Discovering the Real Millie

By Tessa Marie

Millie Sinclair is a socialite from Newport, Rhode Island, a place rich with history—not that she cares. After failing a history test, she’s desperate for extra credit and accepts an assignment to tour one of the famous Newport mansions.

At first the old mansions are nothing more than venues for weddings and charity events to Millie. Until she discovers a link to her family history and unearths a world of lies, betrayal and heartache in the pages of her great-grandmother’s journals. Learning about her great-grandmother’s forbidden love through a series of letters makes Millie question her own growing feelings for a boy who isn’t her boyfriend.

All dolled up in her vintage dress, Millie attends the most talked about charity event in Newport’s high society—The Roaring Twenties Gala. After fainting, she awakes in 1925 where she not only steps into her great-grandmother’s t-strap shoes, but into the worst night of her life—the night the journal entries end. Mistaken for her great-grandmother, and without knowing how to get back to her own time, Millie watches her great-grandmother’s life unravel as those she trusts are the ones to betray her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Theresa Paolo
• Release date: Mar 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463848999

Tessa Marie

Tessa Marie lives on Long Island, NY with her fiancé and their fish. She is the author of NA and YA contemporary romances. Her debut novel (NEVER) AGAIN, released in Fall 2013 with Berkley (Penguin) and the companion novel (ONCE) AGAIN released Summer 2014.She has a hard time accepting the fact she's in her thirties and uses her characters to relive the best and worst years of her life. She put her love of writing on hold while she received her Bachelor's Degree in Marketing. When she's not writing, she's behind a camera, reading, watching Legacies, This is Us, American Idol, The Voice, or can be found on Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest and Facebook.Writes adult contemporary romance under her real name Theresa Paolo.

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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 1st 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, I’ve 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 20’s, 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 there’s 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.

Chapter 1

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 wasn’t like I’d 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 Amy’s 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 that—the 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 mother’s 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 Madison’s name flashed on my screen. I pouted as I stared at my best friend’s text, a picture of all my friend’s, 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 wouldn’t 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.

I’m sorry, but photography is not allowed inside. You can take as many pictures as you’d like outside.

Sorry, I didn’t 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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 house’s 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 wasn’t 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 wasn’t the best idea to wear my new Christian Louboutins, but they completed my outfit. I reminded myself of my mother’s 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 wasn’t 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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.

I felt bad about his father’s scolding though. I understood parents and their unrealistic expectations better than anyone. I was sure we could share a few war stories. Instead, we stood there for what seemed like hours, but it was just a couple very uncomfortable seconds. His eyebrow still lifted.

Why are you looking at me like that? I demanded.

Sorry, just surprised you actually remembered my name.

I was surprised myself. I usually didn’t pay attention to details, especially the names of the hired help. It was only this morning I learned it. Not enough time to forget, I joked. What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you still be working? I checked my watch, and it wasn’t even three yet. The workers usually went till at least four.

He placed his headset in the drop box and turned back to me. His lips flattened into a straight line, making it obvious he had no desire to chat.

I could take a hint when given to me, so I politely smiled. Sorry… you don’t have to answer that. It’s really… it’s none of my business. Sometimes my mouth engages quicker than my brain. I’m going to go, I stammered and turned to walk away. His hand rested on my elbow again, halting me in place.

Architecture, he stated as his gray eyes met mine. I guess you can say it’s a hobby. I like to come here when I have some free time. Only had to work half a day today, so there you have it.

Is that why you work in construction?

No. I don’t exactly have a choice in the matter. Well, I did. But military school sounded worse.

It can’t be so bad. I mean, isn’t architecture and construction pretty much the same thing?

He scoffed. Adding extensions on to other people’s designs isn’t what I’d consider architecture. There’s no originality, no inspiration. It’s contrived and boring. He glanced across to the Great Hall and pointed his finger. Look at the detail in those arches alone. It’s not just a doorway. It’s a work of art. His eyes lit up as he continued. Richard Morris Hunt was a genius. A pioneer in the architecture world. Did you know he created three of the mansions in this area as well as the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty, the entrance to the Metropolitan Museum, and the New York Tribune building?

No, I didn’t. Actually, I’ve never heard of him before, but you clearly know a lot about him.

Shane cocked a curious eye at me. Did you forget to hit play on your headphones?

I shrugged. It was a little boring. I heard enough to write the paper I have to. I figure the rest I can Google.

Google?

