrutiny. As far as accessories went, Mom could rival those chicks on Capitol Hill. "How is Sylvie settling in? We should have asked her to join us."

"Don't guilt yourself out, Mom. Sylvie's probably still at work. I think she and Colin have plans to hang out tonight."

"So, they're still an item?" she asked.

"Yes. Romantic getaway to Italy, remember? They're crazy about each other."

"Well, that's convenient," Dad said over his menu. "Nobody has to feel awkward on double dates."

Conversation continued normally, focusing mostly on the Thanksgiving dinner no one had to attend, and our food arrived, silencing the table for a while. About fifteen minutes in however, MC and CW breezed past our table, accompanied by a henchman who didn't even try to hide his affiliation with criminals. They were taken to a round three-seater at the bar, and I watched the big guy struggle to get comfortable on his tiny barstool.

Pain shot up my thigh and I realized Vincent had his fingers wrapped around it, squeezing the life out of me while he skewered the trio with a piercing gaze. Since he didn't seem to be aware of this, I leaned into his ear to let him know.

"Vincent, you're cutting off the circulation to important body parts."

Vincent's eyebrows rose and the pressure on my leg lessened. "Sorry." His apology came out throaty as his focus remained on the bar. I knew it would be tricky bringing him back.

"I see them too," I whispered. "Cocky bastards."

My levity worked, and Vincent responded by taking my hand and bringing it to rest it on his leg. The meal commenced, with Vincent keeping a wary eye out for the three bozos. Fortunately, they only stayed long enough to suck down one drink, and when they got up to leave, Vincent shielded me with his body as they walked purposefully by our table. A business card landed next to Vincent's plate. Everyone saw this action take place, and Vincent picked it up to read it once the bozos had passed. I couldn't make out the handwritten message before he lowered it back to the table.

"What was that all about?" Dad asked.

"I met the man at an engagement and he didn't have a business card on him," Vincent said without missing a beat. "He must have recognized me and dropped it off." Vincent picked up the business card again and tore it up. "I wasn't going to call him anyway."

Outside the restaurant, we stood on the sidewalk saying our goodbyes, while Vincent's keen eyes scanned the busy landscape.

"We're staying at the Waldorf Astoria," Mom said, kissing my cheek for the third time. "And we'll be shopping at Fulton Center tomorrow afternoon. Apparently, some of the shops will be open. Please, try to join us for brunch at the hotel."

"Okay. Let's talk late morning. Enjoy the theater."

Vincent allowed his mood to darken as we made for the parking garage, gripping my hand a little too tight and walking a bit too fast after such a heavy meal. I wanted to know what MC wrote on the business card, but I needed to let Vincent cool down before I probed. My phone rang as we approached the Bentley, and I was glad to see Sylvie's name, not Christoph's.

"Hi. Did you just get home from work?"

"Not exactly. Everyone went home early for the holiday weekend, so I went shopping. Then I came home and used the bathroom. Then I opened an IPA because work was a bear. When I finally walked upstairs to check on Mr. Pearlman, I heard his feeble old voice calling out for help. I nearly had a panic attack."

"What happened to Mr. Pearlman?"

"He fell. I had to open his door with the spare key. I found him lying next to his recliner. He said he blacked out and woke up on the floor in pain. I called the ambulance and they're taking him to the VA hospital now."

"Mr. Pearlman is being taken to the VA hospital," I said to Vincent.

"Then that's where we're headed."

"Thanks, Sylvie. I hate to think what might have happened if you hadn't been there to help."

"No sweat. I just wish I had come upstairs first thing."

"Don't second guess yourself. You're a life saver."

Ending the call, I shook my head as Vincent opened the door to his car. "I know how the VA hospital operates," I said. "They're particular about who they let into the ER, and I'm not next of kin."

"Don't worry. I've got a few strings I can pull." Vincent placed his phone in the handset and spoke to it as we pulled out of the garage. "Call Rebecca P."

The call got picked-up on the first ring. "Vincent, it's been a long time," said the soft female voice on the other end.

"March of last year," Vincent rattled off. "Listen, Rebecca. There's an older gentleman who's on his way to your ER. He has no family to speak of except my fiancée, Reese. She and I are on our way there now. Are you on duty?"

"You're engaged?" She sounded shocked, which couldn't possibly compare to the shock I felt as I turned my gaze on Vincent. His eyes remained on the road.

"Yes, we're engaged."

"Is this confidential information?"

"Not at all. Are you working?"

"Um, yes. I'll meet you at reception."

Vincent hung up the phone and shot me a glance from his peripherals while I scrutinized him.

"What are you up to, Vincent? Are you stirring the pot?"

"I'm not stirring any pot. I'm taking myself off the market."

