Veiled Innocence

Veiled Innocence

by

Ella Frank

Copyright © 2014 by Ella Frank

Edited by Candace Wood

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Also by Ella Frank

The Exquisite Series

Exquisite

Entice

Edible

Erotica

Blind Obsession

The Temptation Series M/M

Try

Dedication

Sometimes it isn’t until a book is complete that you truly know whom it is meant for. This book has constantly surprised me, and this dedication is no different.

Veiled Innocence is dedicated to someone who is brutally honest, hard-working, and dedicated to the craft of writing. She constantly reminds me of why I love to do what I do, and this book would not have seen the light of day without her.

Candace Wood, you’re irreplaceable.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Xx Ella

There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.

Friedrich Nietzsche

You are free to choose, but you are not free from the consequence of your choice.

Anonymous

The heart wants what it wants—age be damned.

I love you, Francesco.

Ella Frank

Prologue

Drifting out into the field, a sense of familiarity hits me. Every time, the dream is the same. It never changes, never deviates. Not even once—ever.

Clasping Daniel’s small hand in my own, I cautiously regard the path we will take, knowing this is the only way. Ahead of us, as far as the eye can see, are miles and miles of fields, blanketed in flowers of the deepest blues and purples.

The colors, vibrant and loud, call to me, beckoning me closer—though I know what fate they hold, I cannot change our course. We are bound to this path, as I am forever trapped by my decision that led us here.

Squeezing his warm fingers in my palm, I manage a small smile at the trusting face turned up to me.

I know this dream. I don’t want to be here.

Turning my back on such trust, I desperately seek a way out—a way to escape the world I have been sucked back into, but I know it’s no use.

“You’re late again, Addy.”

His voice is exactly as I remember—cheerful, sweet, and a little high-pitched. Looking down, I find the same blue eyes I possess peering back at me.

“Dad’s gonna be so mad at you.”

“Shh, we won’t be late,” I promise, pulling Daniel’s arm up so I can see his watch. As always, it has stopped at 3:17 p.m. “Damn it.”

“Oooo, you cussed.”

“Daniel…” I warn, knowing we have no time.

I can hear it as it’s chasing me.

Tick, tick, tock.

The watch I was given for my fifteenth birthday methodically keeps time as the second hand ticks around the face.

Tick, tick, tock.

I hear it. I memorize it.

“Come on. If we hurry we’ll make it. We still have time.”

As I step forward, a breeze brushes my cheek, making the hair on my arms rise as though someone has stepped on my grave.

“No, Addy,” he tells me and tugs his hand from mine. “Time’s up.”

It only takes a second for our connection to be severed. I turn to him, and I know he’s right. His time has stopped. It’s not my grave that has been stepped on.

Before I can reach him, the flowers around us wilt, shriveling into the ground, and as he disappears with them, everything before me fades to black.

All I’m left with is darkness, a car horn’s insistent blast, the counting of the crosswalk—and the ticking of a clock…

Present…

Tick, tick, tock. Tick, tick…

“Addison?”

Tock.

Pulled from one nightmare and thrust firmly into another, I try to focus on the man sitting across from me in the stark temporary office.

Jesus, I know these sessions are tedious, but this is the first time I’ve fallen asleep.
I’ve known Doc ever since Daniel—well, for three years, and now he’s been brought here. To help me, save me—heal me.

Tick, tick, tock.

“Addison? I’m going to ask you again.”

He’s concerned. They’re all concerned by what happened, but it’s too late.

Tick, tick…

“Remember, anything you say in here, stays right here.”

Tock.

They think that I’m sick, that I’m…damaged.

“When did you last see Mr. McKendrick?”

I tell him nothing. I never will. Not about this. 

“It’s okay to talk about it, Addison. No one is here to judge.”

That’s not true.

Ever since I was admitted, Doc’s changed. He doesn’t see me like he use to. So he would probably be surprised to know that I’m judging him.

“We just need to know. Where did you last see Mr. McKendrick?”

Tick, tick—
“You don’t have anything to be ashamed of”—
fuck!

I hate interruptions. He knows that. Plus, I wouldn’t be sitting here if he didn’t think I should be ashamed.

“Okay, Addison.”

I wish he’d stop saying my name like that. It reminds me of…

“We’ll try this again tomorrow.”

And we will.
That
he’s not lying about. But I no longer care.

What do I have left? Nothing.

He’s gone. I’m alone, and all I can hear is
…tick, tick…

Chapter One

Past…

Tock
.

I looked at the watch strapped to my wrist before turning my head to Brandon.

