Tessa Marie - Discovering the Real Millie

Discovering the Real Millie

Tessa Marie

Copyright

All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.

Published by TMP Books Inc.

Copyright March 2020

Edited by CookieLynn Publishing Services

Cover Design by Make Ready Designs

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious.

Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Dear Reader,

I started this book in 2011 during National Novel Writing Month. It was the first book I finished in a month, and since then I have written many of my 1 st drafts in that amount of time or less. But this book, this book was the book that taught me what I was capable of. Since that first rough draft this book has been rewritten so many times, Ive lost count. The storyline has changed, character names and personalities have changed, point of view has been changed and so much has been cut and added over the years. Now, almost nine years later from that completed first draft, in the new 20s, I am finally releasing my book baby into the world. Like any parent, it is time I let go, step back, and let my book stand on its own.

I hope you love this story as much as I do.

-Tessa Marie (Theresa Paolo)

Dedication

To Grandma.

Every book I write theres a piece of you infused into the words.

But this book encompasses everything you ever taught me.

Be fearless, be smart, but most of all be me.

Always.

Standing outside The Breakers on Ochre Point Avenue was not exactly how I wanted to be spending my Saturday afternoon on the second to last weekend before the end of school, but there I was.

It wasnt like Id never been to the mansions before. I had attended a couple black tie charity events in the houses along the Atlantic Ocean as well as my cousin Amys wedding at Rosecliff. I just never cared to take a tour and learn the history behind those massive walls. For me, what happened in the past was just thatthe past. The future was where things actually unfolded.

Mr. Barnes, my history teacher, for whatever reason, felt I would enjoy the stories of the Vanderbilts and whomever else he was babbling on about Friday afternoon after he gave me the extra credit assignment to fix my disastrous grade.

I stepped into the Great Hall of The Breakers, the largest house on the street, with sky-high ceilings and more gold than my mothers jewelry box. The entrance was grand, but at the same time felt cold with its marble floors and columns. The great staircase was also made entirely of marble, and as I looked at it and then down at my shoes, all I could think was that it must be a pain to have to go up and down those steps numerous times a day.

I gave the attendant my entrance ticket and proceeded to put on the provided headphones. My phone buzzed, and Madisons name flashed on my screen. I pouted as I stared at my best friends text, a picture of all my friends, putting on their best sad faces at the spa without me. The caption: Wish you were here.

I wished I was there too, but it was my own fault. If I would have studied for that stupid test instead of going to that party, I wouldnt need the extra credit. Now that grade hung over me, threatening to destroy my GPA and everything I worked for. The thought of my parents faces when they saw my final grade as it stood was enough for me to cancel my much needed spa day and subject myself to this boring assignment.

I pushed my hair off my face and snapped a quick picture of myself with a bored expression.

An old woman in a khaki skirt and blue blouse waved her finger at me. I pulled the headphones down and looked at her, confused.

Im sorry, but photography is not allowed inside. You can take as many pictures as youd like outside.

Sorry, I didnt know, I admitted, even though I was taking a picture of myself and not the actual house. I hit send on the text, then slid my phone back into my purse. The woman kept her eye on me as I situated the headphones and hit play on the player.

I half-listened to the voice in my ears while my eyes scanned the marble column. I made my way to the first stop on the list, but before I got there, my gaze rested on the guy admiring the arched doorway.

He was tall with a strong chest and thick messy chestnut hair that stuck up in all the right places. The white T-shirt he wore stretched tightly across his biceps and sat perfectly against a pair of navy blue shorts.

Something about him was familiar. We definitely didnt go to school together. None of the guys from my prep school would be caught dead in a pair of New Balance Classics. They were more of the boat shoe or loafer type. If I didnt know him from school, then where did I know him from? I stared a little harder, trying to piece the puzzle together.

He turned, his eyes catching mine, and I averted my focus to the statue beside me. After a couple minutes of pretending to marvel at the white stone, I moved on to the other side of the Great Hall and slipped into the massive dining room, relieved to be out of the view of the familiar stranger.

I turned my attention back to my tour, and according to the voice in my headphones, the room was the houses grandest at twenty-four hundred square feet. I thought my house was big, but the entire left wing of our house could fit in here. They must have had some great parties in this house. I imagined the type of hell my friends and I could raise at a party beneath a ceiling painted with the goddess Aurora. Pink marble columns glistened in the sunlight streaming in from the large windows.

The voice in my ear continued on. Built in the 1890s, it was a summer cottage of the Vanderbilt family, one of the wealthiest of the era. The house had a total of seventy rooms throughout the three floors. Only two of the floors were open to the public, and not all the rooms were open for touring. Thank God for that! The quicker I got through this, the better.

I walked to the French doors, which opened to a huge concrete veranda overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Were all thirteen acres of this place meticulously kept? I took in the views and deeply inhaled the salty air. It wasnt the lavender scent of the spa, but this tour was turning out to be not as bad as I assumed it would.

Pain shot through the arch of my foot as I walked along the marble floors. It probably wasnt the best idea to wear my new Christian Louboutins, but they completed my outfit. I reminded myself of my mothers words of wisdom, beauty is pain , and sucked it up for the next forty-five minutes as I moved along.

On my way out, I dropped my headphones off and turned, smacking right into a hard chest. My balance wavered, and the familiar guy from earlier reached out and grabbed my elbow, steadying me.

You got that? An attractive smile settled on his lips.

My eyes met his smoky gray ones. He wasnt wearing the baseball cap I was so used to seeing him in, but I knew those eyes.

Shane, I blurted as the puzzle piece finally fell into place.

He lifted an eyebrow but didnt say anything, making me wonder why he was being so quiet. Was he mad at me for giving him hell over the noise of the construction being done way too early at my home? Or maybe he was just embarrassed because I got a front-row seat to his dad reprimanding him because of my childish tirade. Not that he didnt deserve my wrath. Who the hell starts banging at seven-thirty in the morning? On a Saturday! Seriously, it should be illegal to wake up that early on the weekend.