"People are going to expect a ring," I said, wiggling my empty finger.

"I thought you didn't want a ring."

"I didn't know we were engaged."

Vincent nodded but offered nothing more, and I had to assume the conversation was on hiatus until after we visited Mr. Pearlman. While I didn't consider myself a traditional girl, I expected my boyfriend to propose properly, irrespective of his gollum nature.

When we arrived at the ER, the petite blonde on the other end of the phone line directed us into the back where we found Mr. Pearlman amid beeping machines and busy attendants. He looked tired, but appeared to have everyone engaged in his curmudgeonly wit. When he saw me, he jutted his bony chin in greeting. "Long time no see, neighbor."

"We were in Italy," I offered lamely. "And if you're trying to make me feel guilty, it's working." I jockeyed for position next to his sickbed, and no one seemed to mind us being there. I figured it had something to do with Vincent's commanding presence. "Vincent bought me this beautiful bracelet." I leaned in and draped my hand over the tubes on Mr. Pearlman's chest. He looked at it and gave Vincent an approving nod.

"Classy. It looks real nice on you, Reese." He coughed and winced in pain, getting one of the machines buzzing. A nurse pressed a button then adjusted the breathing tube under his nose.

"Try not to cough, Henry," she said.

"Tell that to my lungs," came his phlegmy reply.

The activity gradually died down, leaving Mr. Pearlman in the capable hands of machines, and he took to scrutinizing me and Vincent under wrinkled eyelids.

"You two don't need to stay here," he grumbled. "They're going to run some tests, tell me I'm not dead yet, and send me home with more meds."

"I'll help you figure out your meds," I said. "They'll probably give you something for pain. We need to be careful with those."

He lifted a tired arm to wave away my comment. "You have better things to do than look after an old man who should have died on that stairwell two years ago."

A tear pricked my eye as soon as Mr. Pearlman mentioned the stairwell incident. Why did he have to bring that up now? "Clearly, there was a reason you were supposed to stick around. Think of all the crap television you would have missed."

Mr. Pearlman graced me with his patronizing smirk. "You need to live your life, Reese, and I'll go home and live what's left of mine."

"You won't be going home as fast as you would like, Henry." A man in a white lab coat walked through the privacy curtain. His gold embossed name tag announced he was Dr. Reynolds, and he held up an x-ray. "This picture tells me you fractured your femur when you fell. You're looking at immediate surgery and thirty to forty-five days of physical therapy."

Mr. Pearlman scowled. "Well then, that settles it. Shoot me now and put me out of everyone's misery."

"Don't say that." I squeezed his hand. The hand I didn't realize I was holding. "I'll help you with your physical therapy and your meds."

"Mr. Pearlman's therapy will likely be in an assisted living facility," said Dr. Reynolds.

"What you mean is old folk's home. Hell no! I won't go!" Mr. Pearlman shouted his distaste, and Dr. Reynolds shook his head condescendingly. I knew the doctor's approach would not work on my headstrong neighbor.

"What about an in-home physical therapist?" I asked. "Can we arrange something like that?"

"That will be up to his insurance company. Someone will be along shortly to go over that with you. In the meantime, let your nurses do their job, Henry, and no more talk of shooting anyone."

Dr. Reynolds disappeared through a door, letting Mr. Pearlman continue his rant without him. "This is not how I wanted to go. I was hoping to get shot in a bank heist. That would be a helluva an exit."

"Stop being morbid," I said. "And when was the last time you visited the bank?"

Levity seemed to be the only thing left in my arsenal, with Mr. Pearlman's broken leg waving at me like a red flag. I knew what happened to feeble, old people when they broke stuff. The situation looked grim.

Vincent slipped his arm around my back hooking his fingers over my hip. "Henry, if you don't want to go to a nursing home, you don't have to go. Reese and I have already talked about moving you into the apartment down the hall from ours, and I can pay for your in-home physical therapy. That way you both win."

Mr. Pearlman responded with a cough that rattled through his chest like a bullet inside an empty barrel. "I know you're a man of means, Vincent... but I have no need of charity."

"It's not charity. It's helping a friend of my fiancée," Vincent argued gently.

Mr. Pearlman glanced at the bracelet on my wrist then he caught me in the sights of those ancient peepers. "Did I miss the part about you getting engaged?"

"No, it just happened, so I'm not used to announcing it. And, I don't care if you think it's charity, Henry Pearlman," I said, giving him a dose of my lethal peepers. "You have been my family since I moved to Manhattan, and I'm going to keep doing things to make your life better whether you like it or not."

Mr. Pearlman's eyebrows shot to the roof. "Oh no, you won't. We don't share the same ideas on what's better." He looked up at Vincent with desperation in his eyes. "Is that apartment of yours smoking or non?"