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She had grown to care for Simon deeply and was sure that he felt the same way, but she couldn't help but worry that she was doing something wrong. After all, she and Daniel were still married on paper, even though it didn't feel like it anymore. Was it just an innate sense of loyalty to Daniel that kept her from being open about Simon?
Charlotte thought back to the day they'd met, when Daniel had been so full of life and promise. It hadn't taken long for them to fall in love – or so she had thought at the time. But now things were different; Charlotte wasn't sure if their love had ever been real.
Still, Charlotte couldn't shake off her guilt as she walked along the familiar streets toward her house. She knew that if anyone found out about her relationship with Simon before her divorce papers were signed, it would be a scandal – and one that could potentially ruin both of their reputations in this small town.
And as much as Charlotte wanted to keep Simon a secret, there was a part of her that wanted to be honest with Daniel too. As she trudged along the sidewalk, Charlotte's mind raced over all the potential scenarios that could play out when Daniel found out about Simon. Would he be angry? Hurt? Or would he understand why she wanted to keep their relationship quiet until the divorce was finalized?
Perhaps it would be best if they talked about getting the divorce finalized sooner rather than later. With a sigh, Charlotte decided to take matters into her own hands; tomorrow morning she would call Daniel and ask him about signing the papers once and for all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Charlotte stood in the middle of The Old Crown Inn's first-floor landing, her gaze darting from one corner to another, taking in the layers of dust and decay that clung to every surface. The weight of the tasks before her with the house felt heavier than ever, settling on her shoulders like an anvil. It was the same feeling she had been trying to outrun since Daniel had announced his intent to divorce her, and here she was, carrying it across the sea.
This place was meant to be her fresh start, a chance to forge a new identity apart from the woman who had given so much of herself to a man who no longer wanted her. One who was lurking around her house, moping even, pretending that he was here for work. The whole thing was confusing and upsetting—on top of making Charlotte feel like a criminal for her time spent with Simon.
Seeking solace in the one thing that never failed to bring her comfort, Charlotte retreated to the makeshift studio she had set up in the sunroom. It had become her sanctuary amidst the chaos of the renovation, a place where she could lose herself in the familiar dance of brushstrokes and hues.
As she turned to face the canvas and paints she’d set up, she felt the world around her fade away, leaving only the rhythmic sound of her own breathing and the soft scratch of the bristles against the fabric. With each stroke, the vibrant colors began to meld together, slowly forming an image that mirrored the emotions churning within her.
Her thoughts drifted to Amelia, her sweet daughter whose face now occupied the center of the canvas. A pang of longing filled her chest as she added depth to the sparkling blue eyes that bore a striking resemblance to her own, the same eyes that would undoubtedly fill with sadness at their family's broken pieces scattered across two continents.
"Mom, I miss you," Amelia's voice echoed in her mind, and Charlotte felt the tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. She quickly dabbed them away with the back of her hand, leaving streaks of paint in their place.
The sudden creaking of the front door jarred Charlotte out of her reverie, her heart leaping into her throat as she instinctively reached for the closest paintbrush to use as an impromptu weapon. She turned toward the door, gripping the handle of the brush tightly, her pulse racing.
"Charlotte?" The familiar voice made her heart stutter in shock and annoyance. There, standing by the door, was none other than Daniel. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"Daniel," she said through gritted teeth, struggling to maintain her composure. "What are you doing here? You just let yourself in?"
He stepped further into the room, his expensive shoes clicking against the wooden floor. "I thought I should check on you. After I left before, I thought it best if we spoke about how to finalize our divorce –" he glanced around at the inn with obvious disdain, "–since you decided to buy this place without telling me, obviously with money I didn’t know about, I’d like to separate our finances with that in mind."
"You cleaned out our bank account when you left me," Charlotte snapped, bristling at his condescending tone. "And there’s the house in New York. You can go back to New York and tell your friends all about how your crazy ex-wife bought a crumbling old inn in England—and none of it is yours."
Daniel's eyes roamed over her unfinished painting, and his lips twisted into a mocking smile. "Still chasing this little hobby, I see."
"Is there a problem with that?" Charlotte demanded, anger bubbling up inside her. Her fingers tightened around the paintbrush, paint smeared onto her palm from the pressure.
"Of course not, darling," he replied, his voice dripping with insincerity. "It's just that some people prefer to face reality rather than hide away in a fantasy world."
"Painting is my reality, Daniel," Charlotte retorted, refusing to let him belittle her passion, the one thing that had kept her going through the darkest times. "Just because you don't understand it doesn't mean it's not important."
"Right," he drawled, turning his attention from the canvas to her face. "Well, I'll leave you to your... art." He paused for a moment, as if considering his words carefully. "I guess we'll talk about the divorce papers later."
As Daniel strode out of the room, Charlotte stared after him in disbelief, her paintbrush still clenched in her hand. How had he gotten in?
Biting back her frustration and uncertainty, Charlotte turned back to her painting, determined to channel her emotions into her art. As she lost herself in the swirling colors once more, she shook her head, attempting to shake off the lingering annoyance.
A loud creaking sound drew her attention away from the painting once again. She put her brush down and marched out of the sunroom to find the source of the noise—if Daniel was creeping around the house, she swore that she would—
Daniel hadn’t left yet. He was stopped in the foyer, frowning at the front door. It had been sticking for weeks, but Charlotte hadn't found the time to fix it amidst all the other renovations. Daniel's gaze flicked between the stubborn door and the toolbox tucked in the corner, clearly weighing his options.
"Is this always a problem?" he asked, nodding toward the door.
"More or less," Charlotte replied tersely, not wanting to discuss anything with him. "I'll get around to fixing it."
"Let me take a look," Daniel said, moving toward the toolbox as he rolled up his sleeves. He usually avoided manual labor like the plague, so his sudden interest in fixing the door caught her off-guard.
"Okay," she grumbled. She didn't want his help, but if it would make him then go out the door, then so be it.
