Tristan prowled around the elegant ballroom, nodding and smiling as he did, trying to appear as if all was normal. But it wasn’t. It was eight o’clock, and Claire hadn’t shown up yet. This looked bad. Really, really bad. He’d instructed Gladys to have his wife ready, dressed, and at Dallas’s most exclusive country club promptly at seven-thirty. He was starting to get nervous. The only bright side was that Esperanza hadn’t shown up yet either.

He wound his way through the crush of people who had surfaced just to get a good look at his wife. Being plastered on the front of every news publication in the area wasn’t enough. They wanted to see her in the flesh.

Tristan smiled and nodded again. He wanted to see her too—thirty minutes ago. He shook a couple of hands and finally found his way to the bar.

“Bourbon,” he ordered with a rap on the mahogany. This was going to be a very long night if Claire stood him up. He hadn’t talked to her since he sent Gladys to the house with instructions to make his wife presentable for the ball, and frankly he was nervous as to the actual outcome. Granted, Claire was, for the most part, a quiet, gentle and well… mousey person. Yet he had a gut feeling that she wouldn’t like having someone tell her that she wasn’t adequate for the party.

But what was taking so long? He’d received a blistering text from Claire shortly after he’d dispatched Gladys and another one a couple of hours later. Since then, his texts had been ignored, his calls unanswered.

The barkeep slid him the tumbler just as a hush fell over the throng of people, as if all of the noise had been sucked out of the room by a huge vacuum.

Tristan glanced up, his gaze and everyone else’s, swinging to the entrance. Two women stood there, one dark haired, the other blond. It was the blond who held him captive. She wore a bright pink satin two piece ensemble consisting of a short, tight skirt and a top fashioned after a man’s vest. Her skin glowed golden brown under the mellow lights and her streaky blond hair bounced and teased the tops of her shoulders. Just the right amount of makeup accented her features, matching pink lip gloss glistened as she smiled. Her nails had been finished off in the perfect French manicure, and her toenails, peeking out of a pair of sexy high-heeled sandals, matched. She was without a doubt the most beautiful woman at the party. And she was…

“Claire,” he whispered, not believing his own eyes. When he’d sent Gladys after her, he’d expected Claire to look presentable. Hair properly coifed, basic black dress, elegant matching pumps. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined a miracle such as this.

She seemed shy, hesitant as she let her gaze flow around the room. Then as if some spell had come over her, she straightened her shoulders, tilted her chin at a regal angle, and with a confident stride descended the steps.

Go to her, his inner voice demanded, but his feet seemed to be made of concrete. All he could do was toss back his drink, order another, and watch helplessly as she made her way through the party.

Strange, but he felt almost intimidated by this creature his secretary had created. He had married the old Claire because he knew that she would be easy to handle. This woman with the sexy, glossy pink lips he wasn’t so sure about.

Claire cautiously glanced around the ballroom, unable to take even one more step into the crowd of people. What had she gotten herself into?

Fake it till you make it, her former roommate whispered through her thoughts. And that’s just what she had to do. Otherwise the curious party-goers would eat her alive.

Claire pasted on the most confident smile she could muster and linked her arm with Esperanza’s.

The other woman trembled. They could do this…together. They could somehow survive this crazy life they found themselves in.

With more grace and poise than she felt, Claire started down the wide steps that led to the ballroom floor. Collectively the crowd held its breath, waiting for her to mess up no doubt. But they would have a while. She was determined to make this work.

Just as she took the last step that led to the ballroom, Tristan was at her side. She should have known that he wouldn’t leave this to chance. There was entirely too much at stake.

“Claire.”

Did she imagine the husky quality in his voice?

He looked amazing, a beacon in the sea of curious faces, most of which came to witness her failure. But the man certainly did a lot for a tuxedo.

She smiled to hide her doubts. “Tristan.” She gave him what she hoped was a refined nod and placed her hand in his.

