The Confession (6 page)

She laughed. “Okay, give me a second to change.” Kissing him on the cheek, she strode from the room.

Luther paced the front room, dressed and ready, waiting for Aimee. His back to her, she silently watched him wringing his hands, and talking to himself as she came out of her room.

“She’s going to love you. Don’t be nervous.” She laughed, walking over to him.

He gave an appreciative whistle to the coral wrap dress she’d chosen to wear.

“I think Mr. Mark might just toss you onto the dining table during dinner when he catches a load of you in that.”

“I doubt he’ll notice. He didn’t seem too happy to see me this afternoon when he brought your suitcase over. In fact, he looked angry. He changes moods faster than any woman I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, he’ll notice. He may be moody, but he certainly isn’t dead.”

She smiled up at him and, placing her hand in the elbow he offered, allowed him to escort her to dinner.

• • •

Mark could hear the laughter coming from the dining room the moment he opened the back door. He paused, trying to shake off his uneasiness at seeing Aimee again. He’d acted like a jealous fool and then all but mauled her in the foyer. He was ashamed of his behavior, yet knew he couldn’t trust himself not to do it again. Then there was the question that continued to nag at him: Could he trust her? He found it strange her friend appeared surprised she’d taken a job with Emily. Then there was her “our little secret” comments this afternoon that he couldn’t shake. How could he be so drawn to someone he knew he couldn’t allow himself to trust?

He walked into the dining room unobserved. Aimee was leaning in, reaching for the bottle of wine. Her blond curls were pulled back from her face in a fancy clip, her green eyes sparkled like emeralds, and her tanned shoulders were bare. She took his breath away.

“You are fab-u-lous,” Luther said, kissing the top of Emily’s hand. She blushed, a genuine smile illuminating her face.

Luther pulled his hands back and sat up in his chair, finally noticing Mark. “Well, there you are. I’ve been getting acquainted with Ms. Emily and was just telling her what a fantastic first impression you make on visitors.” Luther winked at him as Aimee’s face flushed a bright crimson red.

“I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting. I had a couple of important phone calls to make.”

He looked over at Aimee, unsure of how she’d react to him. She watched him for a minute before her eyes fluttered down, and she folded and refolded the napkin on her lap. The shy, hesitant girl he saw now was in strong contrast to the passionate woman he was kissing earlier. He realized he liked the variations.

“We’re glad you’ve made it.” Emily nodded her head toward the empty chair. “It has been so nice getting to know Luther. He thinks he might be able to get us an original bag from Amore’ for the silent auction. Isn’t that great? He knows the owner.”

“That’s great and very generous,” Mark replied. Looking over at Aimee, he asked, “How did you and Luther meet?”

“We worked together,” she replied. “We’ve been friends ever since.”

“Ah good ole’ Saks,” Luther said, folding his hands together and placing his chin upon them, expelling a wistful sigh. “Those were some fun times. Aimee was my muse from then on.”

“Your muse?” Emily asked.

“She is the most creative creature I’ve ever met. I think she could make a hat out of a spider web and people would pay top dollar for it.”

All eyes turned to Aimee. “Luther is exaggerating. I was known for my window displays. That’s all.”

Watching his face, Mark thought Luther seemed surprised by her response. “Is she being modest, Luther?”

“I don’t think she gives herself enough credit for anything she’s done. Certainly not for her incredibly creative talents she likes to keep hidden under a bushel.” He looked directly at Aimee.

“So what do you do now, Luther?” Emily asked.

“I work for Amore’ Handbags on Fifth Avenue.” His voice sounded distant, almost disappointed.

“Oh!” Emily said with glee. “Now I see how you know the owner. I think she’s amazing. Some of her new designs have a waiting list almost three years long. I would know; I’ve been on the list for the plum clutch for almost eighteen months.”

“Let me see if I can pull a few strings on that wait time,” Luther said, winking at her.

Mark wasn’t sure if he was overly suspicious after the “secret” comment, but he could’ve sworn Aimee looked proud at Emily’s statement. Looking again, it seemed her eyes were begging Luther to be quiet, and he was beginning to wonder if the sudden draft under the table may have been caused by a kick being thrown.