Yeah, you know the internet. Where you search for information.

I know what Google is. I just don’t understand why you would Google it when all the information you need is right in front of you.

How did I explain that history wasn’t my thing? That I’d rather gouge my eyeballs out with dull pencils than listen to that tape a second longer?

He looked to be having a debate in his head when he finally spoke. Do you have somewhere to be?

I thought about my friends at the spa, but the appointments were already made. Preston, my boyfriend, was at the office with my parents for his summer internship, Grandma was still at bingo, and the only plans I had was to head down to the beach. While lying on the beach sounded appealing, it suddenly sounded very lonely.

No. Why?

You don’t need Google. I’m going to help you write that paper.

Why would you do that?

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving mine. Because I want to.

The corner of my lips tugged as he sauntered toward the window. His honesty was refreshing.

Come on. He waved me over, and without hesitation I followed.

What I love about Hunt was he didn’t only design the outside, he also designed the inside, by working with master craftsmen and artists. He created these extravagant settings around the United States that rivaled those found in European castles. Like these curtains for instance. He hurried over to the curtains, glanced up in admiration, and spun back to me, explaining how the room was built for such curtains. If it was anybody else talking, I’d probably have checked out as soon as he started, but his enthusiasm had me clinging to every word and genuinely curious for more.

There was a story for each room, from the light fixtures to the intricate paintings on the walls and ceilings. As we moved from one elaborate room to the next, I asked Shane more and more questions.

We came to the music room, and I paused in the entranceway, taking it all in. Gold curtains with deep burgundy accents draped beautifully from the windows. A stream of natural sunlight poured into the room, highlighting the gold gilding on the walls and columns.

You like this room, huh? he asked, and I nodded, unable to look away from all the splendid details.

He came up behind me while I admired a chandelier, surrounding me in a delicious scent of juniper and oak. He didn’t seem like the type of guy to wear cologne, but I was beginning to realize that Shane didn’t fall into the stereotype I’d placed on most construction workers. He was smart, a life-size encyclopedia on architecture and the history of Newport, and he was far nicer than I’d anticipated. After all, he was spending his Saturday being my personal tour guide with no compensation.

Tell me something cool about this room, I said, turning toward him.

This room was actually built in Paris.

I rolled my eyes in disbelief. You’re pulling my leg.

I’m serious. They built it in Paris, dismantled it, and then shipped it over here to be assembled.

I squinted at the closest wall, trying to imagine how everything fit so perfectly. That’s crazy. Amazing, but absolutely crazy.

Well, you of all people should know that money can pretty much get whatever you want.

My eyebrows curved, and my hand landed on my hip in defense. I came from money, but that didn’t mean he knew anything about me or my family.

He held his hands up. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.

Yes, you did, I deadpanned. I appreciate the tour, really I do, but I should be going. I had enough judgment in my life from my parents, peers, and society. I didn’t need to add anyone else to the list.

I understood now why Mr. Barnes thought I’d like the story of the Vanderbilts. He looked at me as a spoiled rich kid who got whatever I wanted because my parents had money. And maybe I was, but it was a stigma I was getting sick of. I was my own person, and I shouldn’t have been defined by my parents’ income.

My heels clicked loudly on the floor as I hurried out of the music room and made my way to the front of the house. I had forgotten about the ache in my feet, but with the force of my movements, they were ready to explode.

Outside, I took the sidewalk to the massive wrought-iron gates and headed toward my car.

Millie! Echoed behind me, but I ignored it and kept walking. A few seconds later, Shane ran in front of me and came to a stop, blocking my path. You’re pretty fast for someone who is dying in those shoes.

I am not dying, I stated, refusing to look him in the eye.

Does your nose always twitch when you lie? he asked, and my hand instantly went to my nose and rubbed.

I finally met his gaze and narrowed my eyes. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Look, I’m sorry. Truly. You’re nothing like I thought you were, and I didn’t mean for that comment to offend you.

Let me guess. You thought I was a stuck-up bitch who only cared about clothes and money?

He shrugged.

I could say the same about you, I said.

That I only care about clothes and money, he joked, but I wouldn’t let my amusement show. Fine. Let me guess. You thought I was crude, dirty, and would curse a lot?

Maybe, I said but couldn’t keep the smile off my lips. Let’s just say I’ve been pleasantly surprised.

