The Confession
Erin McCauley
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2012 by Erin K. Charles
Previously published by F+W Media
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by AmazonEncore, Seattle
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eISBN: 9781503967144
This title was previously published by F+W Media; this version has been reproduced from F+W Media archive files.
To Grams, for teaching me to dream. I miss you every day.
Acknowledgments
A special thank you to my pen pals, Tammy, Chassily, Joan, Diana, and Lori, for the support, guidance, words of wisdom, and happy hour brainstorming. I couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you Cathy, for talking me off the ledge when I wondered if I was crazy, and for your never wavering support and friendship. Thank you Dad, for your medical wisdom, support and love; you’ll forever be my hero.
Jennifer Lawler, thank you for taking a chance on me, and believing in my stories as much as I do.
Thank you to my personal dream team, Jennifer, Michael, and Cyera, for believing I could do it, even when I didn’t. I am so blessed to be your mother. And to my husband, Chuck, for working so hard, so I could chase my dreams and for taking this journey with me. I love you.
Aimee gripped the steering wheel, her stomach churning as she stared at the mansion in front of her and the reality of where she was sank in. She still couldn’t believe she’d come all the way to California, and she didn’t have any idea what to do now.
The towering front door opened, and a tall man in a T-shirt and tattered blue jeans emerged. His dark hair caught the light from the sun as he stepped off the porch, giving the impression of a glowing halo. She gasped when he smiled and waved at her. His strides were long as he crossed the walkway. It was then she realized he hadn’t been waving at her but at an older man pushing a wheelbarrow across the yard. She continued to stare, mesmerized by the flexing of his tanned biceps when he pointed. He laughed at something the other man said and reached up to clasp him on the shoulder before turning back.
He stopped in mid-stride, looking across the driveway, apparently just noticing her car parked by the fountain. Their eyes met. His face transformed to an emotionless mask as he marched toward her. She wanted to put the car in drive and race for the gate, but at the rate he was approaching, it was already too late.
She rolled down the window, prepared to lie and apologize for the wrong turn that brought her here.
“You’re early. Emily isn’t quite ready, but you don’t have to wait in your car.” His words were polite, but his once active hands were now stiffly tucked into the pockets of his jeans.
“Early?”
“Aren’t you here to meet with Emily?” His eyes narrowed.
She couldn’t think of a thing to say as her mind tried to catch up with the conversation. He was acting like he’d been expecting her, but that wasn’t possible. He stood in silence, waiting for her response.
It was the same question she’d been asking herself for the last twenty-four hours. Was she ready to meet her? “Yes, I suppose I am,” Aimee stuttered. Her hands began to shake.
Opening the door to the car, she stepped out. Her knees buckled and she could barely feel her legs. Holding onto the open door to brace herself, she looked up and attempted to smile. Suspicious deep blue eyes locked onto hers.
“What did you say your name was?”
She sucked in a breath. Did he know who she was? That was ridiculous. He couldn’t possibly know. She swallowed hard and licked her lips. “A … Aimee, my name is Aimee.”
With his eyes still fixed on her, he reached out his hand. “I’m Mark.”
She placed her hand into his, and felt the world shift beneath her. Electricity shot up her arm, the warmth of his hand radiated through every nerve in her body. She snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned.
She looked up at him, unable to identify the feelings racing through her. For a moment she thought she’d seen the same reaction in his eyes before his expression changed back to wary. He turned and walked toward the house. Should she follow? She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as she slowly walked behind him.
The house was massive, built out of light-colored brick, with numerous tall windows catching the morning sunlight. Her head tilted back as she drew closer. The second story was lined with French doors opening onto small Venetian balconies. She looked over her shoulder at the brick wall covered in ivy surrounding the property. She’d driven through an ornately carved gate that remained open at the beginning of a long rounded drive encircling a huge water fountain made completely of marble.
She stopped at the foot of the porch stairs. What if Emily didn’t want her here?
“Are you okay?”
His deep voice broke through her thoughts. “I think so. I’m … I’m sorry. I guess I’m not exactly prepared for this.”
“There’s no reason to be nervous.” He held the front door open for her. “She’s an amazing lady, and very easy to work for.”
It took a moment for Mark’s words to sink in. She blinked and turned back to him. “Work for?”
He stared at her, his brow creased. “The job interview? Weren’t you sent by the agency?”
Aimee followed him into the foyer, unsure of how to respond. If she told him the truth, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw her out. After coming this far, she couldn’t let that happen.
As she struggled for the words to explain, she couldn’t help but notice the impressive entry. A grand staircase wove up two sides of the room, and a crystal chandelier hung from two stories above, resting over a huge marble-topped circular table. A large vase sat in the middle of the table filled with colorful flowers emitting an intoxicating scent.
Mark stood silently beside the table, his arms crossed, waiting for her reply.
Before Aimee could speak, an elegant, middle aged, blond woman descended the stairs, a warm smile on her face. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”
Aimee could only stare, her mouth slightly agape, legs weak, and her body trembling.
“I’m Emily. Emily Sinclair.” She held out her hand.
Could she be? Could it be possible that this beautiful, regal woman was her mother? Aimee placed her hand into Emily’s, looked into emerald green eyes much like her own, and returned the smile. At that moment, all the pieces fell into place and she knew exactly what she needed to do. “I’m Aimee. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Mark walked into the large kitchen, kissed Mimsey on the cheek, and reached around her to steal a cookie from the rack on the counter.
“You rascal, you know those are for the landscapers.”
He winked and scooted his six-foot frame onto the kitchen counter before taking a bite of the still warm chocolate chip cookie. “You know I can’t resist your cookies, Mimsey. I could smell them all the way down the hall.”
Mark had been stealing her cookies for as long as he could remember. Mimsey was the cook, but she was as much a part of the family as he was.
She swatted him with the dishtowel she’d pulled off her shoulder. “Off the counter. You’re dirty.” Her entire body shook with laughter when he poked his bottom lip out. “You’re too old to be using that pout face, Marcus Lee.”
“Still works on you, Mimsey.”
She swatted him again as he reached for another cookie. “How’s the yard coming along?” she asked, bending to pull another sheet of cookies from the oven.
“It’s going to be beautiful, but I’m worried about the timing. Emily’s birthday is only a month away and there’s still so much to do.” Slipping from the counter, he leaned against it and crossed his ankles. “The rose garden isn’t in, the patio isn’t laid and she keeps coming up with more ideas.”
“She always tries to stay busy this time of the year, you know that.” Mimsey watched him as she lifted the hot cookies off the pan and placed them on the cooling rack. “You’re doing a great job, and I have no doubt you’ll have it completed by her big day. Look at how much you’ve already accomplished.”
He grunted.
“Hopefully, when she hires her new assistant, the two of them will be so busy that she won’t have time to keep coming up with all these new ideas. Then you can concentrate on the projects already started.”
Mark uncrossed his arms and pushed away from the counter. “I wish she wasn’t so hell bent on hiring someone immediately.”