The Confession (10 page)

Damn near perfect she thought again, feeling guilty she didn’t return his affections. She nodded her head. She needed to keep it business, all business.
“Come on into my office,” she said, gesturing to the only other chair in the spacious room.

He continued to watch her closely as he sat in the folding chair across from her.

“So, what’s the update on the silent auction?”

“We are short at least two items.”

“Well that’s not good.” She began to doodle nervously in her binder. Taking a closer look at what she’d drawn, she grinned. “I have one of them taken care of. Let me see what I can come up with for the second.” She rose from the chair and folding it, stacked it back on the rack.

“Well, aren’t you going to tell me your idea?” Peter prodded.

She smiled broadly. “An original, one of a kind, Amore’ jeweled clutch. I’ve got connections.”

Mark stood outside the door to the sitting room and inhaled deeply. He needed to get his temper under control before he opened the only barrier standing between him and his father. He had to admit he’d felt more comfortable when it was a large body of water and not just a sliding door. He told himself he would handle this calmly and show his father the front door, making it clear he wasn’t welcome to pass through it again.

He opened the door to the sitting room, stepped inside, and closed it behind him with a snap. “What in the hell are you doing here?” His voice portrayed the bitterness and anger he felt.

“Hello, son,” his father said calmly, rising from the chair he’d been waiting in.

“You don’t get to call me that.” Mark sneered.

“No, I suppose I don’t have the right.” His father lowered his head. He looked back up and quietly studied his son. “You look good.”

The silence in the room lingered as Mark waited for his father to reveal why he’d come. The tension crackled around them like lightening in a storm. He wasn’t sure if it was time or his lifestyle, but his father looked old, almost sickly. The memories he had of his father were of a tall, proud man, quick to laughter and quick to anger. The man standing before him seemed broken and a little lost. He wondered why he didn’t feel any satisfaction in that discovery.

“What do you want? I can’t imagine you came here out of curiosity regarding my appearance.”

A single tear escaped from the corner of his father’s eye. “I came to ask your forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness?” Mark began to pace the room, his steps short and rapid. Rage surged through him. He stopped and spun around to face him, his voice low, his fists clenched. “For what? Lying, blackmail, or maybe for breaking her heart? Or for using me as a pawn in your money-grubbing scheme? Maybe for abandoning me? What part of your long list of callous crimes are you asking me to forgive you for?”

“I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of.” His eyes pleaded for understanding. “I was hoping maybe we could try to start over. I’m different now. I want a chance to prove that to you.”

“I haven’t seen or heard from you in, what, twenty-five, twenty-six years? You march back in here and expect me to welcome you?” Mark began to pace again, struggling to maintain his composure.

“I tried to see you, many times, but your mother — ”

Mark cut him off, his voice lethal. “Don’t. Don’t you dare blame her.”

“I’m not blaming her. The blame lies solely on me. I just wanted you to know that I — ”

“That you what? That you finally grew a conscience? Congratulations. But you’re about thirty years too late.”

“Marcus … ” He hung his head for a moment before looking back at Mark. “Contrary to what you believe, I’ve thought of you every day. I love you. You’re my son.”

Mark clenched his fists. “Love is not an emotion, it’s an action. It’s how you treat the people in your life and the actions you take to show them.” He shook his head to clear the sudden vision of Aimee’s face from his mind. “I think you need to leave now. You’re not welcome here.” He opened the door, stepped into the foyer, and held it for his father.

His father stopped at the open door and stood in front of him. “I have a bad heart. They don’t know how long I have, but I was allowed another chance to set things right. Even if you won’t allow me a place in your life, I’d like to know you were able to forgive me for all the wrong I’ve done to you and your mother before I leave this world. I know for you a lifetime has passed — ”

“I’m sorry about your health. I really am. But you’re right, I won’t allow you a place in my life. You gave up that privilege a long time ago. If we’re being honest with each other, let me also tell you that I will never forgive you for what you’ve done. You may think you’ve changed, but all I see is the same selfish man who walked out on his family with an envelope full of cash.” Mark walked over and opened the front door. “Please leave.”

