The Look of Love Read online

  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.”

  Chapter 2

  Jillian Abernathy braced herself, as she always did, before entering Cottage 7. She’d been tempted to skip today’s visit. She still had to stop at the market for something to grill, and she also wanted to pick up a bottle of champagne. She and Ben were going to stay in and spend a quiet evening together.

  She had no desire to go to some noisy party or club. The last thing she wanted was to mingle with a New Year’s Eve crowd. Not only because she didn’t think it was appropriate to be out celebrating, but because she was scared that somebody could get close and hurt her.

  In the months since the acid attack on Esperanza, Jillian had been afraid to go to work each morning, in spite of the security service her father had hired to keep watch outside her home. She found herself constantly checking to make sure that the doors and windows were locked. Sudden noises made her jump. Though Jillian hadn’t been the one harmed, the police seemed certain that the attack had been meant for her. The thought left her terrified.

  The assault had changed everything. The wedding had been postponed. It just didn’t seem right to go on with it until things settled down. Esperanza was suffering so much pain, physically and emotionally. It was best to concentrate on restoring her to health.

  After Esperanza’s stay in the hospital and the preliminary surgeries, Jillian’s father had insisted that she recuperate in one of the private cottages at Elysium. He was also doing further cosmetic surgeries to repair her face, at no charge. If there was anything to be grateful for, it was that while the acid had burned the bottom half of Esperanza’s face, it had missed her eyes.

  The media attention had been suffocating. The story of the acid attack was sensational enough on its own, but the fact that the disfigured cleaning woman worked for the daughter of the wealthy Abernathy family, owners of the famed Elysium, temple to beauty, added irony and extra fascination to the news coverage. Jillian had lived in a constant state of tension, never knowing when a reporter was going to accost her or a camera crew was going to be staked outside her house. Many nights she stayed in a cottage at Elysium, where she could have more privacy and feel more protected.

  It hadn’t been until Christmas Day, as her gift to Ben, that Jillian finally agreed to go ahead with the wedding, as long as it could be done quickly and on a much smaller scale than the celebration they’d originally planned. The guest list was being cut dramatically. Instead of a cathedral wedding ceremony and a reception at the opulent Beverly Hills Hotel, Jillian wanted all of it to happen on the grounds of Elysium, where everything could be controlled by their own trusted staff.

  As she approached the front door of the terra-cotta-roofed cottage, Jillian could hear the television playing inside. A gauzy curtain fluttered through a slightly open window. She peeked in and saw Esperanza engrossed in the show on the screen, sitting with her back to the window. Esperanza’s shoulders moved jerkily up and down, and Jillian realized she was actually laughing, or her version of it. Laughing silently, not moving her mouth or her facial muscles.

  Jillian stepped away from the window and knocked on the cottage door.

  “Who is it?” called Esperanza from inside. The words were not distinctly pronounced.

  “It’s me. Jillian.” She arranged her face in a smile and girded herself for what she would see. The door opened.

  “Hello, miss.”

  Esperanza was wearing a peach-colored smock. Her hair was long and dark, with only the last vestige of yellow at the ends. The bottom of her face was covered with a clear plastic mask, modeled expressly for her and fitting directly against her ravaged skin. The mask applied direct pressure over the wounds to help prevent the buildup of collagen fibers that could scar and to protect the skin from any forces that could impair the healing process. Jillian knew that the face covering provided a barrier from germs and irritants and allowed visual inspection without having to be removed. So, all in all, the mask was a very good thing. Still, it always reminded Jillian of something a thief or a rapist or a home invader might wear to grotesquely distort his facial features. She shivered every time she saw it.

  “How are you feeling today, Esperanza?” asked Jillian as she walked inside the cottage.

  Esperanza picked up the remote, pointed it at the television, and turned down the sound. She gestured to her face as she settled into her chair. “I felt pretty good this morning, but now it’s hurting again.”

  Jillian nodded as she took a seat on the sofa. “In the morning you’re rested and have more energy. Later in the day, your body is tired and things bother you more. Do you want me to call and have them bring you something for the pain?”

  Esperanza gently shook her head. “No thank you, miss. I’ll wait until it’s time for my sleeping medicine.”

  “Good for you,” said Jillian. She leaned forward and patted the woman’s knee. “I know you don’t want to get too dependent on the pain medication, Esperanza. I admire you for that, but drugs are there to help. You don’t have to worry. Our doctor is very careful about monitoring how much is available to you.”

  Jillian noticed that Esperanza was wearing the gold bangle bracelet Jillian had given her for Christmas. She also noticed that Esperanza’s nails were freshly manicured and painted with cheerful red polish—the hands of a woman who no longer did housework for a living. Esperanza looked down and fiddled with the corner of her smock.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Jillian. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong, miss. Everyone is so nice to me. They work so hard to help me and make sure I am comfortable. Tonight they are bringing me a special dinner for New Year’s Eve.” Esperanza’s eyes smiled above the plastic mask.

