Prologue
Hallie couldn’t find the packet of papers she needed to give her boss. She remembered putting them in a big white envelope, then slipping it into her tote bag. Although the bag was in the trunk of her car, the envelope wasn’t in it.
As she stood in the mall parking lot, she went over everywhere she’d been that morning. To the pharmacy to pick up her stepsister’s favorite hair conditioner, to the dry cleaners to get the skirt Shelly had stained. And she’d stopped by the garage to ask yet again when Shelly’s car was going to be ready so she could run her own damned errands.
Hallie took a breath to calm herself. There were also six plastic bags in the trunk—all of them full of her stepsister’s clothes, unopened bills, shoes, and beauty products—but none of them contained the envelope full of papers.
She closed the trunk and turned away. Too much! she thought. It was all getting to be too much for her. Since Shelly had returned six weeks ago, everything had been chaos. Hallie was a morning person; her stepsister liked to stay up all night. Hallie needed quiet to study for her exams; Shelly didn’t seem alive unless some machine was emitting noise. The car Shelly had driven back from California was in such bad condition that she’d wanted to have it towed away. “I’ll just borrow yours,” she said, then left the room before Hallie could protest.
But then Shelly had made it clear why she was staying. She wanted Hallie to sell the house and split the money. The fact that Hallie’s father hadn’t changed his will after he’d married Shelly’s mother made no difference. Shelly said that legally the house might not be half hers, but it certainly was morally.
“He was my father too,” Shelly said, tears in her thickly lashed eyes. As a pretty little girl, she’d perfected the look of sadness that made people give her whatever she wanted. When she grew up to be an even prettier young woman, she saw no reason to stop using her looks to manage people.
But Hallie had never fallen for her act. “Cut it out!” she said. “It’s me, remember? Not some casting director you’re trying to seduce.”
With a sigh, Shelly sat up straight and the tears instantly ceased. “Okay, so let’s talk about you. Think what you could do with your half of the money. You could travel, see the world.”
Hallie leaned back against the car and turned her face up to the sun. It was spring and the trees of New England were bursting into bud.
Her stepsister’s attitude of here’s-something-else-you-can-do-for-me wore a person down. Shelly’s incessant talking, badgering, pleading, and at times anger made Hallie want to throw up her hands and call a Realtor. She’d shown on paper that if she sold the house, by the time she paid off the mortgage she’d had to get to buy a new roof and repair the plumbing and electrics, they would barely break even. But Shelly had just waved her hand and said houses in L.A. sold for millions.
But in the last two weeks Shelly had been calmer, almost as though she’d given up. She’d been asking Hallie about her work as a physical therapist, saying, “What would you recommend for a man with a torn-up knee?”
“Describe the injury to me,” Hallie said, and Shelly had read about it from an email she’d received. Pleased by her stepsister’s interest, Hallie had outlined the lengthy rehabilitation the man would need.
Although Shelly wasn’t forthcoming with the details, Hallie assumed that her stepsister had a friend who’d been injured. Whatever the reason, it had been nice to have some relief from Shelly’s relentless pursuit of her goal. Hallie began to think that her life was at last coming together. She’d finally finished her coursework, passed her exams, and received her Massachusetts physical therapy license. And next week she was going to start a job at a small local hospital.
She glanced at her watch. She had just enough time to run home to get the papers and make it to the office before Dr. Curtis left for the weekend. As she drove, she thought it was exhilarating to imagine having a whole new life. New career, new job, new world. Only it wasn’t actually new. Her job was close to the house she’d lived in all her life, and she’d be working with people she’d gone to school with. And her stepsister also planned to stay in the area. “You’re the only family I have left,” Shelly said. Hallie knew that meant her stepsister would be at her house for every holiday, weekend, and catastrophe in Shelly’s very dramatic life.
Hallie believed in looking on the positive side of life, but sometimes she felt like applying for a job in some faraway, exotic place.
When Hallie turned down her street, she immediately noticed the blue BMW parked in front of her house. It stood out from the Chevys and Toyotas like a jewel in a pile of gravel.
Across the road, Mrs. Westbrook was opening her mailbox. “Braden’s home,” she called before Hallie could pull into the driveway. “You should come over and say hello.”
At the mention of the lawyer son, Hallie’s heart did a little flip. “I look forward to it,” she said honestly. Since she was a child, Hallie had often gone to the older woman—a substitute mother—when Shelly’s give-me-give-me attitude got to be too much. Chocolate lava cake did wonders to soothe Hallie’s tears.
She parked the car, got out, and closed the door quietly. She didn’t want to meet whoever was visiting Shelly. But as Hallie glanced at the shiny car, she did wonder who it could be.
Hallie opened the back door slowly so it didn’t squeak. As soon as she was inside, she saw the envelope on the table on the far side of the kitchen—and she could hear voices. Since there was an open doorway leading into the living room between her and
the package, she didn’t know how she was going to get across without being seen.
But the man’s voice took her mind off the papers. She’d heard it before but couldn’t place it. When she peeped around the doorway to look into the living room, what she saw startled her.
Shelly, seen in profile, had on one of Hallie’s suits. She was taller and thinner than Hallie, so the skirt was shorter and the jacket too big, but she did look businesslike.
On the coffee table were a cake and cookies, and what Hallie knew was Mrs. Westbrook’s best tea set. Obviously, Shelly had known the visitor was coming, but she’d said nothing.
The man on the couch was facing the kitchen, but his attention was fully on Shelly. He was talking in a low voice, something about a house, and for a moment Hallie thought he was a Realtor. But, no, she had seen him before.
When Hallie turned back to the kitchen, she remembered. He was Jared Montgomery, the famous architect. In school she’d dated an architecture student who’d wanted her to go to a lecture with him. The guy had raved about the architect who was speaking. Hallie had expected to be bored—and she was by what he said, but the speaker was very good-looking: tall, slim but muscular, with dark hair and eyes.
She hadn’t been surprised to see that most of the audience was female. The girl next to her whispered, “I hope he’s doing that thing of imagining his audience naked.” Hallie couldn’t help but laugh.
So what in the world was the famous Jared Montgomery doing sitting in her living room?
Hallie tried to hear what they were saying, but their voices were too low. She didn’t know if she should step forward and introduce herself or tiptoe out and leave them alone.
She had just turned to leave when she heard Mr. Montgomery say, “Now, Hallie, if you’ll just sign here, the house will be yours.”
Hallie froze in place. Shelly was pretending to be her and selling the house to this man?!
She stepped into the living room. Shelly, pen in hand, had just finished signing a paper. “May I see that?” Hallie asked softly, her voice controlled in spite of the anger she could feel bubbling inside her.
Shelly, her face draining of color, handed the paper to her stepsister. It had the small print of a contract, and on the bottom was Hallie’s full legal name written in a rather good imitation of her handwriting.
“Just let me explain,” Shelly said, her voice near to panic. “It’s only fair that I get a house too. It’s not fair that you get all of the inheritance, is it? I’m sure Dad would want me to have half of whatever he owned. He would—”
“Excuse me,” the man said, “but would someone please explain what’s going on?”