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hairbrush from the bureau, sat down beside Tate on the edge of the bed, and began brushing Mandy’s hair. “You smell so clean,” she whispered, bending down to kiss her rosy cheek once she’d finished with her hair. “Want some powder on?”
    “Like yours?” Mandy asked.
    “Hmm, like mine.” Avery went back to the bureau for the small music box of dusting powder she’d spotted there earlier. Returning to the bed, she opened the lid. A Tchaikovsky tune began to play. She dipped the plush puff into the powder, then applied it to Mandy’s chest, tummy, and arms. Mandy tilted her head back. Avery stroked her exposed throat with the powder puff. Giggling, Mandy hunched her shoulders and dug her fists into her lap.
    “That tickles, Mommy.”
    The form of address startled Avery and brought tears to her eyes. She pulled the child into a tight hug. It was a moment before she could speak. “Now you really smell good, doesn’t she, Daddy?”
    “She sure does. ’Night, Mandy.” He kissed her, eased her back onto the pillows, and tucked the summer-weight covers around her.
    “Good night.” Avery leaned down to softly peck her cheek, but Mandy flung her arms around Avery’s neck and gave her mouth a smacking, moist kiss. She then turned onto her side, pulled a well-loved Pooh Bear against her, and closed her eyes.
    Somewhat dazed by Mandy’s spontaneous show of affection, Avery replaced the music box, turned out the light, and preceded Tate through the doorway and down the hall toward her own room.
    “For our first day��”
    She got no further before he grabbed her upper arm and shoved her inside her bedroom and against the nearest wall. Keeping one hand firmly around her biceps, he closed the door so they wouldn’t be overheard and flattened his other palm against the wall near her head.
    “What’s the matter with you?” she demanded.
    “Shut up and listen to me.” He moved in closer, his face taut with anger. “I don’t know what game you’re playing with me. What’s more, I don’t give a shit. But if you start messing with Mandy, I’ll kick you out so fast your head will spin, understand?”
    “No. I don’t understand.”
    “The hell you don’t,” he snarled. “This sweetness and light act is a bunch of crap.”
    “Act?”
    “I’m an adult.”
    “You’re a bully. Let go of my arm.”
    “I recognize your act for what it is. But Mandy is a child. To her it’s real, and she’ll respond to it.” He inclined his body even closer. “Then, when you go back to being your old self, you’ll leave her irreparably damaged.”
    “I—”
    “I can’t let that happen to her. I won’t.”
    “You give me very little credit, Tate.”
    “I give you none.”
    She sucked in a quick, harsh breath.
    He looked her over rudely. “Okay, so this morning you dazzled the press on my behalf. Thank you. You took my hand during the press conference. Sweet. We’re wearing matching wedding bands. How romantic,” he sneered.
    “You’ve even got members of my family, who should know better, speculating that you had some kind of conversion experience in the hospital—found Jesus or something.”
    He lowered his head to within inches of hers. “I know you too well, Carole. I know that you are at your sweetest and kindest just before you go in for the kill.” Increasing the pressure on her arm, he added, “I know that for a fact, remember?”
    Distressed, Avery said fervently, “I have changed. I am different.”
    “Like hell. You’ve just changed tactics, that’s all. But I don’t care how well you play the part of the perfect candidate’s wife, you’re out. What I told you before the crash still stands. After the election, no matter the outcome, you’re gone, baby.”
    His threat of dispossession didn’t frighten her. Avery Daniels had been dispossessed of everything already—even her identity. What stunned Avery was that Tate Rutledge, on whose integrity she would have staked her life, was a phony after all.
    “You would manipulate the public that way?” she hissed. “You’d go through this campaign with me playing your devoted wife, standing at your side, waving and smiling and delivering silly speeches that are composed for me, only as a means of getting more votes?” Her voice had risen a full octave. “Because a happily married candidate has a better chance of winning than one caught up in a divorce procedure. Isn’t that right?”
    His eyes turned as hard as flint.