“Did you work for Amore’ Handbags as well, Aimee?” he asked.

Her face lost all color for a moment. Stuttering her reply, she said, “Not exactly, no.”

“Not exactly?” he asked, receiving a disapproving glare from Emily. “What does that mean … exactly?”

“Mark, we’re having a nice dinner, this is not an interrogation.”

“I apologize. I didn’t realize I was interrogating anyone.” He turned his attention back to Aimee. “I was just curious about all this creative talent we keep hearing about. You’ve never mentioned it before. Are you an artist?”

“No, I’m currently an assistant.” Aimee smiled at Emily. “My position keeps me very busy, although I am using my old window display talents in staging the venue for the auction.”

“And doing a fantastic job,” Emily added.

“Aimee can do anything. She has the magic touch, I always tell her. I think she was born with it.” Luther tilted his head, batted his eyes and reached over to pat Aimee’s hand.

“Has there been any news in regards to your mother?” Mark asked, surprised when she almost appeared panicked by his question. “Have you had a chance to call home?”

She slowly released a breath. “No changes. It’s still touch and go.”

“Is your mother ill?” Emily asked.

“She is. The doctors say it’s only a matter of time.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Aimee.” Reaching over, she took Aimee’s hand in hers and squeezed.

“It wasn’t sudden,” Aimee said. “I’ve had time to prepare myself.”

“Are you very close to her?” Emily asked.

“We have a very … well … tumultuous relationship. I wouldn’t say we’re close.”

“She’s a bitch, and treats Aimee like crap,” Luther interjected before sitting back, his arms folded across his chest in a defiant pose.

“Luther!” Aimee choked.

“I’m sorry, girl, but the truth is the truth, and that woman is the spawn of Satan.”

Aimee’s cheeks flushed, and Mark noticed she didn’t attempt to dispute her friend’s statement.

“I’m sorry you don’t have a better relationship with her,” Emily said. “I had such a wonderful bond with my mother. I think there’s a connection between mothers and daughters that can never be broken. Even after losing her, I can still feel her and see her smiling like she was standing directly in front of me.”

“When did you lose her?” Aimee asked.

Mark watched the uncertainty that crossed Aimee’s face. He was beginning to wonder if his previous behavior had anything to do with her hesitancy in asking about Emily’s life. It was almost as if she were afraid she’d be prying if she did.

“It was about fifteen years ago. Both of my parents were killed in a plane accident. As hard as it was to lose them both, I almost had a sense of comfort knowing they were together. Isn’t that strange?” Emily asked.

“No, not at all, in fact it sounds … well, sweet. I can easily see how that could be comforting,” Aimee replied, her eyes misty. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Aimee pushed away from the table, rose, and walked through the swinging door leading to the kitchen.

Luther stood up and excused himself, following her into the kitchen.

Mark sat at the bar and opened the folder. He felt guilty for hiring a private investigator, but he had to be sure about Aimee. Emily was already opening her heart to her, and, if he were to admit it, so was he. She pulled at him, kept him awake at night, and thoughts of her had him so distracted during the day that his work was getting further and further behind.

The first page of the report was about her life and family in North Carolina. So far, there was nothing questionable about what she’d told him. She’d lost her father two years ago to a heart attack, and her mother was very ill. Her sister, Joan, was staying with her mother after her third divorce. The ex-husband had a gambling problem as well as an addiction to cocktail waitresses. He didn’t have to question why the marriage hadn’t lasted.

He knew Aimee paid her bills on time and it didn’t appear she had any loan sharks looking for her, or the same gambling addiction as her ex-brother-in-law. It helped in some small way to know she wasn’t destitute, but even a millionaire could be lured by Emily’s wealth.

He looked through old school photos of her. The private investigator was thorough; he had to give him that. When he flipped to her senior prom photo, he paused. There was something chillingly familiar about the photo. He stared at it, trying to remember if he’d seen the photograph in her cottage. He knew he’d never seen it before, so why did he still feel as if he had? He placed it to the side and looked through the remaining pictures in the file.

