At least tonight she didn’t have to eat dinner alone, Claire thought. But the tension in the dining room was so thick it could have been served as the main course.

She took a bite of her veal cutlet and surreptitiously studied her new brother-in-law as she chewed. It was strange, beyond strange to think of Devin McFarland as a member of her family. Nanie was probably rolling over in her grave that the infamous playboy was now her kin by marriage.

Still, Claire was curious about Devin in a morbid sort of way, the way most people watch true crime shows and prison documentaries. She didn’t think it fair to compare hard-working, still-keeping-thefamily-business-going-and-enjoying-his-private-life-at-the-same-time Tristan with Devin, International Playboy Extraordinaire, but she couldn’t help herself.

Tristan was handsome in a traditional, GQ sort of way that reeked of success and self-confidence, whereas Devin was wickedly handsome, one long dimple slashing his right cheek and a diamond stud flashing in his left ear. Devin was tan. Not the golden brown of Tristan’s coloring, but a deeply ingrained hue that suggested years of lounging on the beaches of the French Riviera and the Cayman Islands. And Devin was charming. My, oh my, that Devin could be charming.

But the brothers had their differences as well. Devin’s eyes were more green than hazel. Their color, Claire was certain, was enhanced by tinted contacts. From the moment she had set eyes on Devin until this very second he had been smiling. Tristan had worn a scowl of one sort or another since the day she met him.

It was baldly apparent that Tristan was none too happy to see his wayward brother. Claire knew that Tristan had been caring for the family business since he left the university, but he had never received any assistance from Devin. From his over-long hair tied back at the nape of his neck to the what-the-heck grin, it was oh-so obvious that Devin preferred to play. Well, that and the fact his picture popped up in the tabloids on an alarmingly regular basis.

Claire took a bite of the buttery potatoes and switched her gaze to the newest edition to the McFarland family. Esperanza, Devin’s Brazilian bride.

Shortly after Devin had arrived that afternoon, Dan Masters, Patricia McFarland’s attorney, had been summoned. The three men had ensconced themselves into the library and had not come out until almost time for supper. Claire couldn’t help but wonder if that meeting was called because of Devin’s new marital status.

She glanced back to her husband, his scowl deepening. His anger was something that Claire just couldn’t understand. All her life she had wanted more family than what she had. Not that Nanie wasn’t important to her, but she had missed her mother and father after they died. She missed not having any brothers or sisters to play with. One would think that Tristan would be thrilled that his brother had finally chosen a wife and decided to settle down, to have him back in the bosom of his family. He should be thrilled that Devin was back to help shoulder part of the burden of running McFarland Manufacturing.

But he wasn’t. He seemed more…angry than anything.

“Claire?”

Guiltily, she swung her head around to face her husband. “Yes?”

“Would you pass the salt, please?”

She stared at him for a moment, then he nodded pointedly in her direction, at least to a point straight in front of her.

The crystal shaker sat inches from her hand.

She grimaced at her own obtuseness. “Sorry.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t eat that stuff. It’ll kill you.” Devin flashed his trademark grin that Claire had seen plastered on the cover of dozens of magazines.

Tristan snorted. “This from the man who drinks martinis for breakfast.”

“Only on days that end in Y.” Devin laughed, then dropped his fork beside his plate. He leaned back in his chair and eyed his brother. “Do you remember that time that you smuggled that fifth of Jack into the school cafeteria and—”

“That was you.”

Devin paused, a faraway expression on his face. “Yeah, it was, wasn’t it? But what about the time you put sugar in the principal’s gas tank and—”

“That was you, too.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But it was you who had Cindy Lou Farrell in your bedroom and Monica Edwards in the pool house on the same night. And Aunt Pat—”

“That’s enough Devin,” Tristan snapped, an uncharacteristic flush creeping into his features.

“What’s the matter? Are you afraid that your bride will learn some of your lecherous past?”

Tristan eyed his brother with a look that bordered on sheer contempt. “That was over twenty years ago.”

