appeared she was living that last fantasy. In reality, Michelle wouldn’t live to see any of her dreams come true....
CHAPTER 1
I think I might have just moved into Stepford. If you’ve seen the movie, you know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t ... what are you waiting for? The Stepford Wives (I’m talking about the original film) is a classic.
Back to Stepford. Why do I think I’ve moved there? Let me paint a visual picture for you. I was driving a rusty U-Haul, twenty-five years’ worth of personal possessions, including my collection of vintage purses, packed into beat-up cardboard boxes. I was rolling past one perfectly kept home after another. The flower gardens were weed-free, grass freshly mowed. And everyone I saw was smiling.
It was damned creepy.
Maybe I’d lived in the city too long. I wanted to hear someone yell, “Fuck you!” I ached for the reassuring sound of a horn blaring in anger. Instead, I was getting happy birdsong and the distant rumble of a lawn mower.
Why did this bother me so much? Because if this suburban nirvana was anything like Stepford, there was absolutely no way I was going to fit in. I hate cooking. I kill plants. I’ve never been crafty.
And ... what the hell was I doing?
You’d better be worth it, Jonathan Stewart.
One look at Jonathan Stewart, and almost every niggling doubt in my mind immediately evaporated.
Hellooooo, handsome.
FYI, Jonathan Stewart, my soon-to-be fiancé, is traffic-stopping gorgeous. He’s also powerful, successful, generous, kind—downright perfect ... and he was standing in his driveway, wearing the world’s biggest smile.
I am the luckiest woman alive.
Now, back to my story.
Jonathan was at my door, yanking it open before I’d even gotten the truck shifted into PARK. “Hello, beautiful,” he said, pulling me out of the vehicle.
“Hello back,” I said, sliding my arms around his waist. We kissed, and I saw stars. I heard angels singing, too. Then again, that might’ve been the robins. My knees were a little wobbly by the time the kiss ended.
Jon brushed my windblown hair out of my face. “How was your drive? I wish you would have let me handle the move for you.”
“My drive was fine, thank you. And there was no point in hiring movers to load a few cardboard boxes.” I motioned toward the house, which was huge and immaculate. “So, this is where you live?”
“We. This is where we live.” Jon stepped to the side, one arm still curled around my waist. He motioned to his picture-perfect brick house. “Christine Price—soon to be Christine Stewart—welcome home.”
“Home,” I echoed, letting him guide me inside. “Oh ... wow.” I couldn’t believe this ... showroom ... was going to be my home. First, it was huge, but I’d already said that. And beautifully decorated, and ... there was absolutely no way the particleboard and laminate “furniture” I’d just hauled across three states was going to fit in here. We meandered through the foyer, past the sweeping staircase leading to the second floor, down a hallway that led to the rear of the house. On our way, we strolled past a formal living room that looked like it had never been used, past a formal dining room that also looked unused, and finally an office-slash-library. The hall ended at an open space housing the family room and eat-in kitchen.
In the family room my eyes jumped from one thing to another. The sectional sofa screamed, Sit on me! The ginormous flat panel TV on a wall gleamed in the sunlight. A pair of comfy-looking leather club chairs created a cozy nook that inspired me to grab a book and cuddle up to read. The floor-to-ceiling windows lining the back wall beckoned me, the lush green landscape beyond framed in drapes (were they ... happy sigh! ... silk?).
The whole place whispered expensive. Tasteful. Classy.
Jon looked proud. “I want this place to feel like home. If there’s anything you’d like to change—and I’m hoping there is—I want you to do it. Just tell me what you want, what you need, and I’ll make it happen.”
I tested one of the chairs. Heaven. “Thanks,” I said, beaming as I ran my hand over the arm. I pulled in a deep breath, drawing in the scrumptious scent of the leather and the equally intoxicating aroma of the man standing next to me. Whatever cologne he was wearing, it was pure aphrodisiac. “But everything looks so new. I don’t see why we’d need to change a thing.”
“Doesn’t matter. Do whatever you want.”