Chapter One
Twenty-sixāthat was the number of windows across the front of this house. Fourāit had four chimneys. Abbey had only just counted them all as the enormous, Georgian-revival-style mansion came into view at the end of the mile-long driveway. Sheād had to be let in via an intercom at a pair of iron gates bigger than her apartment building. As sheād snaked along the property in her car, miles of perfectly manicured grassāgreen, despite the winter weatherāstretching out on either side of the drive, and the James River angrily lapping on the edge of the property under the winter clouds, her hands had begun to sweat. Abbey had always been impulsive, even though sheād tried very hard not to be, but sheād done it again.
Sheād dressed up. She wasnāt used to dressing up. Normally, she had on scrubs at work, and on her off time she wore hoodies and jeans. But this was a business meeting, and sheād wanted to look prepared; however, nothing had prepared her for what was in front of her now. She shifted her portfolio case on the seat of her car to keep it from slipping onto the floorboards. It was a gift from her gramps and had sat empty until now.
You can do this, she said to herself as she tried to keep the seatbelt from wrinkling her clothes. Youāre gonna have to do this. You made your bed. Now you have to lie in it.
The owner of this home was in a league beyond comprehension. He was the grandson of a woman named Caroline Sinclair for whom Abbey cared. Caroline lived in a small cottage on the edge of the Sinclair property, and Abbey had always reached her cottage using a private side road. The estate was so large and wooded that the cottage seemed to be all by itself; the main house wasnāt even visible. Caroline had explained that she wanted it that way.
āIf Nick is making me live on the property, I want to at least feel that I can come and go as if itās my own residence. I donāt want to live out back of the house, or something demeaning like that. I want my own place, not a guest quarters.ā
Abbey had gotten the job caring for Caroline while working at an upscale retirement home. Nicholas Sinclair had called to ask if they had a service for in-home nurses. When sheād said that they didnāt, heād offered to pay her more than what she was making there to care for Caroline at home, because he didnāt want to put her in a facility. Caroline had mentioned that her grandson, Nick, had a ābig house,ā but this kind of wealth was something out of a storybook.
As Abbey looked at the house, it shed new light on Carolineās quirksāthe way sheād held the thick mug that Abbey had gotten her for her birthday as if it were a delicate piece of art, the straightness of her back when she sat on the edge of her chair, the manner in which she nodded and said āthank you,ā for the smallest of things. It was all clear now. What had seemed like generally polite behavior had actually been the behavior of a privileged upbringing. Abbey had never met Mr. Sinclair face to face. Sheād always just provided Carolineās current health status and data from her tests via phoneāusually leaving a messageāand heād mailed her paychecks. Now, she wondered if sheād notice those small indications of wealth when she met him.
Abbey parked her car in the great, circular drive and turned off the engine. Snowflakes dotted her windshield as she took a peek in her rearview mirror to be sure she was as presentable as possible. She dabbed on some lip-gloss quickly and dropped it into her handbag. With a deep breath, she got out of the car, her heels wobbling slightly with her nerves. Hoping the snow wouldnāt begin to pile up when she was inside, she clicked along the brick patio-sized pathway to the front steps. With every step, she could feel the crescendo of the pounding in her heart.
She stopped between two urns, each one containing a spruce tree the size of her Christmas tree at home, and pressed the doorbell. The double doors in front of her were so ornate and grand that she almost feared what was behind them. What was she thinking, telling Caroline sheād do this? Was she out of her mind?
The door opened, and, standing in front of her, was a short man wearing a charcoal gray suit and a red tie, his hair balding on the top. Abbey had heard about Nick Sinclair from the other nurses at the retirement home. Theyād described him as tall, quiet, handsomeāgorgeous, one had saidāwith dark hair and perfect clothes. While there was nothing wrong with the man in front of her, he was a far cry from the description sheād received.
He smiled, his lips pressed together, and took a step back to allow her to come in, the large door closing behind her as she entered the home.
She refocused on the man. āHello. Iām Abbey Fuller. You must be Mr. Sinclair?ā
āNo, maāam. Heāll be with you shortly.ā
Wow, she thought. He doesnāt even open his own doors. Her eyes moved around the space, taking in everything that surrounded her. The floor was a white- and slate-colored marble, with matching columns that looked as though they were holding up the entire second floor. The upstairs ran along an oval balcony that completely circled the room. The space in that one room was the size of the house where sheād grown up. It was so grand that it had to have three massive chandeliers to light it, but the windows spanning every surface were large enough that the natural light coming in was plenty.