With practiced ease, Tristan led her to the dance floor and swept her into his arms.

Tingles of awareness shot through her at his touch. It was going to be one long year if they had to attend many more parties like this one. But there was a million dollars at stake.

Suddenly the money didn’t seem so important any more. Sure she had needed a place to live. She had married Tristan out of desperation. But perhaps she had been a tad bit impetuous.

“You look beautiful tonight.” Tristan’s whisper stirred the strands of hair near her ear, his voice low and seductive. But it was for show, for everyone around them. This entire night was about appearances, and she would do well to remember that.

“Thank you.” She tried to make her voice ring cool and sophisticated, but she sounded more like a long distance runner.

“I have something for you.”

Claire pulled back and studied his handsome face. “For me?”

He nodded and stopped dancing despite the fact that they were in the middle of the dance floor.

Her heart thumped in her chest as he reached into the pocket of his jacket and extracted a jeweler’s box. The kind that bracelets came in. Really expensive bracelets.

Claire was only vaguely aware of the inquisitive eyes trained on them as Tristan flipped open the box.

At least fifteen carats if not more, the antique gold set with blue green tourmaline and sparkling diamonds twinkled in the soft light of the chandeliers.

Her hand trembled as he took it into his own and slipped the heavy bracelet around her wrist. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, turning it this way and that, watching the play of colors.

“It made me think of your eyes.”

Those very same eyes filled with tears. She knew it was for show. He bought her a costly trinket because the public demanded it. He gave it to her here so everyone could witness the gesture. But if he took that much care in choosing the stone… “Thank you,” she whispered.

He brushed her lips with his, deepening the spell around them. All the anger at being forcibly made over disappeared into the night. But they were not alone.

Before she could utter another word, the women descended on her. She was separated from Tristan as one by one Dallas society took inventory of the most beautiful piece of jewelry Claire had ever seen.

“What are you doing?”

Tristan turned guiltily as Ian approached. It had been on the tip of his tongue to admit that he was hiding out from his wife at his very own wedding celebration, but he bit back the response. Instead, he shrugged and chugged his ginger ale as if it were straight whiskey.

It had only taken him two drinks to realize that this new and improved Claire was turning him inside out, so he quickly reverted to a safer drink. As it was now, he still felt light headed from the three shots of virgin ginger ale.

“There are rumors floating all over this place, and every one of them is being sniffed out by the press.”

Tristan knew. Oh, how he knew. But ever since Claire had breezed in the door this evening, he’d had the strangest urge. The urge to just walk up to her, bend her over backwards, and kiss her like there was no tomorrow. And if that wouldn’t cause a stir, nothing would. No sir, he was safer right where he was.

He must need a break. Or the company of a woman—one who knew the score. Thanks to his aunt’s hateful will, he hadn’t the time to become involved with anyone since Anna. Maybe he just needed a distraction. A warm, willing, sophisticated distraction. One with dark hair and brown eyes who looked nothing like his convenient bride.

“Tristan, this looks bad. You danced with her once, then just left her standing on the dance floor all alone.”

“I know. I know. It’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

“Have you ever wanted something—badly—even though you knew if you had it that everything would go to pot?”

Ian nodded. “Everybody has. It’s part of the human sacrifice.”

“Well, that’s why I’m staying here.”

“Are you saying…?”

“I guess I am. But so help me, ever since she walked in that door—” He bit off his words and shook his head.

“Tristan, be serious. You have a contract with Claire. An ironclad one, even if I do say so myself. I don’t suggest you break it over a trip to the Estee Lauder counter.”

Was Ian so blind that he couldn’t see? This was more than just make-up. There was something…different about his wife tonight and despite the warnings pinging around in his head, he wanted to find out exactly what it was.

He had to get control of himself and quick.

“You’re right, of course. It’s just that—”

Ian shook his head. “She’s your wife on paper, nothing more. Now every reporter in the state is at this shindig. I suggest you stop hiding behind potted palms and start performing your husbandly duties.”