“But it seems like yesterday.”

“If you want to tell stories to my wife, why not tell Claire about the one where you left home and didn’t come back for fifteen years.”

Devin’s eyes flashed, as cold and hard as emeralds. “You know, you really need to lighten up, big brother. Learn to play a little.”

“I’ve been running the company that supports your habits. I lighten up, your allowance goes down.”

“Not anymore.” Devin reached out a hand and squeezed the back of Esperanza’s neck. He pulled her closer to him, their mouths meeting a soul searching kiss that curled Claire’s toes and she was seated three chairs away. After what seemed like hours, Devin finally lifted his head. “Right, my little money bags?”

Claire swallowed back a gasp.

Devin just kept on grinning. “It’s all right. Espie doesn’t speak a word of English.”

“And you don’t speak any Portuguese,” Tristan drawled.

“Not a word. But we seem to manage just fine.”

If their kiss was any indication, Claire figured they did better than fine. She had enough trouble communicating with Tristan, and they both spoke the same language. “You must love her very much,” she said.

Devin threw back his head and laughed. “Where did you find her, big brother?”

“Never mind,” Tristan scowled.

Devin turned his attention to Claire. “Love has nothing to do with it, sweetheart. It’s solely about the all American dollar.” He shrugged “The sex isn’t bad either.”

Claire’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Let’s just say that I love her about as much as Tristan loves you.”

Claire was under no illusion that Tristan loved her, but she didn’t like hearing the words spoken aloud. Especially not from Devin McFarland.

And she had just started to feel better about herself and her life, especially since this afternoon and her run in with the press. There had been a split second when Claire had thought that Tristan was actually proud of her, but now…

Claire stopped those thoughts right in their tracks. That path only led to self-pity and she wasn’t going in that direction any longer. Instead, she turned her attention back to the argum—er, conversation going on around her.

“But a maid?” Tristan scoffed. “Surely you could have done better than that.”

“Leave it to you to lecture me. I heard you married Ian’s secretary.”

“Temp secretary,” she corrected.

“I beg your pardon?” Devin asked.

“I was Mr. Anderson’s temporary secretary.”

“You don’t say?”

Tristan winced as Devin sat back in his seat, a rather victorious smile spreading its way across his face.

“So it all comes down to this. The lengths the old bat would come to in order to make us marry and everything that we’d do for her money.” He lifted his wine glass in a mock salute. “Well, brother. Now it begins. May the best man win.”

Tristan glared at his brother from across the breakfast table and rubbed the back of his neck. He felt as if he’d been hit by a bus. After much debate he’d convinced his wife that two people could share the double king bed in his room without touching. But knowing that she was in the bed just a few feet away had wreaked havoc on his peace of mind. He hadn’t slept at all.

Any other night and he might have taken his chances with the staff and crawled into one of the spare rooms the mansion boasted, but with Devin just down the hall…Well he couldn’t let his brother discover that he and Claire had less than a …normal relationship. Especially after last night’s demonstration.

“May the best man win,” he inwardly grumbled. He shouldn’t have to be in a contest. The money should be—no, it was rightfully his. He was the one who stayed in Dallas to keep the family business going. He was the one who managed all of their affairs. He was the one who doled out Devin’s allowance. This wasn’t fair.

He scowled at Claire first, then turned his gaze to the mutt happily seated in her lap. It wasn’t enough that he had to take care of the dog and find a bride, now he literally had to compete with his brother to see who could stay married the longest.

Tristan had been hoping against hope that by some miracle Devin wouldn’t be found, or would refuse the terms of the will. No such luck. Now his aunt’s demands were like a cold bucket of reality right in the face. The best that Tristan could hope for was to share his inheritance with Devin. Not fair at all.

Then there was the matter of France. Ah, the best laid plans…he couldn’t send Claire away now. He couldn’t run the risk of her finding some French baker or painter and falling in love and divorcing him before their contracted year was over. Nor did he relish telling her the trip was off. She had seemed so excited when he’d mentioned it yesterday.