āFollow me, please,ā the man said as he led her across the marble floor, between the two wide, curving staircases flanking each side of the room, and through an ornate doorway with more pillars on either side, the woodwork all painted cream to match the walls. Each piece was carved into swirling perfection that rolled to a peak at the top of the doorframe. The more she walked, the more nervous she became, her mouth drying out.
Her breath caught, and she swallowed to cover it up as she entered the next room. A wall of windows on the east side offered an almost blinding white light from the clouds outside. The grass had been dusted with snow in just the amount of time sheād been in the house. In front of the windows sat a black grand piano, the top propped up, the keys so shiny she could see the reflection of the panes of glass on their surfaces. On the south side of the home another wall of windows stretched to the top of the thirty or more foot ceiling and overlooked the grounds. The walls had intricate woodwork framing their surfaces, the color between the woodwork the matching blue of the rug.
The man had walked over to two facing cream-colored sofas that seemed so comfortable that she wanted to snuggle up on them with a blanket and read. Their billowy cushions were juxtaposed to the formality of the blue and cream patterned rug that extended the entire length of the ballroom-sized space, and the general emptiness and sterile surroundings. He gestured for her to take a seat.
Abbeyās eyes could not stay still in this room because sheād never seen anything like it in real life. It was such a stiffly styled room, yet those sofas were sitting at one end, and she wondered if anyone had ever sat on them.
What kinds of things would someone do in a room like this? Did Nick Sinclair play piano? Had he ever played for anyone before, or was it just a prop, a piece of furniture?
She sat down and the man left her alone with her thoughts, having never even introduced himself. Abbey put her hands on her knees as she sat on the edge of that gorgeous sofa. How impressed must Caroline have been with her decorating skills to suggest that Abbey decorate this mansion for her grandson? She couldnāt even allow her pride to slip in because the whole situation was so baffling to her. She was shakingāpartly from nerves and from the fact that the house was just slightly colder than she found to be comfortable. She shivered. The snow had really started coming down now in the few minutes she was there, already covering the ground outside. The scene played out before her through the towering windows, like a movie. Her mouth was so dry at this point, she couldnāt even lick her lips, and she worried that her lip-gloss wouldnāt last.
If she had to sit there much longer, she would explodeāshe needed to talk, have some kind of interactionāso she stood up to try to burn off her nervous energy. Her heels tapped on the marble floor that ran along the edge of the rug, and made hollow clicks that echoed throughout the room. āRugā was an amusing term for this piece. It was half the size of a football field, it seemed. Her back to the room, Abbey looked out through the windows and, when she realized what was out there, she had to consciously keep her mouth from hanging open.
Covered in snow were tennis courts, a brick gazebo as big as a four-car garage, and, off in the distance, closer to the river, was a swimming pool. As she looked out at the grounds, the cold of winter seeping in through the icy glass in front of her, she wondered what Nick could possibly be doing. Why hadnāt he greeted her at the door? Did it take him that long to walk from wherever he was in the house? Sheād left a message, as heād directed, and told him sheād be there at two oāclock. Sheād just expected him to answer the door.
āHello, Ms. Fuller,ā she heard the words echo across the room.
Abbey turned around. As she fixed her eyes on him, she had to work to keep her breath from coming out in ragged, nervous jerks. He was gorgeous. He was probably the most handsome man sheād ever seen. He had on navy trousers and a buttercream sweater with a thick collar that made the icy blue of his eyes visible even at a distance. His hair was perfectly combed, not a strand out of place, and his face looked soft, as if heād just shaved a few minutes before their meeting. Perhaps that was what heād been doingā¦ Abbey shook the thought from her mind.
āHello,ā she returned. She wanted to walk toward him, but she didnāt trust herself in heels, and she worried that she might fall. He crossed the room and stopped in front of her, giving the two of them a large amount of personal space. He held out his hand in greeting, the starched cuff of his button-up shirt peeking out from underneath his sweater. She shook his hand.
āItās nice to finally put a face with the voice,ā he said. āShall we head into my office?ā He moved aside so that she could step up next to him. āWe can discuss the details of your employment more easily there.ā He smiled. It was a pleasant smile, but it didnāt seem to sit comfortably on his face.
They walked along the corridor, a lofty area so wide and open that it couldnāt possibly be called just a hallway. It, too, was quite emptyāno pictures, no accent tables, nothing. Abbey was shocked at the lack of decorations. The house was so cold and unfriendly that it made her wonder about Mr. Sinclair. Was he as cold as this house? They finally stopped outside what looked like Nickās office.
