The Look of Love

The Look of Love

Mary Jane Clark

Dedication

For Elizabeth and David, my two incredible blessings.

I am so proud of both of you.

And for all those who struggle with Fragile X Syndrome

as clinical trials for a treatment are under way.

Contents

Prologue

S
he often walked from room to room, pretending the place was hers. This fantasy never failed to help her get through the hours of dusting, scrubbing, and vacuuming. Esperanza imagined what it would feel like to own a huge, beautiful house like this instead of being the woman hired to clean it once a week.

As she returned the broom to the kitchen closet, she told herself that this was as good as any housekeeping job could be. The owner was very neat and spent most of her time at work or with her fiancé. Some weeks Esperanza could tell by the perfectly plumped pillows and the lack of footprints on the carpet that Jillian Abernathy had never even entered a room since the last time it had been cleaned.

Still, dust accumulated, silver tarnished, and windows got dirty. Esperanza kept on top of every chore and prided herself on the fact that Jillian had never left a note about something that had been missed or reminding Esperanza of a task left undone. She tried to see it all through Jillian’s eyes and anticipate the way Jillian would want things. She did everything she could think of to satisfy Jillian.

How she wished she
were
Jillian.

Though Esperanza was born in the United States, her parents had been illegal Mexican immigrants. Her father had been a day laborer with landscapers and contractors. Her mother did housework herself.

But Esperanza longed to live the real American dream. How fabulous to be beautiful and rich, to have a father who operated on the faces of other wealthy people and owned one of the most luxurious spas in America, to have a handsome fiancé who was also a doctor. It would be amazing to live and work every day in lush surroundings, wear designer clothes, and have your employees bend over backward to please you. It would be fantastic
not
to have to clean other people’s toilets. Esperanza went to the dining room and began straightening the boxes stacked in the corners and accumulated on the table and sideboard, packages representing stores she had seen only from the outside when she got up the nerve to walk along Rodeo Drive. She peeked at the wedding gifts she recognized as new arrivals since last week: sterling-silver flatware and crystal glasses from Tiffany’s, bed linens from Frette, a Lladró figurine, Hermès towels.

She was momentarily startled as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror that hung over the sideboard. Esperanza still wasn’t used to seeing herself as a blonde. Though the box of hair color she’d purchased at the drugstore hadn’t transformed her jet-black hair into the various golden shades of Jillian’s, it was close enough.

Satisfied that all was in order, Esperanza hurried down the hall. She liked doing Jillian’s room last. It was her reward, the high point of her workday. Sometimes Jillian left a shopping bag for her on the bed containing a barely worn pair of shoes or a seemingly brand-new purse she didn’t want anymore. But today there was nothing.

Esperanza shrugged as she headed to her favorite spot in the house: Jillian’s walk-in closet. She opened the double doors, looked inside, and gasped. Hanging from the middle of the ceiling was the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. As she reached out to gently touch the frothy white taffeta ruffles cascading down the A-line skirt, the thought crossed her mind.

Unable to resist, Esperanza peeled off her clothes and carefully took the gown from the satin-padded hanger. She stepped into the dress and pulled it up over her body. She was a bit bustier than Jillian, and her breasts strained against the sweetheart neckline. Other than that, the dress fit her almost perfectly.

She spied a pair of white silk-and-lace high heels perched on the shelf. Taking them down, she slipped them on her feet. She was preening and admiring herself in the full-length mirror when she heard the buzzer. Esperanza gathered up the skirt of the gown and hurried to the intercom.

It was a messenger delivering another wedding gift.

“Just a minute,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”

She kicked off the shoes, then took off the dress and meticulously laid it out on the bed. Pulling a robe from the hook on the closet door, she wrapped it around herself and hurried down the hall. Her heart pounded in her chest. She was relieved it was only a messenger. What if it had been Jillian? What if she’d been caught?

Reaching the foyer, Esperanza was thinking of how quickly she wanted to get back to Jillian’s bedroom and restore everything to the way it was. As she opened the front door, she caught only a glimpse of dark sunglasses and a blue cap before the burning liquid hit her face and she began to scream in agony.

Chapter 1

NEW YEAR’S EVE

T
he offer seemed almost too good to be true.

Round-trip airfare to Los Angeles and an all-expenses-paid stay at one of the most luxurious spas in the country. But there
was
a catch: Piper Donovan had to make another wedding cake.

Distracted from selecting her ensemble for the party she was going to that night, Piper pushed aside the dresses, skirts, and tops strewn all over her bed. She lay down on the soft comforter, crossed her long, thin legs and scrolled her BlackBerry to where she could reread the Facebook message.

SAW THE CAKE YOU MADE FOR GLENNA BROOKS. WOULD LOVE IT IF YOU WOULD DO ONE FOR MY WEDDING ON JANUARY 15. WE’LL PAY FOR YOUR PLANE TICKET, PUT YOU UP FOR THE WEEK AT ELYSIUM, PROVIDE YOU WITH A CAR AND DRIVER, AND, OF COURSE, PAY FOR THE CAKE. LET ME KNOW ASAP IF YOU ARE INTERESTED!

Jillian Abernathy. The name was vaguely familiar.

Piper studied the photo that accompanied the message. An attractive young couple beamed from the screen. The woman was pretty and blond, and she had a dazzling white smile. The handsome man, with his arm around her, had dark hair, and his teeth were even more blinding. Clicking on the picture led to Jillian Abernathy’s Facebook profile. Her info page revealed that Jillian was engaged to Ben Dixon, M.D., and that she worked as the director of the Elysium Spa.

