Flexing his fingers, Rumald grimaced at the heavy weight, pinning his arm into the mattress. Cracking his eyes open, sleepily he lifted his head from his pillow, gazing at the auburn hair on the other pillow. He blinked his eyes and smiled. Last night felt like a dream, but seeing her laid beside him, her hand clutching his wrist and her backside pressing firmly into his crotch. It was very clear. It was not a dream.
He shifted the top half his body closer to her, sliding his arm around her naked body, holding her firmly to the front of his chest. Her hair tickled his nose, as he snuggled his head into the pillows. Unwrapping his arm from her, Rumald stroked her hair out of his face and quickly returned his arm to hold her possessively. Belle mumbled something in her sleep, as Rumald slid his fingers underneath her. Her leg shifted back, hitting her heel into his shin. She murmured again as her hand let go of his wrist, and moved to find his arm around her waist. Closing his eyes, the only thought on Rumald's mind was 'Bliss', as he relaxed himself to go back to sleep.
Though, as he laid there with her, awake, eyes closed, his mind became plagued with the things he had to do. Firstly, he had to find a solution to Regina's problem. From reading Regina's list, there was not a place in town, which would be available to hold Regina's exhibition. Nowhere that would be suitable for them to dance or had the capacity for Regina's ticket holders. With it being three weeks until Christmas, Rumald doubted there were going to be many place available. The only option, which could possibly work, but would be near impossible to complete, would be to create a venue. Rumald had toyed, for years, with the idea of renovating one of his vacant buildings. Creating a venue hall, which would double a bar/nightclub, giving the Rabbit Hole some competition. Course, there had never been a lucrative reason, but if it would fix Regina's problem and be profitable in the future – Win, win.
Rumald opened his eyes to see the back of Belle's head. Raising his head off of his pillow, he spied at his clock over Belle's head, seeing it was about to turn seven o'clock. That explained why he was awake. Rolling his eyes at himself, he buried his face into the back of Belle's hair, wishing he could stay with her longer. He kissed the back of her head and began the painstaking task, of removing himself from her. Carefully, Rumald pulled his arm out from underneath, mindful not to wake her. She made a noise or two, when his arm slipped out from under her neck. He waited, unsure whether he had awoken her. Grabbing her pillow, Belle rolled away from him, smothering half of her face into her pillow. He picked up the covers and scooted out of the bed, watching her as he did.
Dressing in his pyjamas, he quietly left his bedroom, watchful of Belle, peeping round the edge of the door as he closed it. The door to his bedroom softly clicked into place. He tiptoed a few steps away, mindful of the creaking floorboards, and walked down the hallway to the stairs.
His son's bedroom door was closed on his way by it. Rumald smirked, thinking of their night in the library. Even though, Belle had been reserved to begin with, she had soon forgotten her fear, urging him with encouraging moans and a firm hand to the back of his head. He had to supress her cries of ecstasy, with his hand clamped over her mouth, enjoying the sight of her riding out her pleasure. Though, they probably should have been more respectful of his son being in the house, with his 'new' girlfriend. Rumald could not help the way, Belle made him feel young and reckless, bringing out his darker side.
Retrieving a cup of coffee from downstairs, Rumald headed immediately back up the stairs and took the next set to the third floor. He entered his study, sipping from his hot cup of coffee. His eye was caught by the view of the woods, outside of the window. The sun was just starting to peek over the top of the trees. It was always a glorious sight, and one he spared a moment to marvel at, when he had the chance. Grabbing the chance to get ahead of his day, Rumald could not spare the time, and went to the filing cabinet, containing the files on his properties. He pulled out the third draw, as he stooped down and flicked through the files.
Rumald already had a few properties in mind. Pulling out their files, Rumald closed the draw and went to his desk, and laid the files down onto his desk, as he drank from his coffee. He stepped in front of his chair, squinting at the files on his desk, and sat down into his chair.
One of the files, was for a large warehouse, which was located on the outskirts of town. It was not ideal. Being so far from the town centre, meant people would have to drive to it. The main reason people went to the Rabbit Hole, was because it was convenient, allowing them to stumble home. However, the warehouse had amble land around it, so it could be expanded and moulded into whatever Rumald wanted. He picked up the folder for the warehouse, to move it to the left of his desk.