āYou can just call me Abbey,ā she said, gripping her portfolio case to keep her hands steady.
He smiled down at her.
āDid you just move in?ā she asked out of curiosity. There was nothing in this home to suggest that it was regularly lived in. There were no photos, no memorabilia anywhereānothing to tell her about who he was.
āNo,ā he said, sitting down behind a shiny desk with a mahogany finish. His chair rolled on the slick marble floor beneath it. Then, he made eye contact. āMy grandmother tells me that you are a very good decorator,ā he said, offering that manufactured smile again. This time, Abbey could almost tell that heād practiced it. Was he used to having to smile when he really didnāt want to? She wondered what he looked like when he laughedāreally laughed. What would his mouth do then? Would he keep still or throw his head back? Would she be able to see amusement in his eyes?
She sat down in one of the leather chairs facing his desk and crossed her legs at the ankle. With a tiny breath to steady herself, she put her portfolio case on her lap and unzipped it. Sheād taken a few photos of her best decorating and had them blown up to a larger size for her presentation. āIāve never had a project this size,ā she warned. What she really wanted to tell him was that the only decorating experience sheād had was when sheād decorated his grandmotherās cottage because Caroline didnāt have the ability to paint and decorate herself. Abbey had worked hard to make her presentation professional, and there was a lot riding on this. She had Max to think about.
Abbeyās son, Max, was in first grade. He needed lunch money, school supplies; he was on neighborhood sports teams. There were things she had to pay for if she wanted Max to have a regular childhood. Her poor judgment with his father had been her fault, not Maxās. And the fact that her grandfather needed medicine that she had to help her mother pay forāthat wasnāt Maxās fault either. Her son deserved nothing but the best, and she was going to give that to him, even if it meant that she went without. And she had before. Abbey had gone nights with no dinner, skipped parties with her friends, and lived on meager funds so that Max would never know that he was any different than anyone else. Secretly, she worried about him. Would he wonder why he didnāt get beach vacations with his family? Would he wish that he could have big birthday parties with all his friends? She fretted about it all the time. And this was her chance to do something great for his future.
āIām not concerned about any lack of experience. You come highly recommended by my grandmother, and sheās hard to please, so I trust youāll do just fine.ā
She pulled back the flap on her portfolio and retrieved the first photo from it, turning it around for him to view. āI have experience decorating in a small variety of stylesā¦ā she said nervously. Sheād practiced her presentation last night a hundred times but it was quite different with Nickās eyes on her. āAs you know, this is a picture from your grandmotherās cottage. I thought Iād start with hers first, since you could envision the before and afterā¦ā
He cleared his throat. āYou donāt need to sell me,ā he said. āIām already hiring you.ā He offered a pleasant expression, but it was clear from his face that her presentation was over.
She slid the photo back into the case and closed it.
āAre you planning to charge a flat rate per square foot, or would you prefer a salary with a decorating budget?ā he asked.
āUh-mmmā¦ā Abbey chewed on the inside of her lip, trying to scramble for an answer. She didnāt know. She didnāt have a clue. Sheād only ever been a nurse. The idea of how to charge him hadnāt even crossed her mind. That thought alone was unsettling enough to cause her chest to burn with anxiety.
Abbey had gone online during a few of her breaks, ordering things that were more extravagant than sheād ever bought, but she knew just how to place them to give them life in Carolineās cottage. Sheād done it as a favor to Caroline, but she hadnāt made any money doing it, and it never occurred to her to ask for any. She realized that she hadnāt thought this through at all.
āI, uhā¦ā She scrambled for an answer, feeling ridiculous that all she could produce were unintelligible sounds. Get a grip! she scolded herself. Answer him! This was too big a leap for her. She wasnāt a decorator. Sheād always dreamed of being one. She had files of magazine clippings just in case she ever won the lottery and was able to buy what she really wanted for her and Max.
Her passion for art ran deeply through herāshe painted, she could draw, she saw art in everythingābut when it had come down to it, sheād had to choose the career that would be the least amount of risk. Sheād had to pick something that would provide for Max. Because of that, sheād gotten a nursing degree as quickly as she could because it would give her that steady income. Sheād taken as many classes as the local community college allowed, and sheād done nothing but study so that she could get her degree. Abbey still believed there was art in everything; she just didnāt always have time to notice it anymore.
