You wanted to see me?”

Tristan nodded as Devin stepped into his office. He threw back a handful of chalky antacid tablets and chewed with a grimace. It seemed that ever since the night of Cherry Holiday’s party, heartburn had been his constant companion. And it had nothing to do with the fact that Claire had kicked him out of his own bedroom. Nothing at all. “Sit down, Dev.”

As his brother sat back in the leather chair in front of Tristan’s desk, Tristan pushed a file folder full of designs in his direction. “Did you do this?”

Devin picked up the file and quickly thumbed through it. “Do what?”

“The changes.”

Devin just stared at him blankly.

“I took that file home a few days ago. I didn’t have time to go through it thoroughly, but I glanced at the designs. They were mediocre at best.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with your eyesight, but these are fabulous.”

“My point exactly. Between the time I took the designs home and brought them back, somebody played Project Runway with them.”

“You mean someone at the house?”

Tristan shrugged. “You’ve always shown a great eye for form and color. I thought perhaps…” He trailed off as Devin shook his head.

“It wasn’t me, brother. Even as much as I’d like to take credit for it. These are great.”

“They are,” Tristan agreed. “But who redesigned them?”

Devin shrugged. “We have a staff of twenty on hand. Any of them I suppose. Maybe even Claire.”

Tristan made a face. “Claire?” He couldn’t imagine his mousey little wife—uh correction, hot-to-trot wife designing more than last night’s menu. But then again, she was turning out to be more of an enigma than he had ever anticipated.

“Why don’t you ask her?”

Ask her? She’d barely looked at him in the two days since he had given her the bracelet. Since he had called her a mouse. Dangit. It was a compliment, couldn’t she see that?

He rubbed at his chest again.

Devin stood to leave, but only made it as far as the door before turning and eyeing him cautiously. “You okay?”

Tristan nodded. “I will be.” Just as soon as he could figure out who changed the designs and what in the heck happened to his docile wife.

Devin let himself out and Tristan sat back in his seat willing the last dose of Tums to work quickly.

The perfect idea flashed through his mind and without a second thought, he picked up the phone, punching the number to connect him with Gladys.

“Yes, Mr. McFarland?”

“Get me the Mercedes dealership on the phone.”

“Yes, sir.”

He clicked off and waited while Gladys did as he bade. A faint smile played at his lips. Buying Claire a new car should set his conscience straight and make Claire happy to boot. With any luck it would also ease the burning in his chest.

“No need, sweetie. I’ll show myself in.”

Claire turned just as the owner of the familiar voice entered the study where she and Esperanza were reading.

“Cherry! How nice to see you again.” Claire stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her worn shorts. She hadn’t been expecting anyone today and certainly no drop-in visitors.

Cherry Holiday waved away her greeting and kissed the air near both of Claire’s cheeks. “Oh, sweetie,” she gushed, giving the startled Esperanza the same greeting. “After last night, I just had to make a social call. You don’t mind, do you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Not at all,” Claire said graciously. She might not really know Cherry, but she did throw a marvelous party, and Claire could certainly use the company this afternoon. Sitting across the study from the non English-speaking Esperanza was not proving to be the distraction that she needed to keep her mind off of last night and Tristan and what almost happened between them.

“Since we didn’t get a chance to chat last night, I thought today would be a perfect time to get to know one another.” Cherry folded her hands in her lap and looked from Claire to Esperanza, an expectant light in her eyes.

“Uum, Espie only speaks Portuguese,” Claire said, hoping to sidetrack Cherry long enough to get her wits about her. Somehow she knew that if she weren’t careful, Cherry could drag out the entire story surrounding her marriage to Tristan, and she was certain that he would be none too happy about that.

“Well, my goodness, sweetie.” She patted Espie on the leg. “This will never do. She’s in America now and simply must learn the language. I know. We’ll hire an interpreter.”

“We will?” Claire asked.

“Of course. That’s just what you need. After all, the two of you are here together most days. It’s the perfect solution. And I know just the man.”

“You do?”

“Janis Freeman’s pool boy, Javier. He’s from…well, somewhere down there, and I just know he speaks Portuguese. I’ll call Janis later and have her send him over a couple of days a week. What a perfect solution.”

