Page 17

Chapter seventeen

Hunter’s Residence, London

Hunter

“She’s coming,” Kasia says as she reappears in the dining room. “Wait till you see her, Mr. Devane. She’s breathtaking.” The younger woman smiles wide, her face alight with excitement. She has worked tirelessly setting up the space since I confessed my plan this morning.

My dining room has never looked so romantic in all the years I’ve lived here. There’s never been a reason for it to be considering I’ve never had a woman in my home before. Our home. What should have been Isabella’s and my home. It’s a room I’ve never spent much time in. Eating by yourself on a daily basis isn’t a pleasant experience—there is no need for a space dedicated to it when you’re on your own.

But this evening, the long mahogany table is set with perfect crystal and white porcelain. There’s a huge bouquet of red roses at the top, green leaves in contrast to the romantic tones. Soft classical music plays in the background as candles flicker on every surface.

The sound of heels on wood cuts through the melody. I look up just as Isabella steps into the room. Shadow hides her at first, but as she moves forward, the candlelight slowly brings her into view. First the long lace dress appears, hugging her curvy frame and highlighting each swell perfectly while nipping in at her waist. As the light moves up her body, it finally falls on her face, perfectly adorned with light makeup that doesn’t hide her natural beauty.

We stand at opposite ends of the room, me dressed in my tuxedo and her in the dress she wore all those years before. Once I snap out of the trance she created, I walk over to her, hand outstretched.

“You look incredible, Bella,” I tell her, taking her hand and lifting her knuckles to my lips. “Like the last time I saw you in this dress.” She giggles, her focus dropping away to the floor, obviously shy. After a few moments, she looks up once more.

“You’re sweet,” she says in a whisper. “But we both know this isn’t the same dress.”

“Perhaps not, but this one looks just as good if not better.” I lean down once again and kiss the back of her hand. The tension of the night, which had been building as I waited for her to appear, is increasing second by second. “This way.” I lead her to the table, pulling out her chair. She lowers herself down, patting her wedding dress into an acceptable shape with delicate fingers.

Kasia appears again, gliding into the dining room with a bottle of champagne as I take my seat opposite Isabella. She pours us each a glass of the crisp liquid. I pick up my flute and Isabella mimics my movement. We both lean forward, tapping the crystal softly together.

“To new beginnings,” I say.

Isabella pauses, not taking a sip as I do. Her eyes stay focused on mine as she watches me sip. Slowly, her glass moves to her lips and she drinks before holding it steady mid-air.

“To a beneficial agreement.” Her toast is short but direct. She angles the flute toward me, and I pause, unnerved by her words. “May the next eleven months allow us to find the correct path.”

“Here, here,” I whisper, then we both drink again.

This time, it is Ronan who appears in the room carrying two small plates. He places one in front of Isabella, then myself. She looks from the plate to me then back at her plate. I wait to see if she realizes what is in front of her.

“Is this?” she says and I grin, delighted she has already realized my plan. The small touches are being noticed, and it means the world.

“Yes. It’s our wedding meal. I promised you a do-over, and we’re having one.”

As the second course is laid before us, Isabella clears her throat.

Until that point, we’ve been talking about her new studio and what she accomplished in her first filming session. Her face is lit up as she details what she did, her upcoming plans, and how she sees her brand developing over the coming months and years. She is genuinely breathtaking, highlighting each stage of her progress and goals. Everything I loved about her all those years ago is still here on display in front of me. She is a more confident and driven version of her younger self, making her irresistible.

“Your letters,” she murmurs, almost silent, but I know what she said. “They were…” Her words disappear as her confidence wavers with the discussion. My nerves rise with the uncertainty of what she is going to say. A few seconds of nothing feels like an eternity waiting for an answer.

“They were what? Bella.”

“Honest.” Of all the things she could have described in my letters, that was a word I never expected. “They are beautiful, Hunter. I haven’t read them all.” She giggles again, and a soft flush coats her cheeks. “They’re too many for one day. I may have never made it to dinner. Thank you for sharing them with me.”

“They were always yours,” I tell her. “I just never had the confidence to send them.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

That statement is even more unpredictable than how she described my correspondence. My skin prickles with the unwanted negativity. Her mouth thins a fraction, her brow creasing in thought as she picks her words. No doubt she senses my unease and feels the need to elaborate.