As she sat across from Nick Sinclair, she felt very small, heat filling her cheeks. She blinked to keep the tears at bay. Never had she come to tears about anything before nowānot even raising Max alone. Sheād always been able to handle it. So why was she about to cry now? Abbey tried not to process the answer, but it was bubbling up: She knew her artistic talent was that one piece of her that she could always hold on to when sheād lost everything, hoping that one day she could tap into it. It was the only thing besides Max that she was proud of. Now, finding herself out of her league, she didnāt want anyone telling her that it wasnāt good enough because that would crush her.
And the last thing she wanted was for Nick to think less of her, but she didnāt know a thing about how to charge him for this job or the etiquette in a business relationship like this.
Abbey was silent, still trying to formulate an answer while not giving away how she was feeling. She didnāt know what to say, so she just sat there, inwardly screaming at herself to say something. āIāll do it for free if youāll let me take photos for my portfolio when Iām finished,ā she said finally.
Then, his light blue eyes changed as he looked at her. He looked curious, but there was a gentleness in his face that she hadnāt seen until right then.
āMy grandmother has wanted me to do this for a while. Before she was set on having you do it, sheād even called around and given me quotes. Iāve had quotes for upwards of a hundred fifty thousand dollars, so, with that said, I wonāt let you do the job for free. My grandmother might disown me if I did. Why donāt we settle for seventy-five thousand dollars to decorate the whole house?ā He searched her face for a reaction. āAnd that will be your salary. Then, Iāll buy whatever you need in terms of furnishings.ā
Abbey blinked to keep her eyes from popping out of their sockets. Seventy-five thousand dollars? That was three yearsā salary for her, and she was about to make it in a matter of weeks. All of a sudden, she felt lightheaded, her excitement swelling up inside. This could change everything. With money like that, she could pay for extra childcareāprivate sitters when she needed them. That would take the burden off her mother who was caring for her grandfather and watching Max. She might even be able to get Gramps that medicine he needed so badly.
āDoes that suit you?ā he asked. āAre you okay with those terms?ā
āYes.ā She couldnāt say anything more than yes. Her emotions were getting the better of her. She wanted to get up and hug him and tell him what a Christmas miracle that money would be for her and her family. She wanted to thank him for being so generous despite the fact that, clearly, she was inexperienced.
āGreat.ā He stood up and walked around to her side of the desk. She followed his lead and stood, tucking her portfolio under her arm.
He was so close that she caught his scent, and it caused a tickle in her chest. Abbey had never smelled cologne that good before, and she wondered what it was that he was wearing. Had she ever even heard of it? It was probably very expensive.
āLet me show you the rooms that youāll be decorating,ā he said, distracted, as he pulled out his phone and put it to his ear. She was glad to be up and moving again, and hoping to finally get to have a normal conversation, but he was already barking into his phone. āI donāt care how much it costs,ā he said. āItās a car. Just buy itā¦ Iād like it detailed and cleaned before it leaves the lot this time.ā After a minuteās more conversation, he ended the call and looked down at her. āI collect carsāmostly Ferraris,ā he said, with an air of pride.
āCars?ā she asked. Max collected cars, but she wondered if he might be talking about a slightly different kind.
āThereās a Lamborghini thatās up for auctionāvery limited number of them. Iāve got someone bidding for me and Iām trying to manage that while I show you around. My apologies.ā
She stared up at him long enough to realize that it was becoming awkward, so she looked down at her feet. Her grandfather couldnāt even buy the medicine he needed and this guy was wasting money on luxury cars.
āYou need more than one car?ā she asked.
He looked at her, the skin between his eyes wrinkling as if he were trying to make sense of what she was saying. āI collect them. I donāt necessarily drive them.ā
āWhere do you keep them?ā
āI have a garage on the property. Theyāre displayed there.ā
She knew that her face was showing her distaste, and she couldnāt straighten it out no matter how hard she tried. She had no right to offer any opinion about what he did with his money. āSo who comes to see them?ā
He eyed her again. āNo one,ā he said, his voice sounding slightly exasperated. āI collect them for my own amusement. No one elseās.ā
She was quiet after that; the idea of all that money sitting somewhere in a garage helping no one had silenced her.
āBasically, youāll be decorating all the rooms except for a couple. I know thatās a big jobā¦ā He looked down at her as they walked, changing the subject. Had he been able to interpret her opinions? āAnd youāll have only a short time to do it.ā He stopped, so Abbey did too. āI have family coming and Iām having a Christmas party. I want you to make the house look lived in.ā
A punch of laughter rose in her gut, but she cleared her throat to remove it. She remembered the ballroom with nothing but a piano and a set of fluffy sofas, and thought to herself, How can I make a room like that look livable?