“You know,” Devin said, leaning back in his seat and breaking the almost tangible silence. “I think I’ll join you at the office today.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Tristan replied.

“No, I’m serious. I think it would be sort of fun.”

Tristan didn’t comment. He just raised one eyebrow to let Devin see his displeasure. It was one thing to have to put up with his prodigal brother at home. He sure didn’t want to have to trip over him at the office every day. But knowing Devin, this fascination with work would last only a few days at the most, and he would be back at the mansion lounging by the pool.

“Fine. Get your things and meet me at the car in fifteen minutes.”

Devin jumped to his feet and pulled Esperanza up next to him. “I’m going to work,” he said slowly and in an over loud voice as if that would make her understand.

She just nodded and smiled, then Devin kissed her like he did last night.

Tristan couldn’t help it, but he felt a small—very small—twinge of jealousy that he didn’t understand. He didn’t want to be married, and he surely didn’t want to be tied to a non-English speaking maid for the next year. He must be working too hard.

He waited for his brother’s affectionate display to end, then with a shake of his head, he walked around the table to his wife’s side.

Two could play this game, he thought to himself. He pulled her to her feet, and despite Bruno’s growl, slanted his mouth across Claire’s unsuspecting lips. This kiss was very much like the one at their wedding, full of surprises and electricity. She tasted of honey and coffee and all things sweet, and Tristan didn’t want to stop kissing her. That just proved it without a doubt. He had been working too hard. He pulled away from her, his gaze flitting everywhere but those remarkable eyes.

How did his fingers get entwined in her hair? And when had she pushed her hands inside his jacket to rest so near his rapidly beating heart?

He shook his head and tried to wipe the taste of her off him with a napkin. She staggered back a step and eased down into her seat.

“I’ll send Marcus back with the car. I want my wife to have lunch with me today.”

Claire mutely nodded.

With a shake of his head to clear his thoughts, Tristan walked away.

Claire tried to squelch her excitement as she gazed across the table at Tristan. She couldn’t believe that she, Claire Campbell, was eating lunch here, with Tristan McFarland. Claire Campbell McFarland, she corrected herself.

This was what she had imagined her marriage would be like. So far, this impromptu lunch had been a relaxing event. Except for the fact that Tristan had been on his cellphone from the time the endive salad was served clear through to the dessert. The food had been wonderful even if the conversation had been a bit…lonely.

Claire shuffled a bite of her crème brûlée around on her plate, stirred her gourmet coffee, and sighed. It wasn’t a contented sigh, but more of a resigned one. Still, all in all, this lunch was sort of what she had expected when she’d married Tristan.

Maybe when they went to France things would be different.

Just because he kissed you this morning and set your world on fire doesn’t mean that when you get to Paris that he’ll feel any differently about you. It doesn’t mean anything at all.

She hated that voice even as she knew it spoke the truth. Yet another downside of being a hopeless romantic. But she had at least hoped that they would be friends. That wasn’t too much to ask was it?

“Claire?”

She glanced up at the summons, hoping that her emotions weren’t written in her eyes for him to see.

She had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed that he’d hung up his cellphone and finally put the blasted thing away.

“Sorry.” He grimaced. “But things are busy right now.”

“I understand,” she said. “I think it’ll do you a lot of good to get away.”

“Get away?”

“Paris,” she said with a smile. “You just need to slow down and relax.”

A deep frown creased the sides of Tristan’s mouth. “About Paris…” he trailed off reaching into his suit coat and retrieving his wallet. “You’re not…I mean, we’re not going.”

“We’re not?”

He shook his head. “Now that Devin is here…well, it changes everything.”

Claire watched, her emotions caught somewhere between disappointment and reluctant understanding.

Tristan flipped open his wallet and pulled out his American Express. He offered the card to her.

“What’s this for?”