Tristan shook his head. His friend was talking out of both sides of his mouth. First, Ian told him to ignore the attraction that was flaring up between him and his wife, and then he told him to—

“Are you suggesting that I—”

“Dance with your wife,” Ian finished, nodding pointedly toward Devin and Esperanza.

His brother held the woman close, so very close that they seemed to meld together as one as they smoothly moved across the floor. Esperanza gazed into her husband’s eyes as if he and he alone were responsible for the miracles of the world. They were picture perfect for the press to record, for everyone to talk about—and not in the same manner that everyone was talking about him and Claire.

Ian was right. He had to dance with his wife. Just as Devin was with Esperanza. But unlike his brother, who would take the dark haired beauty home and hold her all night long, Tristan couldn’t— wouldn’t—didn’t want to be with Claire. It was a trick of the lighting, a slight of hand. Out of control testosterone. He just had to keep remembering that while he danced this one obligatory dance. Then he would take her home and…nothing. He would take her home and that would be that.

Devin leaned his elbows against the bar and waited for the barkeep to bring him a drink. He needed it. He deserved it. He had put on an Oscar winning performance tonight trying to keep the press hounds happy. Trying to prove that he and Esperanza were crazy about each other. The biggest catch in the situation was that he wasn’t having to pretend quite so hard any longer.

She’d walked in tonight looking as if she belonged there. His Espie, his little Brazilian chambermaid. She didn’t even speak English and somehow she managed to capture the entire room’s attention as she and Claire had made their more-than-fashionably-late entrance.

The bartender slid his Scotch to him, and Devin drained the glass in one smooth swallow, immediately wishing he had another.

“Bad night?”

Devin turned to face Ian Anderson. “Something like that.”

Devin knew that Tristan had fought the will long and hard, using Anderson’s extensive expertise in the process. He knew it well enough that when he first received the message, he didn’t waste any time. He’d married the first woman he’d laid eyes on and now for some insane reason, tonight he couldn’t take them off her.

Maybe it was that dress that fit her like it was made for her. Or maybe it was the contrast between all that creamy white satin next to her olive-toned skin. Her hair shone blue-black under the lights, her teeth gleaming like precious pearls whenever she smiled.

Whoa. He needed to get control of himself. She was his wife, his meal ticket. Okay, so their late night activities weren’t shabby either. But that was no need to act like a lovesick schoolboy. She’d walked in that door tonight, and he’d beat a path to her side. He pulled her close and danced with her until he couldn’t hold her safely in public any longer. He’d relinquished his dance and found the bar hoping that somehow he’d also find his sanity.

“Have you ever found a rock in the grass and then it turned out to be a diamond?” Devin was astonished at how easily the words slid from his mouth.

“Excuse me?” Anderson raised one questioning brow.

“You know what I mean, think you bought a lemon and it turns out to be a treasure?”

“Are you talking about—”

“Yeah.” Devin couldn’t let him finish the sentence, couldn’t let the attorney say her name out loud. “It’s just…just…”

“Just what?”

“The whole ordeal. It’s not what I expected. I thought fine, no problem, pick a woman marry her, and get my money. I never expected to—”

“Fall in love?”

Devin jerked his head around to stare at Anderson. “I’m not in love with her. It’s just…just…”

“Just what?”

Devin thought about it for several long minutes. He couldn’t find the words to describe his feelings for his wife. Though he was certain, so very, very certain that it was not—by any stretch of the wildest imagination—love. “Never mind.” He ordered another drink, tossed it back, then went in search of his enigmatic bride.

Claire sighed contently as she strolled across the vast foyer, a silent Tristan directly behind her. She smiled to herself. It had been a glorious night. She had danced and danced and danced, feeling like a modern day Cinderella. Beautiful, special, maybe even loved.

Resisting the urge to twirl around and around, she slipped off her shoes as she headed up the stairs, her fingers trailing lightly on the banister.