Piper wondered where Jillian had first seen the three-tiered, star-festooned cake she’d designed for soap-opera star Glenna Brooks. There were photos of it all over the Internet, and it was featured in the current issues of
People, Soap Opera Weekly,
and the
National Enquirer
, along with other pictures from the wedding and accompanying text explaining the disasters that had befallen co-workers of the bride and groom in the weeks leading up to the ceremony. Piper had posted pictures of her creation on her own Facebook fan page, and the response had been overwhelming. She was proud of her first wedding cake and stunned by the attention it had been receiving since the Christmas Eve nuptials. She hadn’t expected to be making another so quickly—or all by herself. She’d had her mother as a safety net while she worked on Glenna’s cake.

Piper was dying to tell her mother, but Terri Donovan was still at the bakery and wouldn’t be home for a few hours. Piper stared at the freshly painted, cloyingly pink walls of her room in her parents’ house and considered the offer. She’d been living home again for just a month, yet the idea of getting away for a while was appealing. She loved her parents—she did—but there was something wrong about being twenty-seven years old and having to answer to them. Piper knew that Terri and Vin Donovan were making a concerted effort not to smother her, but they were failing miserably. It was inevitable: Piper was their only daughter, their baby, and they still found her every move fascinating. They paid attention to everything she did—or at least everything they
knew
she did.

“Hey, Emmett! Drop that! Drop that right now!” Piper yelled, jumping up from the bed and lunging for the Jack Russell terrier. The little dog had the toe of one of Piper’s high-heeled pumps grasped firmly in his mouth. He looked at her, dropped the shoe, and ran from the room.

She picked up the black pump and inspected it. There were tooth marks in the leather, but there was no actual tearing. Maybe her father could figure out a way to smooth away the indentations. He could fix pretty much anything.

Piper thought more about accepting the job. Even though she’d have to design and make the wedding cake, she would still have some free time. Maybe her agent, Gabe Leonard, could get her an audition or two while she was out there. Weather-wise, Southern California was decidedly better than New Jersey in January. And the idea of some free beauty treatments was definitely alluring.

Who wouldn’t want to spend a week at Elysium?
Piper had read about the oasis perched in the Hollywood Hills. She even knew a few people who had checked in there for some high-priced pampering. She’d listened as seldom-impressed New Yorkers used adjectives like “divine” and “heaven” to describe it. Apparently the staff went through Swiss Guard–like training to learn how to cater to each client’s well-being.

Going online, Piper read more. Besides the usual massages, facials, body wraps, yoga, Pilates, meditation sessions, saunas, and hot-tub soaks, Elysium offered individualized consultations with dietitians, along with organic, vegetarian, and vegan dining. It also boasted personal touches like spritzing clients with Evian as they lounged by an infinity pool that offered an aerial view of Los Angeles. All these amenities had guests leaving relaxed, rejuvenated, and feeling that every penny they’d spent had been worth it.

Elysium also provided its clients the most luxurious thing in the world—privacy. For good reason: The owner of Elysium was a renowned cosmetic surgeon. Along with the sprawling Spanish Mission–style main building that housed most of the guests in private rooms, there were individual cottages scattered in a more secluded section of the property. Actors, politicians, and other celebrities, both male and female—as well as those who could afford it and wanted no one to know they were being “freshened up”—arrived, had their surgery, and recuperated in utmost secrecy.

Piper exited Elysium’s Web site, picked up the damaged shoe, and headed downstairs. When she reached the basement of the split-level she had grown up in, Piper found her father ensconced in his man cave, surrounded by his beloved workbench, tools, and “survivor” paraphernalia. He was watching a football game on the little television set he kept down there. She handed him the shoe for his inspection.

“It’s Emmett or me!” said Piper, offering the fake ultimatum for the umpteenth time.

“That dog is a devil,” said Vin, shaking his head and trying to keep the smile from his face. Her father acted tough, but Piper and her mother knew he was a sucker for the dog. He got a kick out of the mischievous things the terrier did.

Piper sank into an old couch that had found its way into the basement when a new one had taken its place in the living room. She watched as her father worked on the shoe.

“Guess what?” she asked.

“What?” Vin was busy rubbing the black leather with a soft cloth.

“Somebody wants me to make another wedding cake.” Piper looked at her father for his reaction.

“Oh, yeah?” His eyes remained trained on the toe of the pump.

“The bride saw the cake I made for Glenna and was really into it, so she wants to hire me to make hers.” Piper pulled a long blond hair from the shoulder of her sweater.

“That’s nice, lovey.” Vin turned the shoe and began working on it from another angle.

“She’ll pay for me to go out to California.”

Vin lowered the shoe and turned to look at his daughter. “You’re kidding me.”

Piper nodded, her green eyes sparkling. “Not bad, huh?”

“What are you going to say?” asked Vin. “Do you want to do it?”

Piper shrugged. “Yeah, I think I do. I mean, I don’t have anything going on here right now. And with a little luck, my agent might be able to send me on some go-sees while I’m there. You know there are, like, four or five acting jobs out there for every one in New York.”

“And where would you stay?” asked Vin.

“That’s the best part,” said Piper. “The bride is the director of Elysium, which is this legendary Hollywood spa. I can stay there all week. I’ll have to check, but I assume I’ll be able to use their kitchen.”

Vin’s eyes narrowed. “I know about Elysium.”

“You do?” asked Piper.

Vin handed the shoe to his daughter. All traces of Emmett’s bite had been erased.

“Yes,” said Vin. “And I think I know about your bride, too.”

“Jillian Abernathy? How would you know about her?”

“Because I watch the news, Piper,” said Vin, in a tone that made it clear that he thought Piper should, too. “Jillian Abernathy is one lucky gal. She wasn’t home when some nutjob showed up at her front door. The poor cleaning woman answered the bell and got a cupful of acid, smack in the face.”