He flicked a vague hand in her direction. “Since we’re not going on Monday, I thought…well, go buy yourself something nice instead.”

Claire glanced at the sleek black card then looked back to him. She paused,  letting his words have a moment to sink in. Maybe she heard him wrong…but he still held out the credit card as if it were the best gift in the world. “Are you serious?”

A small frown knit his brow. “Of course I am. This is the least I can do.”

She shook her head and rose from her seat, tamping down her annoyance as she stood. “The least you could have done was have the courtesy to stay off the phone while we ate lunch together.” She pulled her purse across her shoulder and started out of the restaurant.

Did he think he could just buy her forgiveness? That she was shallow and greedy enough that a trip to a department store could put a bandage over the wound of disappointment that the canceled trip to France had left?

She had married Tristan for money, had unwittingly upped her price, not once, but twice. What else was he supposed to think about her?

In all honesty, what was she supposed to think about herself?

She hurried past the maître d’ and out into the bright Texas sunshine, the gloom of the afternoon stretching out in front of her.

“Claire.” Tristan clasped her arm, spinning her to face him. Marcus pulled to the curb, but Tristan refused to let her get into the car. “What’s wrong with you?”

She shook her head, a little contrite over her rush from the table. “This week has just been a lot to get used to.”

He released her arm, taking away the tingles of awareness he sparked to life inside her. “Yeah. It has.”

The wind caught the strands of his coppery hair and Claire had to twist her fingers together to keep from smoothing them down.

“I—” She stopped, losing her courage.

“You what?”

“I just thought that we could be…friends, you know?”

Somewhere from the direction of the street, a car horn sounded. Tristan looked over her shoulder, then down, but didn’t meet her gaze. “Friends?”

She had outstayed her embarrassment. “It’s silly, I know. Forget I said anything.” She adjusted her purse strap and reached for the car door.

Before she could get it open, his hand covered hers. “Friends,” he said close to her ear. “That seems reasonable.”

He still wasn’t sure exactly where he’d gone wrong. He was no Casanova like Devin, but why was he forever sticking his foot in it where Claire was concerned?

One thing was glaringly apparent: his wife was not like any of the women he had known before. And that left him at a loss.

Friends. She really wanted to be friends? He supposed that wasn’t out of the question, simply something he’d never considered. This whole marriage wasn’t about a relationship, but of what it would give him: McFarland Manufacturing. That’s all he had been concerned with from the start. But he’d never considered how she viewed it.

With a shake of his head he turned away and walked across the foyer toward the bank of elevators, his wing tips clicking on the marble floors.

Lunch had been unexpected to say the least. He hadn’t thought of anything more than trumping Devin’s kiss to Esperanza with his own invitation to spend lunch with Claire.

But he hadn’t thought about having lunch with Claire, only winning this power play of sorts between him and his brother.

Instead she had called him to the carpet for being on the phone, snapped at him for offering her his credit card and shot him a sad but understanding look for the canceled trip to Paris.

“Mr. McFarland.”

Tristan looked up as Carter, the young man in charge of the McFarland design team approached, thankful to have something else to occupy his thoughts other than his enigmatic wife.

He had to spend the next few months trying to make her happy, or at the very least not look at him as if he were something disgusting she scraped off the bottom of her shoe. She wanted to be friends? Then by God they would be friends. A happy wife was one who stuck around for a year, and that’s just what he needed.

“I wanted to discuss these designs with you.” Carter held up a portfolio file as if he had the winners of this year’s Oscars. If only it were true.

“No problem. Meet me in my office in twenty. That should give me time to look these over.” Tristan took the file from Carter, hoping that this batch of designs was better than the last. One could only hope.

Dinner, it seemed, was to be even more entertaining than breakfast. Devin looked from his wife to his brother. Almost as entertaining as following Tristan around every day and pretending to work. Oh, Devin had made a decision or two here and there, but for the most part he did his best to hide in his office and ignore his calls. It had been years since he’d had to work for a living and he wasn’t about to start now. He only went into the office to get under Tristan’s skin.

