I fell in love with him when he was Jack. Although, I honestly don't know if I ever really knew who “Jack” was. The doctors say his condition is rare. Therapy might help, but there's no guarantee he’d ever fully recover.

I only knew a few things to be absolutely true about him. He was the last living member of an old and incredibly wealthy family called "Weston," he lived alone in a humongous mansion hidden in the Canadian wilderness, he had an incredibly rare mental illness that made him believe he was a different person nearly every day, and I was hopelessly in love with him.

I met him by accident. I was twenty-six, broke, and on the verge of being homeless. I wasn't close with my family but did keep close ties with one friend from my hometown: Sara. She was one of the few people I felt comfortable enough to confide in. 

When I explained my problems she offered a solution. Her great uncle was retiring from his job as a caretaker soon. A lot of people had applied, but few made it past the first three days of the week-long training, and none past the sixth. Apparently, he was getting desperate and asked his family to help with the search. Well, begged might have been a better word than asked. 

I asked her what the job entailed. She said I would be required to live in a giant, luxurious mansion in the middle of 500 acres of Canadian wilderness. Completely rent-free. I would be paid eight hundred dollars daily for my services. Meals and other expenses related to my work would be complementary. My sole responsibility was to care for a mentally ill man.  He wasn’t dangerous or abusive, but his changing moods and varying demands were something many people had trouble adapting to. 

I’d always been an adaptable person. I asked her how to contact her uncle. 

My initial interview took place over the phone. General questions about my health, experience, etc. I was honest about having absolutely no experience in this area, so it surprised me when he asked when I’d be willing to start. 

By that next week, I was flown in a private jet to an out-of-the-way airport in a small Canadian city. Sara’s uncle picked me up and drove me to what would potentially be my new home. In a limousine of all things. As we drove, the buildings and houses of the town slowly began to thin out. Before I knew it, there was nothing but the forest surrounding us. The trees blurred together into a wall of green as we drove past them. I was beginning to wonder if they would ever end. Suddenly, I saw a dark silhouette rising above the treeline. The mansion.

All I could do was stare in awe of it. As we drew closer, he stopped the car and got out to open the front gate. Huge, stone walls surrounded the perimeter of the estate. The gate was a solid, but intricately decorated slab of iron. All this was impressive, but it paled in comparison to what was on the other side. 

Acres of green grass spread in every direction. Shrubs, trees, and flower patches were dotted throughout. It was so large I couldn’t even see the other walls that were supposed to surround the place. A breathtaking view, but I barely noticed it compared to the mansion itself.

It was a beautiful, old mansion styled in the Victorian fashion, but was so well cared for you would have thought it was brand new. More beautiful stonework made up the outer walls. Large columns helped to support the sloping roof. I almost couldn’t believe the size of them. Gothic windows dotted the outside, though most were covered by heavy curtains. A pair of grand, wooden doors guarded the entrance of the home. It was like something out of a classic romance novel.

The interior was just as gorgeous, but I had little time to admire it. No sooner had we stepped inside than the caretaker turned to me. He looked serious.

"There are certain things you must know if you are going to care for Mr. Weston,” he started. “The first is that he has no family. He is the last of his bloodline and, therefore, you should immediately reject any ‘family’ that comes asking for financial help.

The next is that his mental illness is incredibly rare. He believes he is a different person each day. You are to play along with whatever fantasy his mind has created, and above all, keep him safe. That being said I, of course, will not ask you to put yourself in harm's way and there is an emergency phone if you require assistance from the police or the hospital. However, I wouldn't worry about it. In my twenty years of caring for Mr. Weston, I have only needed to do so twice.

Finally, you must realize you are a full-time caretaker. You have no holidays, no days off, no "free time" to travel around the cities. Except in the case of a ‘family emergency,’ Mr. Weston will be your first, last, and only priority.” He stared at me a moment upon saying this. After a few seconds, a smile crept across his face. “Now, on that note, he's also a very gentle and kind person. I think you will come to truly care for him after a short time if you see past his illness.

We begin your training tomorrow Ms. Walton. So feel free to explore and familiarize yourself with the mansion. If we are both lucky, it will be your new home very soon."

I took a moment to absorb the load of information he’d just given me. He waited expectantly. I perked up and nodded in understanding. He smiled and nodded in return before walking off somewhere into the mansion. I was completely alone. It felt somewhat intimidating being in that big house by myself. I wondered if I’d ever get used to it. 

He told me to explore. So, I did. I must have seen dozens of rooms: bedrooms, ballrooms, libraries, galleries, and this was still only half the mansion. All to take care of some lonely, sick old man? I wondered about this "Mr. Weston." How bad was his condition? Why did he live alone? More than that, why was it nearly impossible to find a caretaker for him? Exactly what had I gotten myself into?

