The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,359

moment, I’d forgotten all about today’s shopping excursion. I’ve never been a materialistic person, and I never want to be. But nothing beats having a personal stylist pulling pieces shaped for my body type in colors meant to flatter my hair and skin. If it weren’t for Elle, I never would have known that fuchsia was my color. And if it weren’t for Manuel at the Fekkai salon, I never would’ve thought lopping a couple of inches off my hair and changing up my part would alter my entire look for the better.

On this ordinary Monday, this modest Midwestern girl was queen for the day, and I’ll never forget it as long as I live.

“Thank you, Rocco,” I say when he returns with another armful of bags, placing them near the dresser.

A few minutes later, dozens of paper shopping bags cover the hardwood floor, and I hum softly to myself as I hang my new wardrobe in the walk-in closet and organize about a dozen shoeboxes along wooden shelves.

When I’m finished, I pass the dresser, catching my reflection in the mirror. At first pass, it doesn’t immediately register that the girl staring back … is me. I stop, giving myself a curious glance. Twisting a tendril of hair and tucking it behind my ear, my gaze falls on my faded red lips. The day is already starting to wear off, and the second I strip out of this Dior pencil skirt and Chanel blouse and wash the rest of this makeup off my face, my Cinderella moment will be over.

But that’s okay.

I don’t want this experience to change me.

I’m fine the way I am. I like myself, unlike most women I know who are my age. And besides, when I move back to Nebraska and have my baby, no one’s going to care which labels fill my closet or whether or not my shoes have red bottoms.

Turning to leave, I hit the light switch on my way out and stride down the hall toward Hudson’s study.

He’s right. We have to spend time together and get to know each other’s annoying little habits. One erroneous statement and this entire thing could come skidding to a halt, and then all of this will have been for nothing.

I pass a portrait gallery, one I’ve never noticed before. I’ve roamed these halls dozens of times before, always dropping off his dry cleaning or signing for packages when Marta’s out running errands. Never once did I envision myself living here. The faces staring back in the photographs must be his family. And soon they’ll be my family—at least on paper.

Weird.

Everything feels brand new, like I’m seeing this place for the first time all over again: the view of the city from his living room windows, the glossy marble kitchen, the floor-to-ceiling fireplace, the custom chandelier in his foyer. Every square inch of this place was planned with purpose and intention, which isn’t surprising considering Hudson’s eye for detail.

Making my way to his study, I linger in the doorway and watch him work. He doesn’t notice me. He’s far too concerned with the sketch he’s working on, placing the pencil between his full lips at times and dragging his hands through his hair.

I’ve never taken the time to watch him work—at least not like this.

He’s actually kind of sexy when he’s in the zone, all serious and contemplative.

“Don’t they make software that does that for you?” I interrupt his focus with a playful question.

He drops his drafting pencil. “My computer’s at the office. Besides, even the best CAD program is no substitute for some good, old-fashioned hand-sketching.”

He rises, presenting his paper in my direction. It appears to be a home of some kind, one with vintage familiarity that would look perfectly content resting on a beachfront lot.

“What’s that for?” I ask. I’ve only ever seen him work on commercial projects.

“My cousin has tasked me with designing her Cape Cod estate,” he says. “What do you think?”

I move closer, taking the paper from his hands and examining it carefully. “I don’t know the proper terms for any of these things, but I like the roof lines. And I like the shake siding. I think it’s called shake, right? And I like how the front porch wraps around the house so you can always find a shady place to sit no matter where the sun is in the sky. The double front doors are a nice touch, and those little windows above the garage. It’s homey yet it