If sheād chosen to be a full-time decorator instead of becoming a nurse, Abbey would take something like a cozy corner nook, paint it a warm color, add a pop of white furniture, and fill it full of bookshelves. Sheād arrange the books on the shelves between knickknacks from various locations around the world that her client had gotten on his travels. Sheād even drape a snowy-white throw across the arm of the chair and add a floor lamp for ambience. That would look lived in. This house was like a museum. It was too big to make it even seem like someone would live in it. But then, her thoughts went to Nick. He lived here. And as far as Abbey could tell, he lived here all by himself.
Caroline had never mentioned a family when she spoke of her grandson. Sheād only said that he needed help with his home because he was too busy working to do anything with it. How sad to have to walk these giant hallways alone.
They rounded the corner and headed up a curling staircase to the second floor. Everywhere she looked, she saw lofty ceilings and balconies. It made her feel the need to take a deep breath to release the growing tension she was feeling about this job sheād taken.
All the doors to each room were shut, which was odd to Abbey, but then again, perhaps it was hard to heat such a large house. He stopped at the first one and opened it. It was another colossal expanse of space with vaulted ceilings, ornamental woodwork, and more chandeliers.
āThis is a bedroom,ā he said as she walked around the room, snapping photos of walls and architectural features. She looked up at the intricate crystal chandelier above her, with its strands of diamond-like jewels dripping down, and took a photo. āThere are eight bedrooms in total. Iād like each room to feel distinct, yet consistent with the style of the home. What you do with them is up to you. I trust you.ā
Abbey dragged her hand along the ornate woodwork in the recessed doorway, noticing how the patterns in the wood emerged from under the thick coats of shiny white paint. Sheād keep that, she decided. She imagined Georgian-style furniture to maintain the integrity of the home, but with a few present-day traditional accents to make the look current. In such a large space, sheād want to focus on breaking the room up into smaller piecesāperhaps put a sitting area at one end of the bedroom. The key was to make this cold space seem warm and more personal. The walls needed neutrals but in inviting colors like light buttery yellows and subtle mint greens, rather than just plain white. She jotted down notes in the notebook that sheād included in the front pocket of her portfolio.
They opened the next two doors, and he explained the purpose of each room. She wrote down where the light came in and areas on which she wanted to focus. When they came to the fourth door on the hallway, he skipped it and walked ahead. She looked at his face, his thoughts seemingly preoccupied all of a sudden. It was subtle, but sheād noticed. What was behind that door?
āDid you want me to see this one?ā she said, stopping in the hallway and pointing back to the closed door.
āNo,ā he said. āI wonāt need you to decorate that room. Itās fine.ā He walked ahead and opened the next door. It was just like the others.
āIām sorry,ā she stopped him right there in the hallway. She was going to have to really make sure he understood if she ever wanted to feel comfortable in his presence. āI must drive home the fact that I havenāt ever had a decorating job of this magnitude. Ever. Iāve only done the cottage for your grandmother and Iāve decorated my momās house. Iāve never even been in a home on River Road before.ā
Everyone in the vicinity of Richmond knew where River Road was. It was more than just a road; it was a landmark, a stretch of real estate showcasing Richmondās finest. āI mean, my motherās house is nice. Sheās on the corner of Maple and Ivy Streets,ā she kidded, trying to joke about the insignificance of where her motherās house was located. Clearly, he didnāt get it. Maple and Ivy obviously didnāt have the same impact as River Road. Her joke had fallen flat.
He stared at her, as if waiting for something more.
āWhat Iām trying to sayā¦ā She swallowed. āWhat Iām wondering isā¦ā She didnāt want to not take the job. But telling him the truth was the right thing to do. āIām inexperienced. With all the money that you have, why donāt you just hire an experienced decorator?ā
He was silent a moment as if he were trying to get his answer just right. āI mean no disrespect,ā he said. āThis was my grandmotherās idea. She thinks I need to make this house presentable for my family and friends when they come for Christmas. I agree, to a certain extent. And I think the emptiness bothers her in general. The problem is, I only want to make her happy. I donāt care enough about it to spend time searching for a decorator. I just want it done, and if she thinks youāre the person to do it, then so be it.ā
So he didnāt care that she wasnāt a seasoned professional. He didnāt care about any of it. Any feelings of achievement sheād had by securing this job came crashing down. He was telling her loud and clear that it wasnāt about him trusting her abilities; it was just something to tick off his list. Nick turned and headed down the hallway again. Trying to look on the bright side, Abbey walked along beside him, thinking of all the possibilities.