“Cherry, I don’t think—”

“Uh-uh-uh. Don’t even try to argue with me.” She gave Claire a hundred-watt, beauty pageant smile. “I won’t listen at all. Once my mind’s made up, it’s made up.”

“But—”

“Now,” Cherry interrupted, clearly going on to other business. “Tell me about you and Tristan.”

“Well,” Claire hedged. “There’s really not much to tell.”

“Pooh.” Cherry smacked her lightly on the hand. “I saw the two of you together last night.”

“Uh-huh,” Claire murmured, not sure of what else to say. Half of Dallas saw them together last night.

“It’s just so obvious.”

“It is?”

“Sweetie, any fool can tell that you are crazy in love with that man.”

“I’m not,” Claire blurted before she could think about the admission. “I mean—”

Cherry smiled. “It’s all right. You don’t have to pretend with me. Anyone who knows Tristan knows that he doesn’t believe in love.” She leaned in closer as if telling Claire a secret, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. “That’s really why I came over today.”

“It is?”

Cherry straightened and patted Claire on the hand once again. “Everyone knows about the will—”

“They do?”

“—and everyone knows that Tristan didn’t want to get married—”

“They do?”

“—then after last night…” She let her voice trail off. “Well, I just felt it was my duty to come over here and…well, coach you a bit.”

“Coach me?”

Cherry nodded. “My grandmother and Tristan’s aunt were dear friends, so I know first-hand what Patricia McFarland was trying to accomplish with her crazy will.”

“Oh?” Really, what else could she say?

“Dear old Pat wanted her nephews to get married and fall in love. Now, don’t get me wrong. Normally I wouldn’t put my nose where it doesn’t belong, but after watching you last night…well, I figure since you’re already in love—”

“But I’m not—”

“—what harm would there be in making Tristan fall in love as well.” She clapped her hands together as if she’d just solved world hunger.

“Cherry, wait a minute. I—”

“Don’t fret sweetie, my plan is really simple. All you have to do is pretend like you don’t care about Tristan, and the rest will fall into place.”

“But I—”

“You’ll just have to trust me on this.” She pointed to herself regally. “I know first-hand that men like Tristan are accustomed to having women fall all over themselves in order to get them to notice. It’s only natural that if you act like you don’t care at all, then you’ll pique his interest.”

“But I don’t—”

“It’s how I snagged my Jerry.”

“Cherry, this is really sweet of you, but—”

“Now the first lesson is shopping. Don’t feel guilty about going two or three times a week. He expects you to go, and he expects you to look nice.” She grimaced at Claire’s worn and faded outfit then shrugged her slim shoulders. “So go. And go often. But remember, always act as if it’s not a big thing.”

“What?”

“Everything. Act as if everything is teeny-weeny in importance. Pout a lot and dote on the dog.” She pointed to Bruno who had curled up in Claire’s lap as if it were his God given right. “Remember, ignore him as much as possible. Tristan, that is. It’s the key to a man’s heart.” She checked her watch and abruptly stood. “Oh, look at the time. I really must go.”

In that same flitty manner, Cherry kissed the air by their cheeks once again and breezed to the door. “No need to see me out. I know the way. We’ll do lunch sometime next week. You can give me an update then.”

“But—” Claire started, but Cherry was already gone.

Claire sank back down on the couch, breathing slowly in and out. Being in the same room with Cherry Holiday was like trying to suck the air out of a tornado. It was just one of those things you should avoid like a plague.

Bruno crawled back into her lap, and Claire scratched him behind his ears.

The only problem with Cherry was that she was right even though Claire hadn’t wanted to face up to the facts until now. She was in love with Tristan McFarland. How stupid could she be to fall in love with her husband?

“Now, what am I going to do?”

Bruno looked up at her with those big dark eyes of his and just blinked. Espie stared at her blankly. No help here.

She supposed she could take Cherry’s advice, but it seemed so superficial. Of course she wanted Tristan to care about her, but she wanted him on her terms, not the other way around.

