contour of the green, arcing up the high side then veering at the last second to hit the hole. Exactly the way he wanted it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AS SHE marched up the impossibly imposing brick steps at the Osland mansion outside Manchester, Dee Dee trotting along on her leash, Kristy reminded herself that nothing had changed. Recognition and success in the fashion world were still her dream.
She’d already had plenty of other setbacks over the years. And every time, she’d picked herself up, dusted herself off and redoubled her effort to bring her fashions to the attention of the industry.
Now, gazing up at the sprawling, three-story, snow-covered Colonial, she assured herself this was no different. She’d pick herself up one more time. Marrying Jack was merely a blip on her road to success, and a year from now she’d be laughing at the absurdity of thinking she was in love after only two days. Nobody fell in love that fast. She’d been swept off her feet by a man who’d set out to trap her. That was all.
Of course he’d seemed like the perfect man. Anybody could pretend to be perfect for two days. He’d laughed at her jokes, pretended to admire her intelligence, professed to like the same wines and catered to her every whim.
But it had all been a lie, a sham. And as soon as he’d shifted to the real Jack, she hadn’t liked him at all. In fact, she’d hated him then. She still did. And that was why showing up on his doorstep and cornering him with his fake marriage was going to be so easy.
In the back of the limo, halfway between the airport and the Osland estate, she’d realized she wasn’t simply getting revenge for Cleveland. She was also doing it for herself. Jack was in line for a comeuppance, and her success would show him a thing or two about judging people.
“And it will be his own darn fault,” she pointed out to Dee Dee as she reached to ring the bell.
It chimed a musical tune, echoing inside the huge house.
A dark-haired, middle-aged woman opened the door. She wore a blue-and-white tunic with slim gray slacks. Her glance flicked to Dee Dee then returned to Kristy.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” she asked pleasantly.
“I’m here to see Jack Osland.”
The woman stepped back, opening the door wide. “Mr. Osland is expecting you?”
Kristy shook her head.
The woman’s smile faltered for a scant second. “Who shall I tell him is calling?”
Kristy stepped over the threshold. Dee Dee followed, her trimmed nails making muted clicks on the black-and-white tile.
“His wife,” said Kristy.
The woman’s brown eyes went round for a moment. “I’m sorry?”
Kristy nodded in confirmation of what the woman had just heard. “You can tell him his wife is … home.”
“Fine.” With admirable aplomb, the woman gestured to a gilt settee along one oak wall of the bright, octagonal room. “Please, do have a seat.”
“Thank you,” said Kristy, as the woman exited down a long hallway. She walked over to the settee with Dee Dee trotting along beside her. Instead of sitting down, she scooped the dog into her arms, straightening Dee Dee’s blue, satin-lined coat. It was made of fleece, with a discreet appliqué sewn at the collar. She gave the dog a reassuring pat, snuggling it close to her chest.
It took about thirty seconds for swift, masculine footsteps to sound on the hardwood floor of the hallway.
Kristy took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as Jack rounded the corner.
When he saw her, he came to an abrupt halt. Sunbeams from the beveled windows shone in his dark eyes, highlighted the uncompromising planes and angles of his clean-shaven face.
“Is this a joke?” he demanded.
She kept her voice light and airy by sheer force of will. “Hello, honey.”
His square jaw clenched in the booming silence that followed her words.
“I’m home,” she finished.
He advanced warily, as if Dee Dee might bite. Which was ridiculous.
“This isn’t your home,” he stated.
“I’m your wife.”
“In name only.”
“Actually, if you’ll recall, your name was pretty much the only thing I didn’t take.”
“What do you want?”
“Domestic bliss.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“If this is about money—”
“This is about fashion.”
He rolled his eyes and made a sound of disbelief deep in his chest.
Another figure emerged from the hallway. “There you are.” Cleveland strode across the foyer, his hands outstretched.
Jack jerked back in reaction.
“We were getting worried,” said Cleveland, scooping Dee Dee out of Kristy’s arms and planting a dry kiss on Kristy’s cheek.
“Gramps,” Jack interrupted.
“Did I forget to mention Kristy was coming?” the old man asked Jack, his face a picture of innocence. Kristy didn’t buy it for a second.
Then all of Cleveland’s attention turned to Dee Dee. “There’s my sweet Pookie,” he cooed, holding the dog aloft and letting her lick his nose. To Jack he said, “Don’t just stand there, my boy. Get the suitcases.”
“She’s not staying,” Jack quickly put in.
“She is. She’s your wife.”
“This isn’t a joking matter. If she moves in—”
“I’ve offered Kristy the use of the workshop above the garage.”
Kristy watched Jack’s eyes narrow, small creases appearing in the corners. “Why?”
“To prepare for the Breakout Designer Contest at the Matte Fashion Event in London. Sierra Sanchez is sponsoring her.”
Jack shot Kristy an accusatory glare.
The man could certainly be intimidating, but she refused to back down. She wouldn’t, not after coming this far. Still, she didn’t want to fight in front of Cleveland. So she arranged her features in a picture of naïveté. “Would you mind showing me to my room?” she asked Jack.
“Great idea,” said Cleveland, tucking Dee Dee into