Me too, he said, his eyes not wavering. There was an ease to his confidence, like there was nothing smug or arrogant, just self-assured. So why don’t you kick those shoes off, and I’ll walk you to your car.

I looked at him like he was crazy. If you think I’m walking barefoot, you’re out of your mind.

You’re born barefoot. It’s perfectly natural.

You’re also born naked, but that doesn’t mean you should strut down the streets of Newport’s Historic District in your birthday suit.

Touché, he said. And suit yourself. He bent down and slid his sneakers off and walked down the street in white socks.

What are you doing? I asked, unable to keep from laughing.

Proving a point.

And what point is that?

He turned back to me and shook his head. Not exactly sure.

I stared across the space between us, down to his feet, then back to mine. I can’t believe I’m about to do this. I slid out of my shoes. The cool sidewalk felt like heaven against my feet, and I took it in for a moment before I caught up with Shane.

A pleased smile settled on his face as I approached. Where are you parked? he asked.

I pointed to a designated parking area. Right over there.

We made our way to the parking lot, both barefoot and quiet. Shane glanced at his phone and gave a fist bump to the air.

What are you so excited about?

Yankees are up by two.

I’m not a big sports fan, but I know words like that can get you in trouble in Rhode Island.

Oh, I am well aware. My friends, and especially the guys I work with, love to pick on me about it. But the first major league game I ever went to was a Yankees game with my uncle, and Derek Jeter handed me a baseball. I was a fan from that very moment.

We entered the lot, and a brown dog with a black snout and a white diamond in between his eyes leaped from the bed of a beat-up green pickup truck.

The dog ran over to us, and before Shane could say anything, I had two large paws pressed against my thighs.

Shane’s eyes widened. Chaplin, down! Shane ordered, but I laughed as Chaplin jumped to lick my face. I scratched him behind his ears, and he lifted his head to give me better access.

It’s okay, I assured Shane, who looked completely mortified. I’m assuming he’s yours.

Shane nodded, then rubbed Chaplin’s head. Sorry, he doesn’t always have the best manners.

Somebody likes their ears scratched, I said to Chaplin, and he sat down, his tail wagging a mile a minute against the ground. What kind of dog is he?

A mutt. Not really sure. Two years ago, I found him in a box on the side of the road. He was only a puppy.

My eyes widened, and I hugged Chaplin’s head to my chest. Who could leave this cutie on the side of the road?

A heartless jerk, Shane spat. So I brought him home and took care of him despite my dad’s protests. All my dad sees is an uncoordinated, mooching pain in the ass mutt, but I refused to bring him to a shelter. His eyes became distant for a moment, but he quickly shook it away. I’m actually surprised you like dogs, he said, nodding to me and Chaplin.

I finally let my hands fall from Chaplin’s ears despite his objections. I thought we covered that neither of us are what we expected.

Doesn’t mean you’re not going to keep surprising me.

I stood up and smiled. You have no choice but to work for your father. Well, I have no choice but to do charity work and volunteer. The only choice I do have is where, so I volunteer at the local animal shelter. Not exactly the charity work my parents want me doing, but it was a compromise. I love animals. If I could, I’d adopt every single one of them, but despite what you may think, I can’t get everything I want. My parents would never allow a dog inside our house.

I’d begged for a pet a million times. I would’ve even settled for a fish, but they always said no. I believed that’s why I loved animals so much. They were the only thing I couldn’t have.

Parents suck sometimes, Shane said, and I laughed.

Tell me about it. I pointed to my red Mercedes, a birthday gift from my parents. This is me. I opened the door and tossed my shoes inside.

Chaplin, truck, Shane said, and Chaplin ran over to the truck and waited for him. Sometimes he listens.

He’s been out here the whole time?

He goes with me everywhere. I used to leave him home, but somehow, he always managed to get out and find me. He doesn’t like being stuck inside. So now he tags along. He has his own personal playground in that bed, let me tell you. Water, blanket, toys, you name it. He’s set. Plus, I always park in the shade.

Of course, only the best accommodations for Chaplin.

We both laughed, and then silence spread between us. It should have been awkward, but I didn’t feel like I had to be anybody but me.

So, Shane finally said as my phone buzzed in my bag.

I fished for my phone. Preston’s name flashed on the screen, and I answered. Hello.

Millie, where are you? he asked. Our reservations are in ten minutes.

I looked at my watch and was shocked to see how late it was. Shoot, I mumbled under my breath. I had completely lost track of time. I’ll be there soon.