Claire sighed heavily and blew her recently feathered bangs out of her face. For the third time in the last ten minutes, she tried to focus on what Javier was saying. True to her word, Cherry had sent Janis Freeman’s pool boy over to help Claire and Esperanza communicate, but so far, Claire was having trouble deciphering what he was saying in English versus what he was saying in Portuguese. However, the miscommunication wasn’t the fault of the tan and gorgeous dark-haired Javier; it lay with Claire. She just couldn’t concentrate.

She had wanted to show Tristan how much she cared and hopefully entice him to care for her. She knew that he was a little interested in her—at least physically. But the deeper she found herself in love with him, the more she wanted him to notice her. Sure, he noticed her after she’d had a makeover, but she didn’t want him merely attracted to clothes and cosmetics. She wanted him attracted to her. She sighed again. She might as well wish for the moon.

“Claire? Is that you?”

She turned around just as Tristan came out of his office. His hair was pleasantly tousled as if some lucky lady had recently run loving fingers through it. His tie was askew and his suit coat missing.

Claire transferred all of her packages to one hand and turned to face her husband. “Did you want something?”

He nodded. “Can I talk to you for a second?” Yes!

Claire shrugged. “Sure.” She dropped her bags on the bottom stair and followed Tristan into his office.

Once inside, Claire sank down into one of the leather chairs in front of his desk.

Tristan handed her a file. “Did you do that?” he asked.

Claire flipped through the papers, all covered with what looked like clothing designs, most of them even better than the clothes she had recently bought. “Did I what?”

“Do that. Draw them. Alter them.”

“Of course not.”

“I knew it.” Tristan smacked the fist of one hand into the palm of the other. “I told Devin that it had to be someone else.”

Claire’s confusion rose. “You thought that I’d drawn these designs? That’s what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Well, we thought perhaps that you re-designed them, so to speak. You see, I brought this file home with me and someone here altered them.”

“And you thought I did it?” She stood.

Tristan blinked and somehow managed to look sheepish. “Well, yeah.”

She thrust the papers back at him. “I would never harm your business.”

Tristan shook his head. “I don’t think you understand. I love the designs. I’m planning on putting them in production for next spring, and I want to bring on board whoever drew them. They’re brilliant.”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t me.” And in her heart of hearts, she wished that it had been.

She started for the door, turning once to glance at him as he sat back down at his desk, head bent over the file as if it contained the answers to all the world’s problems.

Then again, maybe not.

It took exactly ten days for Claire’s car to arrive from the dealership. Tristan was so excited that he could hardly keep the news to himself. He wasn’t sure why this was so important to him. It just was. He had never before thought about a woman’s happiness or how she felt about him or the world that he lived in. He’d never before wondered if she was happy or getting along. He simply knew that they were and that was enough. But Claire was different. As soon as he thought he had her figured out, she changed on him again. If nothing else, she intrigued him.

But it was the look on her face when he asked her about the designs that haunted him. Ever since the night of Cherry Holiday’s party he had been sleeping in his office downstairs. It seemed he had a lot to learn where his wife was concerned. But kissing her, holding her close, then trying to sleep a mere few feet from her was next to impossible. At least downstairs he could pretend that she wasn’t driving him slowly out of his mind.

The day the car was scheduled to arrive, despite the confused and curious looks that he received from Claire, Tristan feigned a headache and stayed home from work. He knew deep down that he should be at the office, trying to get the design team to get together a decent line for next spring. Or at the very least, he should be trying to figure out just who had altered the designs that he’d brought home with him that day.

It could wait until tomorrow, he told himself. He wanted to see Claire’s face when her car arrived. With any luck it would put that sweet smile back on her lips.

A loud knock sounded on the front door, followed by the chime of the doorbell. Tristan closed the file he’d been going through and jumped to his feet. “It’s here,” he called, rushing out of his home office and into the foyer. “Claire! It’s here.”

His summons brought up half of the household staff, who looked at him with matching bemused expressions, but no Claire.

Tristan turned to Sarah, the downstairs maid. “Where is she?”

Sarah blinked at him once, but didn’t speak.

“My wife,” Tristan said slowly. “You know, cute. Blond hair. Where is she?”

