Page 69 of The Wexley Inn
Claire described Rousseau’s portfolio with a level of knowledge that only comes from genuine care - the 18th-century palazzo in Venice they’d just acquired with its marble floors and frescoed ceilings, the château outside Lyon with its original medieval foundations and Renaissance additions, and the converted monastery in Switzerland where they preserved the cloisters and chapel while creating guest rooms that felt monastic but luxurious.
“We’re not trying to create hotels that merely reference history,” Claire said. “We’re creating spaces where guests get to experience it. Not like they’re museum visitors, but temporary residents. That’s where your work at Belmont demonstrated you understand.”
“Well, it sounds amazing,” Isabella admitted, and she meant it. “But I’m curious why you’re reaching out now. I’ve been out of corporate hospitality for nearly a year.”
“Because of what you’re doing now,” Claire’s voice sounded genuine and full of admiration. “We’ve been following your Wexley Inn project. It’s a historic building in decline, requiring a huge restoration, with plans to operate it independently - it’s exactly the kind of work we value. Someone who doesn’t just manage historic properties but truly understands them from the ground up, who gets their hands dirty with the restoration itself rather than just reviewing plans and budgets.”
Isabella felt a sense of pride but also discomfort. Someone at Rousseau had been tracking her project and following her progress.
“The inn is almost complete,” Isabella said. “We’re opening in December.”
“And that’s perfect timing. We wouldn’t expect you to abandon a project midway. But Isabella, I need to be completely honest with you. We’re making this offer now because we require exceptional leadership for our expansion, and we can’t wait forever. Our board has approved substantial capital for these European acquisitions over the next five years, and the person who leads this expansion will influence how the entire generation of historic European hotels develops.”
The vision was intoxicating. Not one inn, but at least a dozen. Not just Lowcountry, but Europe - Venice, Lyon, Zurich, and other cities. They’d acquired properties and would acquire more. Not proving she could restore one single building, but establishing standards that would influence the whole industry.
“Listen, I’m flying to Charleston next Thursday for meetings with potential investors,” Claire continued. “Would you be available for lunch? Mossy Oaks Grill at one o’clock. Nothing formal. I’d love to meet you in person to share more about our vision and give you a chance to ask questions. No pressure, no commitment, just a conversation between two professionals who share a passion for historic properties.”
Isabella’s heart raced. If she agreed, it meant she was truly considering this offer. It meant leaving The Wexley Inn, the community she had been building, and Thomas, along with whatever was developing between them. But Grayson’s threats had unsettled everything she believed in. She had invested all her savings, her professional reputation, and her emotional energy into that one property. A wealthy man with the right connections and no scruples could potentially destroy it through harassment.
The European position was security. Not just financial - although that mattered - but professional, and it gave her the validation that she belonged in the industry at the highest level. Although it felt disloyal, Thomas was maybe right to have protective instincts for her. Perhaps she had been so naïve, thinking she could succeed as an outsider on a small island.
“Thursday at one o’clock works,” Isabella heard herself say. “See you there.”
“Wonderful. I’ll have my assistant send confirmation details and make the reservations. Isabella, I’m very much looking forward to meeting you. I have a feeling this conversation is going to be the start of something huge.”
After they hung up, Isabella stood on the porch for a long time, gazing at the inn she had poured her heart into restoring. The building was nearly finished. In just a few weeks, they would open the doors. Guests would sleep in these rooms, eat in the kitchen, and stroll through the gardens. It was everything she’d imagined when she first saw the property. The dream she had built with her own hands.
But dreams could be fragile, and she had a responsibility to be smart. She couldn’t let emotion override practicality. She wouldn’t mention the meeting to anyone, not yet. There was no point in creating unnecessary concern. She was just gathering information, having a conversation, keeping her options open.
It wasn’t dishonesty. It was due diligence. She forced herself to believe it.
She pulled out her phone and saw two texts from Thomas: one about the permit situation - “Making progress, will update you this evening” - and then one suggesting dinner tomorrow night at a restaurant on the mainland he thought she would love. She texted back, agreeing to dinner, adding a heart emoji that felt both genuine and fraudulent.
She loved Thomas - was falling in love with him, at least - had maybe never stopped loving him through all the intervening years. But love didn’t pay for renovation loans if Grayson succeeded in delaying her opening, and love didn’t protect her from losing everything if one wealthy developer decided to destroy her dream. Love didn’t diversify risk, provide support, or validate that she’d made the right choices.
She looked at the Paris meeting confirmation on her calendar - one o’clock Thursday, Mossy Oaks Grill, Charleston - and felt guilt twist through her chest. She was just having a conversation, just listening to an offer, and being smart about her future.
She almost believed it.
CHAPTER 18
Isabella pulled into the bank’s parking lot, her mind already thinking of a dozen tasks waiting at the inn that she needed to tackle. The grand opening was just three weeks away, on December 15th, perfectly timed to coincide with the holiday travel season. Every detail had to be perfect: staff training schedules, final inspections, and the Christmas décor she and Daphne had planned to celebrate the inn’s Victorian heritage.
She’d barely slept, lying awake thinking about the Paris offer she still hadn’t mentioned to Thomas, guilt gnawing at her every time she remembered Thursday’s lunch meeting she had scheduled with Claire Rousseau. But she’d also been thinking about Thomas’s hands on her face when he kissed her goodnight, the way he’d said I love you for the first time as they stood on her cottage porch under a sky full of stars.
The bank visit should have been a routine thing, just signing off on all the final loan disbursements now that the renovation was almost complete. Gerald Stewart’s assistant had called on Friday afternoon, requesting that she come in Monday morning to finalize the paperwork. It was all just standard procedure.
She gathered her folder of documents and walked to the stately brick building, saying hello to the receptionist who had become familiar over the months of renovation financing. Gerald greeted her warmly, ushering her into his corner office with its view of the marina.
“Isabella, it’s great to see you. The inn looks spectacular. I drove by yesterday and couldn’t believe the transformation.”
“Thank you, Gerald. We’ve been so fortunate to have a great team.”
She sat in the leather chair across from his desk and pulled out her documentation. “I have the contractor completion certificates, the final inspection reports, and the updated project budget showing that we actually came in just under our estimate.”
“Excellent, excellent,” Gerald said, spreading the papers across his desk, looking at them with careful attention. “Everything appears to be in order. The final disbursement should be processed by the end of the week, which gives you plenty of cushion before the opening.”
Relief washed over her. The financial aspect had been her biggest stress - not the amount, which she budgeted carefully, but the timeline demands that turned each day into a possible crisis.
