Page 1 of All Mine
Chapter One
Isabella
‘Your keys, Mrs Tucci.’ The estate agent passed her a bundle of keys of varying shapes and sizes on a large steel keyring. Isabella had not met this man before, but her usual agent was sick. This last-minute substitute was maybe fortysomething in a badly fitting suit.
‘Ms,’ she corrected absently, taking a step back to survey the building in front of her. Not that there was currently much to admire. Boarded windows. Flaking paint. But she could see past that. She could see its future, and her own. She took a deep breath, and a smile brightened her face.
‘Unusual name, Tucci,’ he said, unperturbed– and nosy. ‘Italian?’
‘My family is Italian,’ she said. ‘You can call me Isabella.’
‘This is a huge project.’ The estate agent rocked back on his heels and blew out his cheeks. ‘Should keep you busy for a while.’
He might think that, but she didn’t have the luxury of time. She had barely three months to turn the building around and meet her goal of a new life within a year. Nine long months to find the right property, to win the bid at auction and for all the never-ending paperwork to go through. And now, finally, she gripped the keys in her hand with ninety days left to open.
‘Could be a real money pit too. . .’ he said, deciding to give her advice she hadn’t asked for. ‘You know, when you have to—’ She stopped his mansplaining with a raised hand.
‘The survey was clean. Nothing structurally wrong with the building. Just a lot of cosmetic work and maybe some rewiring.’
Even as she said the words, her stomach lurched. She’d gone through the figures a million times because it was everything she had in the world, everything from her old life to fund the new. Proceeds from the divorce settlement, the sale of their house, the life she had thought she would live for the rest of her days. She’d checked and double-checked fees and duties, because there was nobody else to back her up now. No one to share the costs or the charges. She felt sick at the thought.
She looked again at the building in the pleasant warmth of the late August sun. A smallish, whiteish building facing the pedestrianised town square. Nothing distinctive to write home about– yet. But she could already imagine the frontage painted cleanly and flowers blooming in the window boxes. She could hear the music coming from the open windows. She glanced at the space above the door where the old sign had been, and the thought of putting her own sign up there turned the anxiety back into excitement. This was all hers and she was going to make it a success.
‘Shall I help you in?’ the estate agent asked, reaching to take the keys back.
‘I’m fine, Mr Reynolds. The removals people will be here shortly. But thanks for everything.’ This was something she wanted to do herself.
‘Is your husband coming soon? To help?’ he asked, looking around. She forced a smile, even though the comment irritated her. Why did everyone think you had to have a man to do anything in life?
‘No, it’s only me.’
Better that way by far, she reminded herself as she tossed her hair back over her shoulder, even as a flash of hurt made her press her lips together. The images were still too fresh. The good ones were deeply embedded– the first flush of love, the anticipation, the planning of dates, holidays, the engagement ring, her white dress, their first house together– and they all rushed into her mind at once, like watching a home movie. Laughing at the kitchen table. Spooning on the sofa to watch a film. But as always now, these were followed by the more recent bad ones– the ones she never wanted to think about again. Who would have thought she’d be married and divorced by thirty-three?
‘So, what’s the plan for this place then?’ he asked, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets and jiggling keys around rather suspiciously near his balls. ‘Beauty parlour? Nail salon?’
She swallowed her frustration. Another common misconception. They looked at her and saw long, wavy brown hair that tumbled down her back. They saw olive skin, high cheekbones and even, white teeth. They saw that she was slim and fit and toned, with curves in all the right places. So, they didn’t bother to look for a brain. They merely associated her with her looks. Not that there was anything wrong with nail and beauty salons, they were essential services. But she had different plans for this place.
‘A restaurant,’ she said firmly.
His eyes shot up towards his prematurely receding hairline.
‘Wow, hard work.’ She shrugged; she wasn’t afraid of that. But he wasn’t finished. ‘Long hours. Hard to get staff sometimes too.’
He was like a walking Wikipedia of doom, this guy. She ignored him, her attention caught by the glint of copper on the pavement at her feet. A penny. A good omen. She bent to pick it up, taking a second to press it hard into her palm for luck before tucking it into her pocket.
‘Not married then?’ he asked from his position behind her, which made her roll her eyes as she straightened up. Turning to reply, she caught his look of appreciation as he swept his eyes up and down her body and got stuck on her chest. She cleared her throat and he bolted his eyes back up to head level.
‘No,’ she said pointedly. ‘I’m very happily single.’
He puffed up his chest and she spoke quickly to ward off any more questions.
‘I’m not looking for distractions. Not until this place is a success.’
Three months left, she reminded herself. Not even that, actually, until the start of her new life and until her year-long, self-imposed man ban was over. She’d sworn after the split with Daniel she would be single and sex-free for a year. Who needed a man, the hassles, the lies? Or the heartache, the anxiety, the loss of confidence, come to think of it? She would dedicate time to healing and focusing on herself, before she let another man into her life in any kind of serious way. Or even any kind of one-night way.
It was easier than she’d thought to start with. Despite having had a regular and healthy sex life since university, she’d not missed it at the beginning. Word got around she was single again, even though she certainly didn’t go bragging about it. In fact, it was probably the shock of the divorce that kept her numb, and she didn’t hesitate in turning down any invitations or dates. She kept her head down at the gym and avoided the muscle corner. She focused on her work at the marketing agency until she handed her notice in and managed to avoid any drunken hook-ups at her leaving party. She was protecting herself at all costs. After the trauma of the year before, she figured a year to herself was exactly what she needed. Enough to feel stronger again– and to prove everyone else, especiallyDaniel, wrong. But lately, there’d been the odd, familiar tug in the pit of her stomach. She’d felt her senses coming back to life, her needs emerging from the cocoon of shock. She’d bought a stack of spicy romances and had to replace the batteries in her vibrator twice in the last month. She was most definitely going to have an itch to scratch when the year was up. Three months left. And counting.
‘Have you checked out your local competition?’ The estate agent nodded at the opposite side of the square and she followed his gaze.