“Claire, would you like more peas?” Tristan held the bowl toward her as if he was presenting her with gold treasure. What was going on with the two of them?

All evening long Tristan had been extra attentive to his bride, and Devin could only speculate as to why. The race was on and the one who kept his wife the longest was the winner. He would have no trouble keeping his wife happy and by his side. But Tristan didn’t know as much about charming the ladies as he did. Well, he may have once upon a time, but his skills had surely been dulled in his years behind a desk. It seemed tonight that he was making up for lost time.

Claire set her napkin beside her plate and pushed back from the table. Before she could even get her bottom out of the chair, Tristan was at her side, offering her a hand up.

“Oh.” She scooped Bruno into the crook of one arm and accepted his help, only sparing a brief glance at her brother-in-law.

Devin had pulled Esperanza into his lap. One hand was fisted in her hair and the other was nowhere to be seen. It was time to make herself scarce.

Hers was not the most romantic life, but she had a fabulous roof over her head and incredible food to eat, even if the company left something to be desired.

She scratched Bruno under his chin and started for the stairs.

“At least I have you. Right, big boy?”

“Absolutely.”

Claire jumped, startled by the words spoken from behind her. She whirled around. “Tristan.” She clapped her free hand over her heart. With any luck it wouldn’t jump straight out of her chest. “What are you doing here?”

He flashed her that easy grin that had starred in more of her dreams than she cared to admit. “I live here.”

She turned and started back up the curved staircase. “Don’t you have work to do?” She stopped again, biting her lip. “That didn’t come out right.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I thought I’d take the night off.” He nodded toward the staircase landing, prompting her to continue her climb. Thankfully he didn’t seem angry, more…amused.

“Yes. Of course.” She started up the last few steps and headed for her suite. Only at the door did she acknowledge that he was right behind her the whole way. “Did you mean with me?”

There was that smile again. “I had thought so yes. After all, you said you wanted to be friends.”

She nodded. Yep. That was what she’d said. The rational side of her wanted to complain about his presence even though she knew she had no cause. She had said that she wanted to be friends. And she had been lonely with only Bruno to keep her company.

She couldn’t have it both ways.

Without a word, she pushed into the sitting area and placed Bruno on the couch. The tiny pooch lay on his belly, his big brown eyes looking from her to Tristan and back again. He seemed confused as to why his owner had joined them.

I know, little buddy. I feel the same way.

“Is there anything special you’d like to do on your night off?”

Tristan settled down into the armchair, looking comfortable yet stifled in his suit and tie. “Just whatever is fine.”

She gave a quick nod. “I usually come up and change, then watch a movie.”

“Change?”

“Into my pajamas.” She had slept in the same bed with this man for danged near a week. Why was she getting embarrassed about sitting around in her pjs with him?

“Perfect.”

She wiped her hands down her khaki cargo pants, then pointed toward the bedroom. “I’ll go first. You want to pick out the movie?”

His gaze swung to the entertainment center. “We can see what’s on when you get back out here.”

She opened the door off to one side of the bleached oak cabinet. “I’ve been working my way through these.”

“I never knew there were movies up here.” He spoke from directly behind her.

Claire did her best not to jump. The man was like a ninja. She wondered if she could get him to wear a bell…“I found them my first night.”

“Huh.”

She left him reading the titles and let herself into the other room to change.

Fifteen minutes later, she had her face washed and her pajamas on, but hadn’t managed to return to the sitting room. She was being downright silly, but she couldn’t help it. As long as Tristan had kept his distance she had been able to pretend that the intimacy in their situation was a figment of her imagination. But now…

She shook her head. She just had to ask him to be friends.

“Way to go, Claire,” she muttered under her breath. But there was no backing out now. “Oh, just get out there.”

“Claire?” Tristan rapped lightly on the door that separated them. “Is everything okay?”

“Sure.” She winced as her voice squeaked. “Be right there.”