She had never thought it possible that she, Plain Jane Claire Campbell could ever feel as attractive as she had tonight. When Tristan’s secretary had first come to the house demanding that she go with her to get “done up for the party,” Claire had been furious. She had dragged Esperanza along to keep her company as well as run up the make-over tab as high as possible. Espie had played along and even seemed to start to enjoy herself as she and Claire had taken a short day’s beauty at the spa. And, Claire admitted, she’d enjoyed it too. They’d had a mud facial, followed by a cucumber soother. They’d steamed in the sauna, then had their nails done—both toes and fingers—their hair colored, cut, and styled and various cosmetics—some of which Claire had never heard of—applied.

Claire was willing to go for it all, in her anger irrationally hoping that one day of extravagance would somehow break Tristan off at the bank. She knew the notion was silly, but she couldn’t help it. After the spa, Gladys had taken them on a shopping spree to the finest, most exclusive stores that Dallas had to offer and though Claire had no qualms about spending Tristan’s money, Esperanza had. Or at least that’s what Claire thought the problem was. They tried on dress after beautiful dress until each of them had found one that suited them best. They were on their way to pay when Espie took one look at the price tag. She started shaking her head and spouted off a tirade of Portuguese that Claire would have found unintelligible even if she could speak the language. Without a better explanation, the dark haired woman had grabbed her and Tristan’s secretary by their arms and dragged them out of the store.

Gladys fretted all the way to the mansion about what they were going to wear that night, but Espie gave her no heed. Once they arrived back at the house, she dragged them both upstairs, pulling dress after dress out of her own closet and tossing them across the bed.

Finally, her eyes lit up as she pulled out the two piece pink ensemble that Claire was wearing and thrust it at her. Instinctively, Claire put it on. It was a little big through the chest and waist and a little long, but other than that, it fit like a dream. Or maybe she felt like a dream wearing it. Esperanza had chosen her own outfit, then skillfully tucked and tapered until the pink outfit fit Claire like it had been made for her.

But the best part of it all had been when they’d entered the ballroom this evening. Tristan had noticed her. Really noticed her. For the very first time, he’d actually looked at her and not through her as if she was a part of the room’s decor. It had left her feeling giddy, as if she had drunk an entire bottle of champagne all by herself.

She opened the door to the suite and stepped inside, enjoying the feel of her feet sinking into the plush carpet. She picked her way across the room, not bothering to turn on the light.

What a glorious evening it had been.

The door clicked shut. Startled, she whirled around to face Tristan. She watched, her mouth going dry as he undid his tie, untucked his shirt, then shucked out of his tuxedo jacket. She had been so caught up in the magic of the night that she had forgotten that he was behind her.

Since their night at the pool, they hadn’t walked into this room together to get ready for bed and the intimacy was not lost on her.

One of the maids had left the bedside lamp on and the single bulb cast a golden illumination around the room. Somehow the soft lighting made Tristan appear more manly, more handsome, more …everything.

He drew closer to her, and Claire—this new Claire who wore lipstick and skimpy clothes—resisted the urge to back down from him. Suddenly she felt womanly, powerful as she met his hazel eyes and didn’t let her own gaze waver. He took another step toward her, so that he was almost touching her.

“You’re really something else, you know that?”

Claire wasn’t sure if she was supposed to answer and since she couldn’t think of a suitable response, she let his words hang in the air between them.

“And here I thought I’d married a mouse and it turns out that I actually married a beautiful swan.”

“Duckling,” Claire whispered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Mice don’t turn into swans.”

“Well, mine did.” He leaned into her, his arms sliding around her waist as he hoisted her against him. She had a funny feeling that he hadn’t planned his actions. Every other time he moved, like when they were dancing tonight, it was with ultimate grace. But this time, his movements were a little slower, not quite as smoothly carried out. This time, he didn’t seem quite so sure of himself. A surge of womanly power flowed through her.