His father walked slowly into the foyer, shuffling his feet, his shoulders hunched forward. “I’ll be at the Four Seasons for the next two weeks while they run some more tests. In case you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“I understand. For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t forgive me either.”

He watched his father step down off of the front porch and climb into his shiny sports car. His father appeared defeated. Mark stood in the open doorway as the car rounded the fountain and drove out of the gate.

He expected to feel relief that he was gone. He thought he’d feel pride in the fact that he’d heard his father out, and hadn’t caused him any bodily harm. He thought he’d feel vindicated when he tossed him out. He felt none of those things. He felt only emptiness.

Aimee paced the front room of her cottage. Mark never made it to dinner, and Emily told her he wasn’t answering his door or his cell phone. She was concerned. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but a part of her felt responsible. She’d been the one to bring his father up the other night with her nosey questions, and she’d been the one to let his father into the house.

She tried to keep her mind busy, to not think about Mark. She called Luther and requested the handbag for the silent auction, as well as calling in some favors to get an all-expense paid trip for two to Paris Fashion Week as the other auction item. Now, the walls were closing in, and she was making herself crazy worrying about him.

Making up her mind, she grabbed a bottle of wine, slipped her shoes back on and walked the short distance to his cottage. After pounding on his door repeatedly and threatening she wasn’t leaving until she could see for herself he was okay, he finally opened the door.

Even disheveled and angry, he was gorgeous. “I’d rather be alone if you don’t mind,” he snapped.

“I do mind. You can’t lock yourself in here forever. Eventually you are going to have to talk about it.”

She brushed past him into the cottage. Desire surged through her the moment her shoulder brushed his. Feeling off balance, she reached for the back of a chair to steady herself.

“Are you okay?” he asked walking over to her.

“I’m fine.” Color flooded her cheeks. “I tripped.”

He looked behind them as if locating the culprit, but said nothing. Taking the bottle out of her hand, he walked into the kitchen and popped the cork. Pouring two glasses, he tucked the bottle under his arm and headed for the living room.

She sat next to him on the couch and he handed her a glass of wine. Taking a large swallow from his glass, he topped it off and leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes staring blindly ahead. She knew he was still in the room with his father, or maybe he’d drifted back in time to when he was a boy. The silence lingered, but she refused to walk away from him. She knew he needed to talk, and selfishly, she wanted to be the one he opened up to.

He unexpectedly scooted back on the couch startling her. He turned toward her, his blue eyes flashing a mixture of confusion, rage, and pain. She wiped the spilled wine off her hand, set her glass on the table and waited for him to speak.

“He said he wanted my forgiveness. Can you believe that shit?” She sat in silence knowing it wasn’t an actual question he needed answered. “Twenty something years later, he walks in … hey son, got a bad heart, could die, will you forgive me now? That’s such bullshit. I was actually surprised to learn he had a heart at all.” He took another large guzzle of wine and poured himself more. “What did he expect me to do? Invite him in for dinner? Or take him to an A’s game, just us guys, right daddy-o?”

He rose from the couch, nervous energy emanating from him as he paced back and forth in front of the coffee table. He continued to rage as he gestured with his hands, carelessly spilling drops of wine onto the carpet.

“Says he’s different, can you believe that? Actually trying to tell the child he just up and left without so much as a backwards glance that he’s different now. I wanted to punch him in his damn lying face.”

Aimee could see he was starting to wind up again. She slowly stood and walked over to him, removed the glass from his hand and placed it onto the coffee table. Standing directly in front of him she looked into his eyes and spoke from her heart. “It’s hard when every part of you wants to forgive, but deep down, you know it’s impossible.”

His fire died down, and now unable to speak, he nodded his head in agreement. She could sense his conflictions, and understanding he needed to get it all out, she asked, “So you really didn’t punch him? Not even once? I would’ve never pegged you for a wuss.”

