Debbi Rawlins – Her Christmas Temptation: The Billionaire Who Bought Christmas / What She Really Wants for Christmas / Baby, It's Cold Outside (страница 31)

Jack took Kristy’s arm. “I’d like to introduce you to my mother.” He guided her away.

“Will I do any better with her?” she whispered as they crossed the room, feeling as if she was being put in front of a firing squad.

“You’re doing fine.”

“I’m going with the truth. It was a whirlwind courtship in Vegas, and you were charming.”

He nodded. “That works.” Then he put a broad smile on his face as they approached the slender woman in the emerald-green jacket.

“Mom,” he said. “I’d like you to meet Kristy.”

The woman turned to face them. She was somewhere between fifty and sixty, and her hair, makeup and jewelry were obviously the products of considerable wealth. Kristy recognized the jacket as a Delilah Domtar, and the slacks as William Ping.

She was tall and beautiful, but the warmth in her eyes when she greeted Jack dimmed somewhat when she looked at Kristy.

“Kristy, this is my mother, Liza.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Kristy, bravely holding out a hand.

Liza looked her up and down. “The pleasure is mine, I’m sure.”

The words were correct, but the tone left Kristy wanting to apologize for something.

“There you are, Kristy!” Cleveland’s voice boomed. “Meeting my youngest daughter, I see.”

Kristy smiled in relief, and she bent down to pick up Dee Dee, a welcome distraction. “Hello, Cleveland. Nice hat.”

“Thanks. Kristy here is a genius,” Cleveland said to Liza.

“I’m sure she’s quite the little scholar,” said Liza.

Hugging Dee Dee close, Kristy caught an apology in Jack’s eyes.

“Don’t get yourself in a snit,” Cleveland admonished Liza.

Liza glanced at Kristy and then Jack. “An invitation to the wedding was too much to ask?”

“It wasn’t really a wedding,” Kristy blurted, experiencing a pang of sympathy for the woman. Her own mother would be—

Her mother.

Good Lord, her mother.

She turned to Jack, feeling the blood drain from her face. “I have to make a phone call.”

He looked confused. “Now?”

“I’m sorry.” She handed Dee Dee to Cleveland and started to move away.

Jack caught her arm to stop her.

She mouthed the words my parents.

He drew back, comprehension dawning in his eyes.

“Will you excuse us for a moment?” he asked the group of guests.

“Dinner is in fifteen minutes,” warned Liza.

With Jack at her side, Kristy left the great room and paced to the rotunda foyer.

“This is a disaster,” she hissed.

“Just tell them what we’re telling everyone else.”

She stopped and turned around in front of the settee. “They’re my parents.” Joe and Amy Mahoney were hardworking, generous and hopelessly romantic. Amy’s wedding dress had been preserved in blue tissue paper for thirty years, waiting for either Kristy or Sinclair to find the right man. And when they sold their house in Brooklyn, instead of buying beachfront in Florida, they bought something modest, a block away, to make sure they could afford fashionable weddings for their two daughters.

He gestured back to the great room. “Who do you think we were just talking to?”

“That’s different.”

His lips compressed. But then his eyes unexpectedly softened. “You’re right. It is. Tell me how I can help.”

She looked at the floor. There was nothing he could do.

Her mother would be thrilled, thrilled to hear that Kristy had fallen in love. Her father would hold off until he met Jack—which would be as soon as humanly possible. Then there’d be talk of grandchildren. Her parents would emotionally engage in some big, complicated fantasy of the future. Then their hopes would be dashed when the divorce was announced.

Kristy groaned.

Jack slipped an arm around her. “It’s going to be okay,” he muttered. “We’ll make it okay.”

She shook her head in denial. It wasn’t going to be okay. It was going to be horrible. “They’ll want to get on a plane. They’ll want to meet you in person.”

“I’ll send the jet.”

“They can’t come here.”

Jack nodded. “Oh, right. That would be way too complicated.” He gripped the back of his neck. “What about London?”

“London?”

“Ask them to meet us in London.”

“You’re not coming to London.”

He paused. “Good point. Okay. How about this. Tell them you’ve met a nice man. And you’re spending Christmas with him, and you’ll keep them posted. That way, if they find out about the marriage, you can say we were planning to surprise them together in person. And if they don’t find out, we divorce, life goes on and everybody’s happy.”

Kristy considered the idea.

It was a long shot. But it might work. At least it gave them a fighting chance.

Jack handed her his cell phone.

CHAPTER NINE

A WEEK LATER, Kristy’s double fashion collection mirrored double life.

On the one hand, she was plain old single, struggling Kristy Mahoney. On the other, she was Mrs. Jack Osland. Her husband was flying in fabrics and accessories from Paris and Milan, while wedding gifts arrived almost hourly from pricey boutiques around the globe. She was careful not to let herself get attached to any of the expensive silver and china, and she was leaving Jack to worry about returning it when all was said and done.

Out in the workshop, she was working on two sets of sketches and two clothing collections. One was the revamped collection developed with the help of Irene and the Sierra Sanchez team. The other was the wild fantasy clothing she’d created around her Vegas trip with Jack.

Two assistants had arrived the first morning after she’d shown up at the mansion. Local women, Isabella and Megan were both competent seamstresses and cheerful companions. Kristy was making steady progress on the real collection during the day. In the evening though, she couldn’t resist using the expensive laces and fabrics to mock up some of the fantasy pieces.

“More lace,” Isabella called above the hum from Megan’s sewing machine. She balanced a huge white box in her arms as she closed the door behind another delivery man.

“Look at that,” Megan whistled as they opened the box.

Kristy crossed the room. The box held beaded, corded, Chantilly, metallic and colored laces.

Isabella tsk-tsked. “I sure wish we were making something with lace.”

What Kristy wished was that they were showing something with lace. The Irene collection—as she’d begun calling it in her head—was sleek and sophisticated, where the fantasy collection was flirty and fun. Kristy would be able to use all kinds of different lace on the fantasy collection. It was just too bad nobody but her would ever see it.

She was halfway through sewing the sexy, short desert dress. For that one, the lace would be key. It had to be stiff to fill out the skirt, and the edging needed to be dramatic to draw the eye, but the detail had to mimic the frothing waterfall. Kristy smiled at the memory.

“What?” asked Isabella.

Kristy immediately erased the smile. “We’d better get back to work.”