  “We have a lot to celebrate this year,” said Jillian. “You’ve been healing so well. My father thinks he’s going to be able to discharge you in a week or so. Isn’t that wonderful, Esperanza? Soon you’ll be able to go home to your own place.”

  Esperanza watched through the window until Jillian was out of sight. Then she went to the bedroom, climbed into the queen-size bed, and snuggled beneath the light down coverlet and freshly laundered white sheets.

  She was torn. Of course she was glad that her healing was progressing and that Dr. Abernathy was confident that repeated procedures would continue to improve her appearance. But she didn’t want to leave Elysium. She didn’t want to go home.

  Not ever.

  After living in the luxury of Elysium, where the staff catered to her every desire, how could she return to the seedy and suffocating one-bedroom apartment she used to share with three other women? Actually, she couldn’t go back there even if she wanted to return. She had given up her spot, and someone else had taken her place.

  Esperanza wiggled her toes and felt the softness of the bed linens. She closed her eyes and began to concentrate on her breathing as the yoga teacher who came to the cottage for private lessons had taught her to do in order to relax. As she inhaled, a light scent of lavender filled her nostrils.

  She loved it here.

  Maybe if she told them that she was having flashbacks and was afraid for her life, they would see she was traumatized and let her stay longer. Esperanza hadn’t told anyone that she was remembering something she saw when she opened the door and the acid was flung in her fa
ce. But she didn’t want to answer any more questions from the police. Things had finally quieted down, and she didn’t want to stir it all up again.

  Most of all Esperanza was terrified that if threatened with identification, whoever had attacked and scarred her would find her and finish the job. Yet with what she now remembered, she realized that she might not really be safe at Elysium after all.

  Chapter 3

  Sister Mary Noelle bowed her head and knelt in the chapel of the Monastery of the Angels. Her fingers rubbed her rosary beads as she murmured the Hail Marys along with the voices she could hear praying on the other side of the screen that separated the chapel’s two parts—one for the cloistered sisters and one for the laypeople who came to pray. They asked for various things: a job, the restoration of a damaged relationship, a cure for a sick child, a miracle.

  She couldn’t see them, and they couldn’t see her.

  Sister was aware that this was the most secular night of the year. Outside the monastery walls, traffic buzzed along the Los Angeles freeways. People were heading off to an evening of partying and drinking, often to excess. Glamorous clothes and makeup, gyrating bodies, bright lights, dreams of being discovered by modeling agents or casting directors beckoned.

  For Sister Mary Noelle, the beckoning had come from Christ, when he asked her to “Come follow me.” That beckoning had led her to the contemplative life of a cloistered nun. She had completed her two years as a postulant, taken her simple vows, and was now a novice extern sister, with two more years until she made her final vows.

  It was a life she would never have imagined for herself as she grew up just a few miles away, the daughter of a successful plastic surgeon and a former model and actress. She and her sister had lived a beautiful life, in a beautiful home, and they’d gone to private schools where they socialized with other beautiful people. She grew up thinking that was just the way it should be. She had been proud of her father and the things people said about him, the way they raved about his work and declared him a miracle worker. The magazine articles about the spa he had founded touted his “magic hands.” The tabloids speculated on various movie stars for whom her father had turned back time. Occasionally she’d overheard her father telling her mother about the actor or actress who had come to Elysium looking to be transformed in order to revive a flagging career.

  “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.” Sister Mary Noelle’s lips moved, but barely a whisper came out of her mouth. She prayed for her dear father, her beloved sister, and her deceased mother.

  Sometimes through the greatest pain came the greatest blessings. If her mother hadn’t died of a heart attack after cosmetic surgery, Sister Mary Noelle might never have rejected the empty pursuit of physical beauty. She might never have discovered what was truly important. She might never have become Sister Mary Noelle.

  Chapter 4

  Before she dressed for the party, Piper took a minute to Google the name Jillian Abernathy. The most recent links were to articles about the acid attack. They recounted that a woman, hired to clean the house, had opened Jillian’s front door thinking she’d be accepting delivery of a gift for her employer’s upcoming wedding. The victim was unable to provide a description of the attacker, recalling only that she did catch a glimpse of a pair of aviator sunglasses and a blue cap before the acid was thrown in her face.

  Esperanza Flores, thirty-one, was quoted from an interview conducted in her hospital room. “I couldn’t stop screaming. My face was on fire. The worst fire you can imagine.”

  The case remained unsolved. As Piper searched further, she came upon older stories. One headline read BUSINESS MAJOR HITS THE GROUND RUNNING. The article explained that immediately after graduation from USC, Jillian had taken over as director of Elysium, replacing Hudson Sherwood. Sherwood had been Elysium’s director since the spa was founded by Jillian’s father.

  Nepotism at its best, thought Piper.

  There were several articles about Elysium in which Jillian was quoted. All of them seemed to be puff pieces, listing the fabulous treatments and amenities offered at the spa. Piper noticed that little mention was made of the cosmetic surgery done there.