“I don’t mean I don’t want to read them,” she begins. “It’s just back then, I would never have appreciated what you had to say. I was hurt, Hunter, hurt in more ways than I know how to describe.” She lifts her cutlery and starts to push chicken around her plate, clearly nervous by the direction of our conversation, even though she started it. “All I felt was pain and loss; realism wasn’t within my vocabulary.”

“Bella, that night hurt us both, but it doesn’t need to destroy us any more than it already has. We have a chance.”

“It’s been twenty years…” she challenges.

“Yes, but we have at least twenty more to live, and I want to live them with you.”

Our meal continues, and we discuss what she had read that afternoon. Isabella has a lot of questions regarding my business dealings, the places I’ve been, and the time we spent apart. Some of her questions seem mundane, and I must remind myself that although I’ve had a window into her world all this time, she hasn’t had one into mine.

Throughout our conversation, she skips around different topics, and I sense there’s something she wants to ask but is uncertain whether to. After I have brought her up to speed in my current car acquisition business, she takes a deep breath and white teeth bite into plump pink lips.

“You can ask me anything,” I say in encouragement. We sit in silence for a few minutes. Her hands have disappeared beneath the table—the way her arms flex, I expect they are twisted in her lap. “Bella,” I prompt.

“Did you kill your father?” She looks me square in the eye as she asks the question, straightening her shoulders so her back sits against the chair. I swallow nervously; it is a question I half expected, but I wasn’t sure if she’d read that letter yet. Part of me thought of removing it from the stack before giving it to her, but if this was to be the new start I hoped for, she needed the whole story. No secrets or lies, just brutal truth, so if she chose to give me a chance again, she knew who I was.

“Yes,” I reply simply. “But I assume you know that with what I wrote.”

“Why?”

“Because he was the last nemesis I had. He was part of the reason I lost what was most precious to me. He used me to create a world with no end—one that I live trapped in.” Her head leans to one side as she listens to my rambling explanation. I hope it makes more sense to her than it does to me. “He deserved it,” I add, as if that is a complete explanation in itself.

“I’m glad you did,” she says, surprising me. “He did deserve it.”

Ronan and Kasia reappear to clear our plates then lay out the dessert that Isabella was determined to have on our wedding day, to the horror of both our mothers. The fresh red strawberries sit in a small pile at the center of a sleek white plate, a small pot of chocolate sauce to one side. Our staff disappear as quickly as they arrive.

Isabella pushes herself up to stand. She comes around the table to my side. I push my chair back and look up at her, unsure of her intentions. She lowers herself down into my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and then leaning in to kiss me. Her lips drop onto mine, soft and gentle. Before we close our eyes, we enjoy the moment.

“Do you remember this course at our wedding?” she whispers against my lips.

“I do.”

On our wedding night, we took the strawberries to our room. Between the kisses, Isabella dipped a strawberry in chocolate before popping it into my mouth. It was one of the most sensual experiences of my life and a happy memory I cherish.

Tonight, she reaches out and plucks a strawberry from my plate before lowering it into the chocolate. Isabella tugs on my hair, encouraging my head backward. I open my mouth, and she drops the sweet fruit into it. I bite down, and the delicious taste of sweet strawberry and bitter chocolate mixing is delightful.

“My turn,” I tell her, picking up one more red treat and feeding her. She sits on my knee as we eat our dessert, lost in one another and the romance of the night. As I feed her the final strawberry, a wayward drop of chocolate falls, landing on her bare chest. Both our eyes focus on the delicious bead; on instinct, I lean down and lick it from her skin. When I look up, she’s staring at me with wide eyes.

My hands sit on her waist; I wrap them around her, pulling her hard against my body. We kiss, and it is the most electric kiss of my existence. Her tongue explores my mouth as we reconnect for the first time in years. It’s then I become aware of wetness on my cheeks; when I pull back, tears are running down not only her face but my own.

“I love you, Isabella,” I say truthfully. “I always have. You’re my girl.”

“I know,” she stammers as I feel the last of her walls crumbling. The final barrier that has been keeping me out is falling to allow me passage. “And you’re my boy.”

She stands and then offers me her hand. I take it, she encourages me to stand up beside her.

“What does my bride want now?” I ask as the atmosphere changes from emotional to sexual.

“You,” she whispers. “I want to re-do my wedding night with you.”