Catherine sat in the sunroom she used as a studio, taking careful notes as Margo Fresco spoke. Her hand sped across the smooth paper as she copied every single word the designer said.

"Slow down there," Margo said gently.

​​

"Sorry," Catherine replied. "I just can't believe you're giving me a private lesson. I don't want to miss a thing or bother you with any stupid questions or—"

Margo smiled, "You're too kind. It's my pleasure, really. When Sean called and invited me here, I was only too happy to accept. You know, I owe him and Leydon several favors."

"Leydon?" she asked.

"Oh," Margo said, looking slightly embarrassed. "Don't you know? I have an exclusive contract with the Fields' company. I personally style Clara Fields."

"That's why she always looks so amazing," Catherine murmured.

"Oh please, dear," Margo said, waving a jeweled hand. "Leave the flattery aside."

"Right, sorry," Catherine said. "Please continue."

"I think it would be most helpful if you showed me your designs," Margo said. "It's important to catch mistakes and errors early on in a career. I've seen too many young designers with potential spoiled by silly errors they should have stamped out at the beginning."

Catherine's heart hammered in her chest, "I don't think any of them are ready yet. They're really just little sketches."

Margo sighed, "Please, dear, don't waste my time. Just show them to me. Your husband seems to believe you have talent, but it's best if someone tells you the truth now. There's no point in wasting your time studying design if you have no natural talent."

Catherine nodded and reached for her sketchbook. She passed it to Margo and watched as the designer looked through it. Occasionally she pursed her lips or raised an eyebrow, but she didn't say a word. Catherine bit her tongue as Margo stopped and examined one drawing.

"Pass me my glasses, dear," Margo said.

Catherine passed Margo the severe, black-framed glasses. Margo slid them down over her eyes, magnifying the dark green irises. She scanned the design and then rapidly flipped to another. There seemed to be a little pattern to her review—she looked at some designs for minutes and others she barely glanced at.

"Hmm," she finally said. "You do have some talent after all."

Catherine felt a pleased blush creep up her cheeks, "You think?"

"Yes," Margo said. "But that's not enough on its own. It takes diligence and determination, and a lot of hard work. No one gets by on natural talent alone."

"Ken Hosk seems to," Catherine said absently.

"How do you know my nephew?" Margo asked.

Catherine felt her blush deepen, "Oh, I don't really know him."

"I imagined," Margo said. "He's a very solitary young man, very private and secretive. It's a shame because, with his looks, he has all the young models and actresses after him."

"I've noticed he's very cold with women," Catherine said. "Why is that?"

"I'm not sure," Margo sighed. "I imagine he finds them a distraction from his work. He's very single-minded, you know."

"Hmm," Catherine said.

"Anyway, I have to go, but draw an evening gown for me and send me a picture," Margo said.

"You mean like homework?" Catherine asked.

"Yes, child," Margo said. "Like homework."

"Yes, Ms. Freco," Catherine said.

Margo left the room, and Catherine listened to the clack of her heels down the hall. The scent of the designer's perfume lingered in the air—exotic and floral. Catherine sighed and tidied her drawing materials and papers. Then she stood and stretched her hands over her head.

She'd promised Sean she wouldn't spend too long working. She looked out the window at the bright, sunny morning and decided to go for a walk. She slipped outside, enjoying the soft warmth of the sun and the joyful chirping of the birds. Soon, she found herself at the brick buildings at the back of the property.

"Excuse me," she asked a gardener. "Do you know if Geoffrey is in one of these buildings?"

The gardener paused his work, "You mean the female bodyguard?"

"Yes," she said.

"She got back from the hospital this morning," the gardener said. "She's in the third building, the second floor."

"Thanks," Catherine said.

She pushed the door open and climbed up the stairs. The pine planks creaked beneath her feet, and she found Geoffrey waiting for her at the top.

"I thought I heard you, Mrs. Blair," Geoffrey said. "What are you doing here?"

"We've talked about this," Catherine said with a sigh. "It's Catherine. Anyway, I wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine," Geoffrey said. "The doctors treated the burns and wrapped me up. Now I just have to wait for my body to heal."

"How bad is it?" Catherine asked.

"Second degree burns across my arms," Geoffrey said. "It could have been much, much worse."

"Will it scar?" Catherine asked worriedly.

"Probably," Geoffrey said.

Catherine winced, "I'm so sorry."

Geoffrey laughed, "I've never been a beauty Mrs. Blair—I mean Catherine—a few scars don't matter to me."

"If you say so," Catherine said doubtfully. "Still, if there's anything you need, just say the word."

"I'm fine," Geoffrey insisted. "The doctors at the hospital are taking very good care of me, and the main house kitchen has been sending me the most wonderful soups and pasta at the hospital. I suppose I have you to thank for that?"

"It's the least I could do," she said sadly. "It's my fault this happened to you."

"You can't blame yourself," Geoffrey said. "It's my job to protect you, and I took that job knowing that I might be hurt in the line of duty."

Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and Geoffrey instinctively dropped into a crouch, holding out her injured arms protectively. A servant appeared at the top of the stairs, red-faced and panting for breath.

"We've been looking all over for you, Mrs. Blair," the servant said. "Madison Stewart over is here, and she's insisting on seeing you."

"Does Sean know?" Catherine asked.

"Of course," the servant said. "He said it's up to you."

"Hmm," she said, burning with curiosity. "Tell her I'll see her."

She hurried back to the house and into the living room. Madison sat on the velvet sofa, and two burly bodyguards stood behind her with their arms crossed over their chests. Madison's face was pale, and her eyes were puffy and swollen.

"Please," Madison begged. "Tell Sean to stop."

"Stop what?" she asked. "Did Adam violate you?"

"Ew, no," Madison said, tossing her hair haughtily.

"Then what?" she asked.

"Don't play innocent," Madison sniffed. "You planned the marriage yourself. I'm sure of it. Sean would never do something like that to me."

"Are you delusional?" she asked. "Sean doesn't care about you."

Madison's cheeks reddened, and her eyes flashed.

"Wait," Catherine said. "Marriage? What are you talking about?"

"Fine, I'll play your little game," Madison said. "I'm talking about the fact that Adam and I are getting married."

Catherine blinked in confusion at Madison, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"He's disgusting," Madison wailed. "His nose is crooked, and he doesn't have any teeth, and then there's that awful stub of an arm."

"Never mind the fact that he rapes women," Catherine said dryly. "Now tell me, why has Adam proposed to you?"

"Because of you and Sean," Madison wailed.

Catherine crossed the room and settled onto the sofa opposite Madison. She tucked her legs under her, allowing herself a small, gloating smile.

"Tell me everything that happened," she said.

***********************************************************************************************

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