Tristan brushed the tip of one finger across her lips, pulling them into a pout. Suddenly womanly and powerful turned into something else entirely.

She closed her eyes and turned her lips up to meet his. One kiss wouldn’t hurt. In fact, it would be the crowning glory of her fairy tale evening with this American prince.

At the first touch of his lips on hers, she melted against him, and he pulled her closer still. It felt so right, so natural. Her arms snaked around his neck and entwined in the rich silk of his hair. It was amazing to her that she could pull off such a feat, but deep down she knew that this wasn’t the old Claire, but the new and improved model who could hold her own with the press and the snooty women of society. The new Claire who wore make up and had a great tan and short hair. The new Claire who could entice this Tristan McFarland and make him see her. She did indeed feel like an ugly duckling who had been turned into a beautiful swan. Or even a born again mouse.

At the thought, Claire felt as if she had been doused with a bucket of ice water. Mouse? Was that how he saw her before this imposed makeover?

She pulled away from him taking several steps backward and out of his warm embrace. Her breathing was heavy as she tried to make sense of it all. One thing was certain, she would never be able to do that with him holding her in his arms and trailing little kisses down the side of her neck.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his breathing as ragged as her own.

Claire shook her head, taking in deep gulps of mind-cleansing air. She looked down at herself noticing that the buttons of her top were undone. When had that happened? It didn’t matter. It wasn’t going to happen anymore or ever again. She didn’t want to be wanted for her looks, a couple of jars of makeup, however expensive, and a skimpy pink dress. When she made love with a man, it would be because of a mutual love for each other.

With one hand, she held together the sides of the vest, running the fingers of the other through her hair. “I think you should go now.”

“But, Claire, I—” He took a step toward her, but Claire put out a defensive hand before he could get any closer.

“Now,” she said, her voice not loud, just firm. She might have a schoolgirl crush on Tristan. She might even love him. But she wasn’t going to sacrifice all in one night with nothing on tomorrow’s agenda.

She backed him toward the door, ignoring his protests and sputtering questions of why. If he was too dense to figure it out, then she surely wasn’t going to tell him.

Devin rolled over and stared at his wife. He inhaled deeply, trying to catch his breath, not from their athletic love making, but from…well, from everything.

Silver moonlight pooled on the sheets casting a luminescent glow over Esperanza. The rays made her look as if she had been etched out of some soft stone, left forever to enchant the male passerby. But as badly as Devin wanted to reach for her again, he didn’t. He couldn’t allow himself. And that didn’t mean that he was in love with her. That thought was absurd. He didn’t even believe in love. It was just a lie they made up so that Valentine’s Day would be profitable for the economy. That was all love meant to him. It was all it meant to Tristan too. Neither of them had been raised to believe in such nonsense.

Their parents had had a terrible relationship based on greed and selfish wants. Thanks to a freak boating accident, they died when the brothers were in high school. Aunt Pat had tried to reverse their views on the softer emotions, but the damage had already been done. And that was the reason for her crazy will.

Devin could accept that. He didn’t have to like it, but he could accept it.

Unlike his brother, his plan had been simple. Just marry someone, wait out the year, and receive his inheritance. Now he could feel that simplicity slipping through his fingers and in its place was a complexity named Espie.

Tonight, when she had walked into that ballroom, he’d felt the floor give way beneath him. He’d felt sucker punched, poleaxed, winded. And all because of her.

He traced the smooth curve of her shoulder and smiled as she snored softly. No sense in trying to figure it out now. Maybe later, maybe in the morning. But Devin couldn’t help but wonder how she felt about him.

Funny, but the language barrier had never really been a problem. He didn’t need her to say the words, her actions spoke in volumes. She wanted him, practically adored him, and the attraction they shared would surely make this year pass by quickly. But for some insane reason, he wanted to hear her say those words—in his language.

She rolled over, enticing him with a moon soaked view of her naked torso.

He grinned to himself. Morning was hours away.

Perhaps he should wake her, after all.

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