The Love Clause | ✓

03. strategy is fundamental

When Alia stepped from the car onto the lawn of Jane Vincent's house, she was certain about at least one thing: that house was the dream house of every person in the world. The lawn was large, bright and green, creating a beautiful path to the prettiest house Alia had ever seen. Birds were singing in small stone fountains, flowers were blooming in well-shaped flower beds, swaying with the fresh breeze, and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky.

It was like a little sample of Heaven.

Of course Jane Vincent would have a mansion in the Hamptons. There, movie stars, rock stars and top models hid in extended holidays with their families, recovered from drug or alcohol addiction and threw wild parties. Suddenly, Alia felt a little burning in her stomach.

What the fuck was she thinking when she'd accepted to compete with a damn Formula 1 driver and a famous top model, considered three times the sexiest woman alive by People, Esquire and Playboy?

She closed the SUV's door, her eyes still locked on the house, admiring the white windows, the red bricks without a single stain and the amazing grey roof shining against the afternoon sun. Mr. Henderson placed her small suitcase between them and sighed, tucking his hands inside the pockets, looking at the house with a nostalgic expression.

"Well, here we are."

"When you've said house, I thought you've meant house, and not mansion, you know?"

Mr. Henderson laughed, and she saw dimples on his face. "I don't understand a lot of architecture. To me, a house is a house."

"At least the neighbourhood seems... calm."

"Oh, yes. The neighbours here are fantastic," Mr. Henderson agreed and pointed his finger. "There's Tom Cruise's house. A few houses down is Beyoncé's. And if I'm not mistaken, Meryl Streep's house is... there."

Worst of all: he was serious. Alia opened her mouth, and Mr. Henderson smiled, but his relaxed grin vanished like smoke when her voice came to them.

"Look who's here!"

Jane Vincent, unfair with every other mortal woman, was prettier in person than in all fashion photographs or talk show interviews. Alia saw her beautiful dark brown hair forming a messy bun, her tall, slender and pale body wearing a worn-out grey sweater and the legs, those legs that were worth thousands of dollars, walking around with ripped jeans. Even dressed casually the woman looked like a goddess.

Natalie, Alia's best friend, used to say that when Jane smiled on pictures, her ears were too pointy and her nose looked like a boy's penis. You know, she can't be that pretty in real life, honey. And if she is, I bet she has bad breath, or something like it, her friend always said while watching Jane on TV and grabbing another slice of pizza. Alia could barely wait to say Nat was completely wrong.

Jane smiled to Mr. Henderson, and they shared that long and uncomfortable look of two people who used to be in a relationship. Alia looked away, feeling like the ultimate third wheel, when Jane bit her beautiful lips and hugged Mr. Henderson.

Before he could hug her back, Jane backed away, looking down. Jane's gray eyes rested on Alia, that smiled quickly. The model offered her pale hand, grinning, and Alia readily accepted.

"You must be Alia. It's a pleasure."

"You have an amazing house," Alia complimented, without knowing what to say to her fake boyfriend's ex. Jane smile sadly in return and raised her eyes to Mr. Henderson.

"Thanks. I'm happy you two could... come."

A very awkward silence fell upon them.

"Mom and dad have just arrived," Jane said, breaking the silence. "Let's get inside. I'll show you your... room."