  Piper was about to log off when she spotted one last thing. It was a death notice that had run in the Los Angeles Times several years earlier. It listed Jillian Abernathy as one of the two daughters of Caryn Abernathy, formerly the actress Caryn Collins. No cause of death was listed.

  Piper didn’t recognize the name. She glanced at the clock and decided she’d have to learn more about Caryn Collins later. She had promised Jack she’d get to his place early to help him before the guests began arriving.

  While the traffic at the George Washington Bridge was not too horrific, the FDR Drive was a nightmare. Should have gone down the West Side Highway and cut over, Piper thought as the cars inched along for over eighty blocks. When she got off at Twenty-third Street, she was already an hour late.

  As she locked the sedan door, her BlackBerry rang. Feeling the cold air whipping across from the East River, Piper put the tray and the two shopping bags she was carrying on the hood of the car and pulled her handheld from the pocket of her coat. She glanced at the screen.

  It was Jack.

  “Hey, where are you?” he asked. She could hear the concern in his voice.

  “I’m here,” said Piper. “The traffic was horrible, but some guy was pulling out across the street from your building and I just got his space.”

  “Good. Do you need me to come down and help you with anything?”

  “No, I can handle it,” said Piper, eyeing the icy slush covering the stretch of pothole-ridden macadam that separated her from Peter Cooper Village. She wished her feet were encased in her warm, soft Uggs instead of the open, strappy shoes she’d gotten a pedicure to wear. “I’ll be right up. Is anyone else there yet?”

  “A few people.”

  “I’m so sorry I’m late, Jack.”

  “Forget it. Just come.”

  When she entered Jack’s apartment, Piper saw that more than a few people had arrived. The place was already crowded. She didn’t recognize most of the faces as she scanned the area, but she knew that many of them were men and women who worked with Jack at the FBI.

  “My mother pretty much sent everything left over at the end of the day from the bakery,” said Piper, putting down the tray and shopping bags with the ICING ON THE CUPCAKE logo emblazoned on the sides. Jack was standing at the counter in the tiny kitchen, opening a bottle of wine.

  “Way to go, Terri! Thank her for me,” said Jack as he leaned over to give Piper a kiss on the cheek. “Glad you’re here.”

  “What can I do?” she asked, taking off her coat.

  “Whoa,” said Jack, his eyes sweeping up and down her body. “You can just stand exactly where you are and look like that all night. No, go out into the living room and stand in the middle of the rug so everybody can see you.”

  She smoothed the fabric of her short black skirt and adjusted the glittery, sleeveless emerald green top she’d chosen because it brought out the color of her eyes. Gold bangle bracelets decorated her well-toned arms. Her blond hair fell long and loose around her shoulders.

  Piper smiled. “Stop, you’re making me blush.”

  “Please, you love it. And if you can’t agree that you look absolutely gorgeous tonight, then you’re never gonna believe it.”

  Passing trays of pigs in a blanket, cheese puffs, and bacon-wrapped scallops, Piper had the opportunity to mingle and meet Jack’s friends. Every one of them recognized her name when she identified herself.

  “So you’re the famous Piper. Jack is always talking about you,” said one man.

  “Wow, Jack finally got something right. You are as pretty as he said you were,” said another.

  Piper was unprepared when one inebriated guy took hold of her arm and asked, “Why don’t you two get
a room already?”

  As she wriggled free from his grasp, Piper could feel her cheeks grow hot. Instinctively, she looked around the room for Jack. She spotted him in the corner, laughing with a group. She’d thought about it—that was for sure.

  Jack and she were just friends, weren’t they? She’d been getting the feeling that he wanted more. Now his friends had pretty much confirmed that.

  Piper was uncomfortable with the idea. Her own wedding had been called off seven months before. She hadn’t been the one who’d done the canceling. It wasn’t that she was still in love with Gordon. In fact, when she thought about the whole thing, which was less and less often, she realized that there were many reasons it hadn’t worked out. The breakup was for the best. Still, a broken engagement was completely humiliating. She deserved an Oscar for the performance she’d put on for her family and friends—at the very least a Golden Globe was in order.

  Only Jack Lombardi, a guy she’d met and befriended in karate class, knew how miserable it had been for her. Over pasta dinners and plenty of red wine, he’d listened as Piper unburdened herself. Jack had been totally supportive, vacillating between vowing to physically “take care of Gordon” and gently soothing Piper when she wept. He’d kept reciting the same mantra: She was “much too good for him.”

  The whole experience with Gordon had left Piper vulnerable and wary of getting romantically involved again. The breakup, along with the never-ending struggle to find acting jobs, had led her to give up her Manhattan apartment and move home to her parents’ house in Hillwood, New Jersey. She was just taking a break, just regrouping, she told herself. But now she was officially in the ranks of the “bridge and tunnel” crowd.

  Awesome.

  Making the wedding cake for Glenna Brooks, along with helping to untangle the deadly web of events preceding the wedding, had certainly distracted Piper and made her feel like she was doing something productive. Now she had nothing on the horizon.