One Summer In New York. Trish Wylie

appreciated her trying to help him relax. “There are ongoing issues with my housing development in the Bronx. I want to build the maximum number of comfortable units on the property to give as many families as possible a home of their own.”

      “What are the problems?”

      “Materials are costly. I have shareholders to answer to. And Aunt Louise. I promised this as a break-even project—not one on which the company would lose a lot of money. I may have to move it into the category of charitable endeavor. I will have to present it accordingly. Tricky.”

      “Here, take a look.” Holly unclipped from the easel the large piece of paper she’d been using for her sketch and held it up in front of her for him to see.

      After preparing himself to hate it, he saw that it wasn’t bad at all. She’d used those same short lines she had on the transportation drawings. Together, the strokes formed the likeness of a pensive man looking into the distance.

      Holly’s face was flushed. She was nervously waiting for his reaction.

      With a voice tight and caught, she squeaked, “What do you think?”

      “Is this how I look?”

      “Well, obviously you’re handsome. I hoped I could convey your seriousness, too.”

      She’d said “handsome” as matter-of-factly as it would have been to say he was wearing a white shirt. He liked it that she thought he was handsome.

      “I suppose I am serious.”

      “That feels like your core. You’re formal. You’re measured.”

      “Whereas you just say or do anything that comes into your mind.”

      “And you don’t seem like someone who ever loses control.”

      Oh, if she only knew the thoughts he was having about grabbing her and showing her exactly how out of control he could be.

      She was uncovering wild ideas in him. Holly, with her mesmerizing black hair and sinewy limbs. He’d stripped open more of his true self to her in the last two days than he had with anyone in his life. Not all his secrets, but he’d revealed a lot.

      And he must rein that in right now. She only needed to know what was relevant to their phony engagement. Nothing more.

      He stood up from his stool to stretch and take a break. Checked messages on his phone. Fired off a couple of texts.

      Using a sketchpad, Holly quickly drew more versions of his mouth until she was satisfied. Then showed him the one that she liked.

      “Interesting... It looks as if it is easy enough for you to make a small correction here and there and come out with a quite different result.”

      She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess so. Trial and error.”

      “I would not have a clue how to do that.”

      “I’ll show you sometime.”

      “I would like that.”

      How absurd this was—letting someone sketch his mouth. In the middle of a workday. When he had a thousand other things on his mind.

      But he didn’t care. Inexplicably, he wanted to be near Holly. She’d definitely cast a spell on him.

      She lifted a large canvas onto her easel and adjusted the height. Then picked out her first brush.

      “I’m ready to paint. Let’s begin.”

      * * *

      “Holly Motta, this is my aunt, Louise Benton.” Ethan made the introduction as soon as he’d ushered in the visitors.

      With a welcoming smile Holly shook the older lady’s hand. “I’m happy to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

      “And I so little about you...” Louise assessed her. “How pretty you are, dear.”

      “I’d say the same about you. Let Ethan take your coat.”

      Holly reminded herself to stay focused in spite of her nerves. At this moment her end of the contract had come due. Louise had to be convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that not only was she Ethan’s true love, but that he had made the right choice in her.

      As Ethan helped his aunt to remove her coat Louise almost lost her balance. A telltale sign of her medical condition. How difficult living with a chronic problem like that must be. Still, Louise had style despite her petite and frail frame. A sheet of thin white hair curled under at her shoulders...her simple dark green dress was the picture of good taste.

      She was the type of accomplished woman Holly looked up to. Holly was glad she had chosen to wear the black trousers and gray blouse from the new clothes Ethan had bought her. Even though it was dinner at home, these were not people who dined in jeans.

      “Such an unusual silver necklace...” Holly initiated conversation.

      Louise looked to Ethan. “Yes, my dear nephew brought it back from...remind me where it was from?”

      “Turkey.”

      “Yes, Istanbul. Ethan always brings me unique trinkets from his travels.”

      With Louise’s head turned toward Ethan, Holly noticed the large bruise across her cheekbone. That must have been from the fall Ethan had said she’d taken last week. Holly understood his wish to shield his aunt from the public eye, with her decline so visible.

      “Huh...low...oh...” Louise’s husband, Fernando, finally insisted on being acknowledged. Ethan hadn’t yet taken his coat, and nor had an introduction been made.

      “Yes, Fernando Layne—meet my fiancée, Holly Motta.”

      “Charmed,” Fernando replied, without extending his hand.

      “Nice to meet you.” Holly rocked back on her heels, unsure how to move on if they weren’t going to shake hands.

      “Are we having cocktails?” Fernando flung his coat to Ethan.

      “Let me mix you something,” Ethan offered.

      “I know where the drinks are.” Fernando rebuffed him and headed to the liquor cabinet.

      Ethan had told Holly it was Fernando who had bought this apartment. On behalf of Benton Worldwide and with the company’s money, of course. And that he made frequent shopping trips to New York.

      Forty-five years old trying to look twenty-five, judging from his slicked-back hair and skinny pants. No doubt Fernando preferred chic New York to less flashy Boston, although Holly couldn’t say for sure having never been there. But in an instant she knew that she wouldn’t trust Fernando if her life depended on it.

      “Louise.” Fernando presented his wife with a glass of brown liquor.

      She refused. “You know I’m not drinking with the new medications,” she said.

      “A sparkling water, then.” He took the glass and drank it in one tip, then scurried back to the bar to pour Louise some water. Not asking if Holly and Ethan wanted anything.

      Fernando’s eye caught the painting of Ethan, now on the wall where those impersonal black and white photos had been. “You two have certainly settled in.”

      Holly bit her lip. If he only knew. About her barging in on Ethan just two days ago... That this apartment Fernando thought was his had become part of Ethan and Holly’s agreement... How no one in this room knew that her feelings for Ethan were becoming closer to real rather than the masquerade they were meant to be...

      “Did you do this, my dear?” Louise moved toward the painting to take a closer look.

      It had turned out well, especially for only an afternoon’s work. It was all done in blue—a tribute to the paint color she’d had on her face and hands when she had first rushed into this apartment, expecting it to be empty.