I was thinking over this when I wandered outside and into the garden. The sun was just starting to set and a field of roses became illuminated in its soft glow. Their scent filled the air. Any worries I had moments ago vanished from my mind completely. The scene was so perfect. I could hardly believe I was there.

"Beautiful," I said breathlessly.

"Funny, I was thinking the same.”

I jumped at the unexpected sound of another voice. A well-dressed man was sitting on a stone bench in the garden. He looked about my age. The words “tall, dark, and handsome” definitely came to mind while looking at him. Normally, I wouldn’t mind a guy like this appearing out of nowhere, but why was he here? The words of the caretaker flashed through my head.

"Sir, I'm sorry but this is private property. You can't be here,” I said, trying to sound professional.

The man looked shocked. After a moment, a smile spread across his face.

"If it's private, may I ask what you are doing here Miss... Miss..." He paused a moment, waiting for me to introduce myself.

"Walton. Anna Walton. I’m here training to be Mr. Weston's new caretaker. Now, could you please tell me what you are doing here Mister..."

He laughed. "Weston! Jack Weston. Wow! I had no idea that old fart would ever hire such a lovely young woman to care for me."

I couldn't hide the shock on my face. To be fair, no one had ever said that Mr. Weston was an old man, but I'd assumed he was. Living alone with no relatives and only an old caretaker just seemed to fit the image of an old man.

Mr. Weston was far from what I imagined. Age aside, I couldn’t get over how attractive he was. His light brown skin shone in the light of the sunset, wisps of his short black hair fell across his eyes. His voice was deep and soothing as he spoke to me.

He smiled at me. I suddenly realized I had been staring, mouth agape, for far too long. I turned away, blush rising to my cheeks.

"Let me guess, you assumed I was some dirty old man?” He asked. “Why does everyone assume that? Is it something about my name?"

"Honestly, Mr. Weston," I said, still refusing to look at him, "I think it's the position they're applying for. Caretakers aren't a common occurrence among young men."

His face went blank. He stared at me silently. Panic ran through me. Had I said too much? Had I offended him? I had nowhere to go if this job didn't work out. Was I going to be fired before I even started?

He stood up and walked toward me. I was hoping he'd be kind enough to let me off with a warning. I looked at the ground, thoroughly prepared to be chastised for my behavior. Instead, I felt his hand gently lift my chin until my eyes met his. I wanted to look away but feared offending him. 

"Tell me, Ms. Walton, how will you care for me?"

The tone of his voice made a shiver run through my body. I suddenly lost all power to speak. Time seemed to freeze. The over-exaggerated sound of someone clearing their throat broke through the moment. We turned to see his caretaker standing there.

"I see you've met Ms. Walton, Sir.”

"Thomas, I wish you would’ve told me sooner that there would be a young lady staying with us,” Mr. Weston complained. "I would have made better accommodations."

I blushed. "That's really not necessary, Mr. Weston. I'm only here to work."

Perhaps it was my imagination, but I could have sworn he looked disappointed when I said this.

"Well, work or not, please choose any room in the house as your own,” he said, vaguely gesturing towards the large mansion. “They're all empty, or will be as soon as Thomas retires. It would make me happy if you started to think of Weston Manor as your home, Ms. Walton."

I merely nodded and walked back into the house. As soon as I was out of sight I thought I heard muffled arguing. I was curious if I was the cause, but I wasn’t going to ask. I knew better than to rock the boat before I even had the job.

As he suggested, I looked around the house for “my room.” It was a difficult decision. The rooms were all so grand and gorgeous, I could hardly decide between them. However, on the third floor, at the very end of the hall, I entered a room that was beyond breathtaking. 

The floors were black marble, polished until they shone. The walls were high and covered in a dark red wallpaper in a Victorian pattern. A large, stone fireplace was nestled between two giant bookcases taking up the entire west wall. The east wall was sixty percent occupied by a large window nook and the rest by a large set of double doors. But the most noticeable feature was the huge canopy bed in the center of the back wall. 

The frame was made of some kind of dark wood. An intricate design was carved into the posts and headboard. The curtains surrounding it were heavy, black velvet. Red, silk sheets and a down comforter covered the bed. In the fading light, a large, iron chandelier made itself known from the middle of the room. It was perfect.

I sat on the bed, barely believing I could really be in a place like this. I felt the softness of the comforter beneath my hands. I suddenly became aware of how sleepy this whole day had made me. Seeing as my training started tomorrow, I didn't think old Thomas would mind if I took a short nap. I would move my things later. With that decided, I laid across the bed and quickly fell asleep.