She gave him the most innocent look she could muster. Mark began to laugh. Once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. He bent over, leaning his hands on his knees as emotions left buried too long erupted from him. Watching, she could almost see the sadness leaving his eyes.

As the final chuckle faded, and he was out of breath, he looked up at her. “Thank you.”

She took his hand and led him back to the couch. “Have you eaten today?” He shook his head and she clucked her tongue. “You have to eat something. I’ll whip something up for you while you open another bottle of wine. You’ve selfishly emptied this one already and I need another glass.”

He led her into the kitchen and reached into the cupboard for another bottle while she rummaged around in the refrigerator.

“It smells delicious,” he said as she sat a spinach omelet down on the coffee table. “You’re not joining me?”

“I already ate.”

He took a forkful of his eggs and moaned with pleasure. “This is delicious.”

“Thank you very much.”

“No, thank you.” His omelet loving smile faded, replaced by one with more meaning, more passion. His eyes flickered to her mouth as he slowly leaned in toward her and lightly kissed her lips. He drew back, still studying her mouth. She nervously licked her lips. He looked up at her face, lifted his hand to her hair, and pulled her close for a deeper kiss.

Her eyes fluttered closed as his tongue began to stroke hers. The pressure of his hands in her hair sent shooting bolts of pleasure throughout her body. He shifted, slowly coming over her as he gently lowered her back on the couch, his lips never leaving hers.

She wrapped her arms around him and slowly ran her hands underneath his shirt and along his muscled back. She could feel his moan as it vibrated through her palms. His hands left their tangled place in her hair and softly moved down the side of her face, over her shoulders and began a slow crawl down her chest. The heat from his hands seeped through the thin silk blouse she wore. Her back arched, creating more pressure as she drew closer to his hands. He slowly unbuttoned her blouse as his lips worked their way down her exposed neck and lingered at the base, gently suckling the curve before her shoulders.

He drew back her blouse exposing the black lace underneath. He kissed a path down her collarbone, driving her mad in anticipation. He kissed, and gently nibbled the swell of her breasts. Her body ignited with desire.

Softly, she whispered his name.

She felt his body stiffen. He slowly pushed himself up, balancing all of his weight on his arms. He looked down at her. She saw the cloudiness of passion evaporate from his eyes and physically felt him shut down.

“I’m so sorry, Aimee,” he muttered as he pushed himself off the couch. “I shouldn’t have … We can’t … ”

Aimee quickly scooted up to a sitting position and rushed to button her blouse. She could feel the heat climbing onto her cheeks as she shamefully peeked from beneath her lashes trying desperately to hide her face. He was pacing again, only this time she knew she was the cause. Humiliated, she bolted from the couch, grabbed her shoes from the floor, and dashed for the door.

Mark, reaching the door before she did, held his arm against it, using his weight to prevent her from fleeing. “I had no right.”

“It’s fine. I understand,” she said, keeping her head down. She didn’t, but tears were threatening to fall and she wanted to be gone before she embarrassed herself any further.

“It’s not fine. Please let me explain.” He reached over and placed his index finger under her chin trying to force her to look up at him.

She knew she was acting like a petulant child, but she locked her chin to her chest so he couldn’t look at her. So she could avoid looking at him. Had she thrown herself at him? Had she taken advantage of the situation knowing how vulnerable he was? She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t understand why he’d rejected her. She felt the first tear escape.

“It isn’t right. Not like this. The timing … ” He blew out a frustrated breath.

“Please let me leave.” Keeping her head down, she turned and stared at the closed door.

“Why won’t you look at me?” He moved his arm from the door and brought it to her shoulder, attempting to turn her around.

She couldn’t look at him. She knew she’d see guilt and was afraid she’d see pity. She couldn’t handle either one.

“Aimee … ” He moved closer.

The heat from his chest radiated through her thin blouse. The warmth of his breath blew gently against her neck. His voice was soft and pleading for understanding. She was enticed to turn back into his arms. She knew she had to walk away before he noticed the heart she was wearing on her sleeve.