There were a few pictures of her with her younger sister. She didn’t resemble Aimee in any physical way. She was tall and gangly, where Aimee was short and curvy. Her hair was dark, and her eyes brown, nearly cold in comparison to Aimee’s warm green ones. She looked almost angry, even while posing with Mickey Mouse at Disney World. One photo of them caught his attention. Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he closely studied the details. Aimee was holding hands with a tall, dark haired boy in a football jersey who was holding a trophy, her face lit up with obvious pride. Joan was on the other side of the boy, looking at him instead of the camera, her expression showing a mix of desire, resentment, and jealousy.

He sat the picture down and took a pull from his cold beer. He wondered what it must be like to have a mother you didn’t believe loved you and a sister who, it appeared, resented you. If Luther and these photos were accurate, Aimee had a completely different family life than any he’d witnessed or experienced. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him sad and, not for the first time, he had the urge to comfort her. He chuckled to himself as he realized what a hypocrite he was. He was feeling sorry for her mistreatment as he went through files from a private investigator he’d hired to prove she was quite possibly a fraud.

He closed the folder and signaled the bartender to bring him another beer. Looking up, he caught sight of Aimee’s reflection in the mirror over the bar. He blinked, and looked again, wondering if he’d conjured her up out of longing or perhaps guilt.

She glided into the room on Luther’s arm. Her jeans were tucked into tall black leather boots, and a white blouse was cinched at her waist with a rhinestone encrusted belt. Her blond hair was loose from the clip she’d worn earlier and bounced gently as she walked. Tossing her head back, she laughed at something Luther whispered into her ear.

“Sir?”

He’d been so intent on watching her that he hadn’t noticed the bartender place the beer down in front of him.

“Sorry,” he said as he placed the bills on the bar. “Keep the change.”

He’d lost sight of her. Turning on his stool, he scanned the room. He finally spotted her coming out of the restroom. She paused at the edge of the hall, apparently looking for Luther.

He was sitting at a table in the back corner of the room, his arm resting over the back of the booth, and he appeared to be listening intently to every word his new companion was saying. Mark looked back at Aimee, and saw that instead of joining Luther and his new friend, she was heading toward the bar. He swung quickly around, unsure if she’d noticed him, and hastily bent the folder in half before shoving it inside his jacket pocket.

“Mark?”

He turned toward the sound of her voice and smiled. “Hello, Aimee. I don’t think I realized the full meaning of the term ‘it’s a small world’ until now.” He waved his arm in the direction of the empty stool next to him.

She sat down and crossed her legs under the bar before thanking him for the invitation. The bartender was standing quietly in front of her, hanging on her every word in anxious anticipation of her order. She requested a glass of chardonnay and turned back to Mark.

“Luther begged me to bring him out, and Emily suggested this place, so here we are. We’ve only just arrived and I’ve already been abandoned for the first pretty face he found.”

He laughed and clicked his beer bottle to the edge of her wine glass. “To pretty faces.”

She smiled and took a sip, her eyes watching him over the rim of her glass. He wondered what she was thinking. What was it about her that made him question all of his doubts and want to jump in head first? He wanted to know about her, not simply the facts, but the deeper side of her. What made her tick, what made her happy, what made her sad, what did she dream of? He shook his head. What a mess: private investigators, hallway rendezvous, heat and longing. None of this made sense.

A rowdy group of men, clearly just arriving after the big game, pushed their way up to bar bumping their stools from behind. He jumped as the heat from her hand burned through his jeans and into his thigh. Her face was mere inches from his. Their eyes locked, and his heart raced. They didn’t move as the man who’d bumped her stool stood above her apologizing repeatedly. Neither of them seemed to hear him. Unable to resist, Mark ran his fingers through her hair. Applying light pressure to the back of her neck, he pulled her the last inch to him. He kissed her with all the emotion he felt, letting himself go in a sensation of belonging that he neither understood, nor knew how to handle.

Her hand clamped his thigh, her body pliant against him. He resisted the urge to pull her the rest of the way off her stool and completely onto his lap. Regretfully, he pulled his lips back from hers. Her eyes remained closed, her body still bent toward him, as if she were unable to move. He studied her face for a moment, running his thumb over her swollen mouth, and over the small mole that sat just above her top lip. She was so beautiful, it was no wonder he couldn’t keep his hands to himself when he was around her.