“Good. I found a terrific movie to watch.”

“Super.” She winced again. Now she sounded like a crazed teenager.

She took one last look in the mirror. She was adequately covered. Modestly even in her Hello Kitty pjs which were comprised of long cotton pants, and a short sleeved T-shirt. She had worn less when she had been swarmed by the press. And she was making way too big of a deal out of this. One last calming breath and she opened the door.

Tristan tried not to let his surprise show as his wife emerged wearing pajamas printed with cartoon characters. She had been a constant source of amazement since he’d met her. There was no cause for her to stop now.

She edged into the room, apologetically, nervously, as if she was unsure of what to expect from this evening.  There was nothing to expect. Just two people—who just so happened to be married but platonic—watching a movie together.

He patted the sofa next to him. “Come on. It’s ready to go.”

She inched across the carpet toward him, then curled up on the end of the couch, all scrunched up against the armrest in some insane attempt to put unnecessary distance between them. Bruno jumped up next to her, settling down in the crook behind her knees.

With a small shake of his head, Tristan punched play and set the movie in motion.

She gave a sigh. “Mr. Deeds,” she breathed. “I love this movie.”

She seemed to relax right before his eyes as the men in the film searched for Longfellow Deeds, the tuba player, part-time greeting card poet from Mandrake Falls, Vermont.

But when the child-like yet shrewd Deeds slid down the banister in his huge New York mansion, Claire turned to Tristan. “Have you ever done that?”

“What?” He had been so interested in watching the joy flicker across her face that he hadn’t been paying near enough attention to the movie.

“Slide down the banister.”

He shook his head. “Not in a long, long time.” Years and years. So long ago that he couldn’t remember the last time. Junior high maybe.

“Pity.” She turned back to the screen.

“Devin probably has.” As if that would make up for the fact that he was the serious one. Someone had to stay and make sure everything ran right, that there would be money for tomorrow. As the oldest, that job had fallen to him. But truth be known, Devin had ducked out on his responsibilities long before Uncle Richard’s replacement had been named.

But that didn’t mean Tristan had lost all of his spontaneity, his ability for the whimsical. Sliding down bannisters and such. He’d merely grown up.

His wife on the other hand. He could see her sliding down that big bannister that led to the first floor. If no one was watching.

“What did you mean when you said you had one more night in your apartment?”

“Huh?” She turned those aqua-colored eyes from the movie to him.

“That day in Ian’s office. You said you had one more night in your apartment.”

“Oh.” She dropped her gaze to study the pattern on her pajama pants. “When I moved here, I didn’t know anyone. Then I found a roommate that I could share costs with…” She paused, sucking in a deep breath. “But it didn’t work out. My last night to stay in that apartment was the night before we…before I married you.”

So his wife had been almost as desperate as he had been. He’d never considered it before. “Was it a man?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Well, not really. I guess. I mean, sort of.”

Sort of? He hadn’t meant for his question to throw her into a tailspin. “I apologize. That was too personal.”

She pleated her fingers in the soft cotton of her pants. “I just couldn’t… you know, stay there with the two of them.” She shook her head. “You know what I mean?”

He had no idea.

“It was her apartment first. Who was I to say that she couldn’t move her boyfriend in? And three’s a crowd, right?”

That he understood. “Right.”

“The only choice I had was to find a new place to live.”

And her only choice was to marry him. That was something that he didn’t want to think about. “Claire,” he started, hitting the pause button on the movie. “Do you want to go swimming?”

“Now?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

She looked thoughtful for a moment and he wondered if she was really about to answer him.

“It’s a beautiful night,” he continued.

She nodded. “Okay.” She sprang to her feet and practically skipped into the bedroom, leaving him to wonder where the invitation had come from.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.    

A MILLION TO ONE

Copyright 2023 by Amy Lillard 

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.    

They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.  

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

previously published as All You Need Is Love copyright 2013 by Amy Lillard

significant changes have been made to the original manuscript resulting in new copyright status