“Hurry,” I urged as he pulled me down hard on his lap. With a groan, I craned my neck back, gasping into the tight interior of my car.

“What the hell, Addy? I just got inside you.”

Straddling his legs, I ceased grinding against him.

“Well if you hadn’t been late—” I started, but he cut me off by sitting up in the passenger seat and connecting his mouth to mine.

“Quit bitching, would you?”

I pulled my head back, twisting my fingers tightly through his brown hair.

“Fuck! That hurts.”

“You know how I am about this kind of stuff,” I reminded him.

“It’s the first day back. No one’s gonna care if you’re five minutes late.”

“
I’ll
care. I hate being late.”

With a rough flex of his hips, he shoved himself deeper inside me.

I guess he was right…I was
poor little Addy, after all
. Plus, I hadn’t had sex in months since my mother had planned my entire summer vacation down to the very last detail.

Brandon grunted as he moved once again, and I glanced at my watch, nasty habit that—
Tick, tick, tock.

* * *

I was late…
great
, as if I wasn’t anxious enough. This was
just what I needed on the first day of my senior year. Then again, it wasn’t like any of my teachers would mention it. They wouldn’t dare.

Inspecting myself in the restroom mirror, I was careful to make sure that my lip-gloss was perfect. My hair fell in soft waves I had painstakingly curled that morning, and after my earlier activities with Brandon, my clothes were all back where they should be.

Raising my chin, I studied my reflection.

Narrowing my gaze, I pouted my lips. Doc was always spouting something or other about inner beauty being important, but I’d once heard a quote from Marilyn Monroe that said,
Boys think girls are like books. If the cover doesn't catch their eye, they won't bother to read what's inside.
In my opinion, she had a much more accurate take on these kinds of things.
So, as usual, I was careful to make sure that this cover was extra eye-catching.

I peeked at my timekeeper faithfully guarding me and followed the second hand as it made its rounds. I wished it would hurry up and get to the twelve, because then I’d feel right about leaving. Instead, I was held in place in front of the mirror—by invisible chains.

Tick, tick, tock
.

* * *

First day on the job, and already I wanted out.

I scrawled my name across the chalkboard like the responsible teacher I was expected to be. Unfortunately, the smell of the chalk and the scrape of it along the board did nothing to make me feel responsible; it just made me want to leave.

The clock hanging on the wall of my world history classroom was driving me crazy. I hadn’t been any place recently where I needed a clock or a watch, and the reminder that I was back on somebody else’s schedule was irritating as hell.

I’d just returned from a six-month trip traveling throughout Europe where I’d gotten to visit some of my favorite historical sites, so to be restricted to four walls and a door made me…antsy. The tie I wore felt as though it was about to choke the life from me, and right then, I would have welcomed it.

Not coming home hadn’t been an option. The minute I’d been told about my father’s deteriorating health, I knew I had to go to him. So thirteen hours and fifty minutes later, I was back in Denver, Colorado—that was a little over a month ago.

The door to my right crashed open, alleviating the suffocating stillness of the classroom, and the first student stepped into the empty space.

Boy, girl. Boy, boy, girl.

One after another they trickled in, and as the seats filled, I remained in the far corner, leaning up against the bookcase.

I always did this whenever I started a new class, especially at a new school. I observed. It was interesting to see how the students interacted before they knew I was there.
Before
they put on a good show and behaved as they were expected to.

Talking, giggling, and flirting, the students on the first day were always excited to see one another. It was the perfect opportunity to catch them in that snapshot of their true selves. That moment of unobserved freedom.

As everyone took their seats and the second bell peeled through the halls, I pushed away from the shelves and moved to stand in front of the old wooden desk at the front of my classroom.

One by one, heads lifted, and when they found me waiting on them, and realized I’d been standing there all along, they immediately settled. The talking subsided and slipped into whispers and then finally,
silence
.

I remained steady and still until I had every last person’s attention. Then the door opened for the final time that morning and
she
stepped into my classroom. Late.

I looked at her—she looked at me.

My ending, staring right at me from the very beginning.

* * *

Hating that I was late, I rushed through the classroom door and was shocked to be faced with a man instead of Mrs. Ross.

This was a stranger. A stranger who knew nothing of Addison Lancaster, and right now he was regarding me with annoyance.

That was the moment I first saw Mr. McKendrick.

He was the teacher every girl dreamed about. The one that we all had a crush on the second we saw him. With brown hair streaked gold by the sun and pulled back into a short, messy ponytail at the nape of his neck, he was unlike any teacher I’d ever seen before—and my reaction to him was immediate and potent.