Just after ten o’clock that night, Emily stood in front of the full-length mirror mounted on the back of her bedroom door and sighed as she stared at her reflection.
Blimpo, she thought dismally. The jeans and over-blouse she was wearing made her look like a Pillsbury Dough Girl, complete with pudgy cheeks.
Her hair was freshly shampooed and her light makeup was just enough to accentuate her signature MacAllister brown eyes, but nothing could erase the fact that she weighed twenty pounds more than she should.
She’d been so proud of herself, of the thirty pounds she’d lost during the past months, but tonight the twenty extra she still carried around made her thighs, stomach and bottom look like heavy sandbags and her face like a moon waiting for a cow to jump over it.
“Blak,” Emily said, then left the bedroom, smacking off the light as she went.
She wandered down the hall into the small living room, aware that the sound of Trevor’s stereo had stilled and there was no light shining from beneath his door as she glanced along the hallway.
And now Mark would knock on the door, she thought, sinking onto the sofa. It didn’t require magical powers or a crystal ball to know that he would appear on her doorstep as soon as he was assured that Trevor…that his son…was asleep for the night.
She’d seen the look on Mark’s face when he’d stared at Trevor that afternoon and saw the carbon copy of himself when he was young and skinny.
A shiver coursed through Emily. She wrapped her hands around her elbows as she moved to the edge of the sofa cushion and bent over slightly.
She felt so strange, she thought. It was as though she was standing outside herself watching a drama unfold scene by scene, not knowing what would happen next.
The beginning of the story had starred a pretty, slender young girl and a not-quite-having-it-together teenage boy. They had been deeply in love and had created a child together, a baby boy who the hero knew nothing about.
Fast forward to the present for act two. The hero was now a successful and highly respected doctor in the world of medical research, and the heroine was a fat, unattractive woman, who was struggling to hang onto a modicum of self-esteem she had fought desperately to obtain.
As for the deeply in love part?
A portion of her heart would always belong to the Mark Maxwell who had left Ventura to follow his dreams.
The Mark who had been so serious, so determined to achieve his career goals so he could provide for her in the manner he was convinced she needed because she had come from a fairly wealthy family.
The Mark who wouldn’t believe her when she said she didn’t need a fancy home and oodles of things, that she just wanted to be his wife, for better, for worse, for richer or poorer.
Oh, yes, Emily mused, she’d never really stopped loving that Mark Maxwell, not completely.
But Dr. Mark Maxwell, who was now on stage in act two? She didn’t even know how to talk to men like him…so handsome, well-built, confident and successful, able to have any woman who caught his fancy. A man who wouldn’t give a chubby woman like her a second look.
Deeply in love? Oh, ha. The Mark who was going to knock on her door at any second probably hated her with an intensity that was equal to the passion with which he had once loved her.
A soft knock sounded at the door and Emily jerked, tightening her hold on her arms.
“Mark read the script,” she said, hearing the edge of hysteria in her voice. “Now comes the big scene, the ugly words and accusations and…”
The knock was repeated.
Emily closed her eyes for a moment, took a steadying breath, then got to her feet and went to the door, speaking as she opened it.
“Hello, Mark,” she said, stepping back. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“I’m sure you have,” he said gruffly, coming into the house, then turning to look at her as she closed the door behind him. “I waited across the street until what I hoped was Trevor’s bedroom light went out, then sat in my car another twenty minutes so he would definitely be asleep. My son is asleep, isn’t he?”
Emily nodded, feeling suddenly exhausted, so weary it was difficult to cross the room and sink onto an easy chair. Mark sat on the end of the sofa and frowned as he stared at her. Several silent moments passed until the very air in the room was oppressive, making it difficult for Emily to catch her breath.
“One question,” Mark said finally. “Just one simple little question, Emily.” He paused. “Why? Why did you keep the fact that I have a son a secret from me? Why did you feel you had the right to do that?”
Because I loved you more than I loved myself, Emily thought wildly. Because I was so young and terrified when I discovered I was pregnant, needed you with me so much, but I was so afraid you’d give up your dreams to do the proper thing, marry me, help me with our baby, then come to hate me for destroying everything you’d worked so hard for and would never have because of me.
“I believed it was the best thing to do for everyone involved,” she said quietly. “What we had together was over and…”
“Oh, now wait a minute,” Mark said, raising one hand. “You pulled that routine at your grandmother’s this afternoon. You made it sound as though we had mutually agreed to break things off between us. That isn’t true and you know it, Emily.
“That’s what your family has thought all these years, right? That we broke up before I left? That’s what you told them so they wouldn’t come charging after me in MacAllister fashion and bring me back here to marry you. Right?”
“Yes,” she said, lifting her chin. “My father was ready to drag you back kicking and screaming if he had to, but I told him…I told him that we didn’t…we didn’t love each other anymore, that what we had shared was over.”
“You lied to them,” Mark said, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”
“No, it wasn’t a lie, not entirely. I wrote you the letter, Mark. I told you that since you had gone, I’d realized that I was much too young to really know what love was. The distance between us had made me come out of the clouds and face the fact that…that it was best to just end things between us and…
“So, okay, I told my parents that you felt the same way but…you can’t possibly understand everything I was going through, Mark. You just can’t.”
I couldn’t bear the thought of you eventually hating me, Mark, can’t you see that? Emily’s mind rushed on. You were all I had and I loved you so much. I felt so special and important, beautiful and loved when I was with you. To have you hate me? No, I couldn’t stand the mere image of it in my mind.
I was never as self-assured as Jessica, didn’t have her confidence, her ability to win friends simply by being herself. And I didn’t have the courage to rebel, be a unique individual like Trip…Alice. I was just Emily, lost in the shuffle, always smiling, never making waves, just wanting to please everyone so I would be accepted and then? Oh, God, then there was you and you loved me. Me! I…
“If I hadn’t come to Ventura now,” Mark said, jolting Emily back to the moment at hand, “I’d have never known that I have a son, would I? Damn you, Emily MacAllister, you had no right to keep his existence a secret from me.”
“I…”
“Well, guess what, lady,” Mark went on, “the ball just came into my court. I fully intend to tell my son that I’m his father. I may have missed out on the first thirteen years of his life, but that is ending as of now.”
Emily’s eyes widened, and she felt the color drain from her face.
“Oh, Mark, please, you can’t do this,” she said, shaking her head. “You can’t just suddenly announce that you’re…