House of Dreams Read Free Page B

finally arrived.
    And the front door swung open behind them. Cass heard it just as she felt a gust of cold, wet air, but she was looking at his hands now, which were hanging by his sides. He was wearing a very bold ring with a bloodred stone on his right hand, but the slender wedding band she had seen seven years ago was gone. Well. He had not remarried. And that explained everything, she thought grimly. His involvement with Tracey had nothing to do with the sixteenth-century necklace. Cass knew it the way she knew she would have an awful time that evening.
    â€œHello, everyone!” Tracey cried from behind Cass.
    A huge weight settled on Cass’s shoulders, and she turned.
    Tracey stood in the doorway in a pair of beautifully tailored white pants, an exquisitely cut short grayish white jacket with Chanel buttons, and a pair of high-heeled white boots. Her long, pale blond hair was loose, the dampness causing it to curl about her face and shoulders. She looked as if she had just stepped off a catwalk, or out of the pages of Vogue. Which, considering Alyssa’s earlier comments, apparently she had.
    Tracey was classically attractive. Her features were perfectly even, her
eyes blue, her skin unblemished. She was one of those women who looked as good without makeup as they did with it. And while there might be more beautiful women in the same room with her, Tracey was always the most striking. She was the one who turned heads. Because she was model-thin and close to six feet tall. She also lived in drop-dead designer clothes. No one made an entrance like her sister did, Cass thought sourly. She realized she was hugging herself.
    â€œCass, how are you?” Tracey smiled, apparently not having noticed Alyssa, who stood on the lowest level of the stairs, clinging to the banister. She hugged Cass hard, but Cass hardly noticed. How the hell had her sister and de la Barca met? How?
    Tracey’s gaze became questioning. “Cass?”
    â€œHiya, sis.” Cass managed a smile.
    Tracey beamed at her, then turned to face Antonio de la Barca. The smile she sent him told Cass all she needed to know. They were lovers. This was nothing new—so why was she surprised? Dismayed?
    â€œI see that the two of you have met,” she said happily. “Don’t tell me you’re already dressed for supper?” she teased.
    â€œHa ha,” Cass said, watching Tracey kiss Antonio on the cheek. At least she was spared the real thing. How had they met? When had they become lovers? And why, Goddamn it, did she care? Tracey changed men the way she changed her wardrobe—which was seasonally, at least. Cass was used to it—she expected no less.
    Although if she were brutally honest with herself, she could admit how nice it would be to have an endless stream of boyfriends.
    But she wasn’t Tracey. She just couldn’t settle for good looks and good times.
    Tracey pulled on her ponytail. “Why are you so grumpy? I was only kidding, sis. In fact”—her smile widened—“I brought everyone presents!”
    Cass stepped back a bit. “How have you been? You look great, Trace. I guess Sotheby’s agrees with you.”
    Tracey beamed, which only made her lovelier. “A lot of things are agreeing with me lately,” she said, her gaze locking on de la Barca. She stopped, spotting Alyssa with her nose between the bars of the iron banister. “Darling, come here!” Tracey cried.
    Alyssa slowly stood, her face as red as a beet. “Hello, Mother,” she said, her brown eyes wide and riveted upon Tracey’s snow white figure.
    Tracey pounced on her, embracing her once, hard. Cass watched. She watched Alyssa’s body remain straight and hard and tight, and she
watched Tracey’s smile fade and finally vanish as she straightened, a look of hurt in her blue eyes. Alyssa climbed up the stairs a step, a similar look of hurt in her near-black gaze. In the next instant