The Art of Starting Over

Chapter 63 - Belle's Library

It feels like I haven't seen him in ages. Not just him but this side of him. It's Jeremy James Cordina a.k.a. The Boss in his element, and I can't help but feel a strange pull towards him. It reminds me of different times, easier times. Times when this man made my blood boil with inexplicable rage. And now, even though we are far from being in a good place, my heart aches to be closer to him. My hands itch to touch him and I absolutely hate it.

Another man in a suit, slightly older and not quite as handsome, walks up to him with what looks like blueprints in his hands. He spreads them on a table for him to see but unfortunately for him, Jeremy looks up and sees me hovering in front of the evergrowing collection of junk. Without taking his eyes off me, he mutters something to the man in the suit before striding in my direction, the boyish grin I've missed so much setting my poor, jittery heart aflame.

"You made it, Sparky," he says happily when he is right in front of me.

Sparky.

His tone is warm, friendly and comfortable. His skin is shining with a thin film of sweat beneath his hair. My fingers long to touch his smile but I stuff my hands into my pockets to stop them from doing anything stupid. My eyes wander to his chest involuntarily and I suddenly recognise the pale blue shirt. It's the same one I wore when he made love to me all day long in his bed what seems like so many moons ago. My mouth runs dry and my heart goes up to my throat.

Focus, Ally.

"Well? What do you think?" Jeremy asks, forcing me to direct my thoughts to the here and now.

"About what?" I ask, trying to block the memory of how that same shirt felt against my back.

He flashes a magnificent smile and opens his arms wide to indicate the surroundings. "This! This place! I bought it. It's mine."

I gape at him as my mind comes to a stop.

"I sold the store, Ally. It's gone. And I quit my dad's firm. I signed all the papers yesterday. I'm going to renovate this house and turn it into a boutique hotel. I'm doing it."

My jaw drops to the floor. I'm surprised, astonished, proud and so happy for him that I even manage to ignore the irrational fear that suddenly starts to bud in my chest. I take another look around the place. I try to picture it in better condition, set up with chairs and tables covered in white linen and cushioned lounge chairs, people chatting happily as they eat good food and drink fine wine.

"Jeremy, this is... You're really doing this?"

His smile grows wider across his face and his eyes shine brightly as he nods his response. "My father swore to disown me when I quit, so this better work out or we're out on the streets."

"We?"

My question makes him hesitate a little but he shakes his head and his confident smirk barely falters. "Don't worry, we'll be fine."

I let out a short laugh. That's a pretty big statement but seeing how happy he is makes me push our predicament to the back of my mind. 

"I'm so proud of you," I say honestly. "You're doing this. This is what you always wanted."

He hesitates again, clearly holding something back. Then he says, "I have to show you something." He takes my hand and drags me back through the foyer and into a hall on the left.

This room is big and well-lit. Dark red paint is peeling off the walls and the smell of mould is so pungent it goes straight to my head. The ceiling is netted with cobwebs and the tiles need a lot of work. But even so, it's a beautiful room.

It's squarish in layout except for the wall to the left of the door which is circular as it separates the room from the yard. This and the wall that forms part of the façade are lined with paned windows that go up to the ceiling. A magnificent chandelier hangs in the middle of the room. It is covered in dust but seems to be otherwise unharmed.