Chapter 9
Sadie
“They’ll take all of the seating out. Except for Belle’s desk, of course.” June spoke just above a whisper.
Other resort guests sat in leather chairs clustered in sets of four on either side of the main aisle leading to the ornate mahogany desk facing a wall of windows that broke up the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves making up the rest of the circular perimeter.
Up the spiral staircases banking either side of the room were the rare first editions safely behind glass doors.
The second floor overlooked the lower level, and just past the carved railing, people bent to put their faces close or took selfies with their favorite titles.
There was a reverent energy to the room.
Even my ridiculous sister was cast under its spell.
“We’ll get married right there.” She pointed toward the desk where her favorite author wrote the most hopeful and heartbreaking love stories. Tales that over a century later still ensnared readers causing romantics like her to believe in happy endings.
“Will they take down the chain around the desk for the ceremony?” I asked.
She pinched her lips to the side. “No, but at least it’ll be in the background of the photos. The officiant will be just to the left of it.”
“I bet Belle Wether would love that.”
We took the last couple of steps to stand behind it; a chair was tucked between the massive legs.
The end furthest from us had a ledge with drawers, most of them with little key holes.
It was rumored, when she died, the estate found love letters she’d written to her late husband.
But if that were true, I couldn’t imagine why they wouldn’t have published them or put them on display somewhere.
Her fans would lose their minds over those.
It was a tragically romantic notion, anyway. The rumor was enough to fuel the ghost of Hotel Bellwether.
Inside my chest, a fist constricted around my heart at the idea of loving someone so much that you couldn’t stop the conversation after their death.
The idea that someone could miss me so much, they kept scribbling my name for decades after they’d said goodbye.
I rubbed a hand over my sternum. The cotton of my T-shirt was soft between my skin and did nothing to ease the secondhand loss.
Despite the logic that some people didn’t get a happily ever after, I wanted to be loved like that. Like a Belle Fucking Wether novel.
A love that belonged to me. Someone’s devotion.
At least June had found her person in Mike; it’d have to be enough to live vicariously.
She gave me a look out of the corner of her eye. “They used to leave an old-timey fountain pen on the desktop, but people stole them.”
“If there was one there now, I’d be your lookout.”
“If only we were able to be here like thirty years ago.”
“You would have been an incredible toddler thief.”
Holding up a finger, she said, “This clarification seems important: a toddler who thieves. Not someone who steals babies.”
“I believe you can do anything you set your mind to.”
She rolled her eyes fighting back a smile. “Please be less supportive.”
I chuckled.
We stared out the window. The view was different than it would have been in Belle’s time with cars cruising down the road. I let my mind go quiet, imaging how a woman could make up a new way for people to fall in love over and over. It seemed terribly depressing and hopeful all at once.
A gust of cold air brushed my shoulder, and a shiver ran down my spine.
“Baby.” The breath of a voice flitted near my ear. I whipped my head looking for someone, only to see there was no one there.
My chest went tight, and the memory of Jamison’s thumbs drawing circles on my hips made my breathing quicken.
His brown eyes widened like he’d been caught.
I’d done a good job of ignoring that blip from earlier today, where something affectionate had passed between the two of us.
It was so like the moments in the past that I’d exaggerated to mean more than they did.
I wouldn’t do that again. I wouldn’t confuse the physical attraction between the two of us, and I wouldn’t let myself believe in something that wasn’t there.
Regardless that nothing felt as good as him seated deeply inside of me. I’d never been so needy for anyone else’s touch, and even now I missed . . . him.
I had been a fool. Alicia said it was because I always saw the best in people, there was some truth to that, but I didn’t want to live in an endless cycle of optimism and let down.
The waiting for something to happen in my life was over.
I wanted to create something meaningful like Belle Wether—though, it didn’t have to be on that scale.
It could be smaller and without fan fair like Jamison had.
It felt like my impact didn’t touch anyone. I wanted proof outside of the people who loved me that I had existed.
I wanted something.
I just didn’t know what that something was.
June leaned close to whisper, “Have you ever thought about how Belle Wether sounds like a My Little Ponies’ name?”
Grinning down at my sandals, I nudged her shoulder with mine as the clouds that had darkened my mood began to lift.