“I believe she’s out by the pool, sir.” Holmes stepped forward as the doorbell rang again, sending its summons echoing through the foyer. “Shall I go and fetch her for you?”

Tristan nodded. “And hurry.” He turned to his downstairs maid. “Tell the man at the front door to keep his shirt on, we’ll be there in a minute.”

She nodded and went to do as Tristan had instructed.

“What’s the matter?” Seconds later, Claire burst through the French doors, out of breath. Bruno was tucked securely under one arm.

Tristan smiled. “I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

He slung one arm around her shoulders and led her and the dog toward the front door. “A surprise.” With a flourish worthy of any daytime game show host, he flung open the door. “Ta-da.”

“Oh. My. Gosh,” Claire whispered.

“Do you like it?” Tristan asked, studying her to decipher her expression.

“I’ve never seen anything like it in my entire life.”

Not the reaction he’d expected, but good nonetheless. “I wanted you to have something special.”

“I’m not sure special even comes close to describing this. This…this is too much.”

Something was wrong. She didn’t like the car. “But I—” He felt his hopes fall as he glanced from Claire to the car, then did a double take.

The Mercedes parked in the drive was not the pale metallic blue that he’d ordered, but a sparkly, shocking pink. The exact color of the dress Claire had worn to their wedding celebration.

Words tumbled around inside his head, but none found their way into sentences. All he could do was mock Claire and simply stare at the car.

“You Tristan McFarland?” a gruff voice asked.

Tristan nodded.

“Then sign here please.” The man handed him a tablet and a stylus. “Don’t press too hard. Danged thang has been giving me fits today.”

Numbly Tristan took the tablet. Then looked to his wife. “Will you excuse me a moment?”

She nodded, her gaze still glued on the pink Mercedes.

Tristan took the delivery driver by the arm and led him a few feet away from Claire. “This isn’t the car I ordered.”

Sal—the man’s name was stitched on a badge just above the pocket of his shirt—took the tablet back and scrolled up the screen. “Is this your name?” he asked, flashing the tablet’s screen back to Tristan.

Tristan nodded.

“Then this is your car.”

Tristan opened his mouth to protest, but Sal continued.

“Says right here one Sparkling Raspberry Mercedes SLK 250 Roadster. If you’re Tristan McFarland, then that there is your Sparkling Raspberry Mercedes SLK 250 Roadster.”

“But I wanted a blue one.” A nice, Claire conservative, sky-blue Mercedes for his wife. That wasn’t too much to ask for.

“Listen, buddy, I don’t paint ‘em. I just deliver ‘em. Sign here, please.” He pushed the tablet back toward Tristan.

With no other recourse, Tristan penned his name on the line indicated and handed the invoice back to Sal. “I really didn’t order this.”

The man started toward the car that was to take him back into the city, then suddenly turned to look thoughtfully at Tristan. “You know, maybe you had something else on your mind when you ordered the car.”

Claire’s skimpy, sexy, un-Claire-like pink dress flashed through his mind. “Yeah, maybe,” he said with a wave and walked back to where she was standing.

“I, uh, wanted you to have a way around town and…” He let his words fade. How could he explain this situation to her when he didn’t quite understand it himself? Should he say something like, Don’t worry, dear. We’ll donate this car to charity, and I’ll buy you that blue one I’ve been dreaming about?

He needed to say something. It was so obvious that Claire didn’t like the car. She’d been just standing there staring at it since he’d opened the front door to the house to show her his big surprise. Lord knew, Anna would have a fit if he had presented her with a fine car cast in such a gaudy color.

“Uh, Claire?”

She turned to face him, tears glistening in her big sea-colored eyes. Heaven help him, this was going to be worse than he had originally thought.

“You bought this for me?” she asked, one tear breaking lose and sliding down her cheek.

“Well, I uh…” He’d best tell her the truth. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“Tristan,” she sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him close. “It’s the best present I’ve ever received.”

“You like it?”

“I love it!” She pulled back and kissed him on the cheek, then drew him close to her once again.

Tristan didn’t know what to do, so he just wrapped his arms around her and held her close, relishing the fact that she was in his embrace.

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