The next file in the stack, was for Storybrooke's old picture house, located a block from Main Street. Rumald had been forced to shut the place down, in the late nineties, due to the outgoings being higher than the income. It was an exquisite building. One Rumald had bought, not just for the revenue, but for the glass windows and architecture. The pictures had been built in the nineteen thirties. One of the few remaining buildings in Storybrooke, from that era. The owner, Charles Deeming, had added the glass stained windows in the fifties. Along with some other mod cons of the time. The pictures had been one of Rumald's first purchases, when Rumald had started buying up the town. Renovating it, would not take much work. It had original been a theatre. Knocking through the two small screen rooms downstairs, and removing the upstairs floor, would return it back to its original state, giving the venue ample room. The old confectionery counter could be easily transformed into a bar. But… He was not sure, whether he wanted to share the historic building with anyone else. Taking the file and putting it to the right side of his desk, he left his hand on top of file, favouring it as a choice, while also not wanting it to be his choice.
The other file, the final file, was a disused store, which was located several blocks over from Main Street. The building was not his first choice, and probably would not be his choice for a venue hall/bar/nightclub. The reason it was in the mix, was because it had room for expansion and the store was quite large. It would need the most work, as it was quite run down – the ceiling had collapse in parts of the building, some of the exterior windows would need replacing, and he was sure, from the last time he was in there and smelt the place, it had a rat infestation. Rumald pulled a face the file, remembering the smell. As though the file was tainted itself, he picked it up by his fingertips and moved it further away from himself.
Looking at the two folders, either side of him on the desk, Rumald drank some more of his coffee as he mulled over his decision. His fingers on his right hand, drummed out a rhythm on top of the old picture house folder. Rumald placed his cup onto the desk, his eyes on the folder under his hand. Moving his hand from the folder, he scooped up his phone and unlocked it, and sat back, scrolling through the contacts in his phone. He tapped the contact he wanted, held the phone to his ear, as he picked up his coffee to finish it.
"Hello…" Came a sleeping greeting from Marco.
"Marco," Rumald grinned. "I've got a question."
There was a flurry of movement on the other side of the phone, before Marco said anything more. "What can I do for you, Mr Gold?"
"I've got a project, which needs to be completed before the twenty-seventh of this month." He put his coffee cup down on his desk, as he spoke to Marco. "Now, I've got two sites that we can use for this project. I have an old warehouse and the old picture house."
"What would you want doing to them?" Marco asked, yawning by the end of his question.
Rumald lightly scratched at his beard, on his left cheek. "Creating venue centre, which would also be bar stroke nightclub."
"Oh…" Marco remained silent until he said. "I know you don't like it, when I tell you something isn't possible, but this isn't possible in the timeframe."
"Marco, nothing is impossible. Get as many men as you need. I'll pay double their hourly rate, and if they get it done a couple of days before, I'll pay them a bonus." Rumald put to Marco.
"Let me call a few people and I'll let you know." Marco said.
Rumald had a small smile on his face, as he told Marco. "Try and get back to me today. I don't care the time. I need to know."
"Okay, no problem, Mr Gold." Marco assured Rumald.
Taking the phone away from his face, Rumald ended the call and placed it down on his desk. His gaze had lingered on the old picture house folder during the phone call. A prime location. A stunning building. It was inevitable, it seemed, that his choice would be the old picture house. Stroking his fingers over his lips, his fingers prickled by his beard as he did it, Rumald knew it was for the best. Just as books were meant to be read. The old picture house was meant to be used too.
With his decision made, Rumald collected the other two files and his coffee cup, as he stood up, and took them back to the filing cabinet. As he was leaving his study, wanting more coffee, Rumald mentally noted the people, he had to call to get the ball rolling on his project. Dove was at the top of his list, needing him to take care of a few things, while he was in New York for the weekend. That was when, at the top of the stairs, he clicked his fingers, remembering he had to sort out a ticket for Belle before they left.
'Belle', he thought with a smile. Strolling down the stairs, the list of things he had to do was forgotten. Thoughts of Belle, lying in his bed, recuperating from the exuberance of last night. Rumald smirked at his thoughts, as he rounded the newel at the bottom of the first set of stairs. A strong temptation to crawl back into bed with her, pulled him down the hallway, towards his bedroom. The nag though, lingering in the back of his mind, of the things he had to get done, stopped him at the newel, to next set of stairs. Breathing in deeply, contented by knowing she was in his bed, would have to satisfy him for now. He turned his gaze away from the hallway, leading to his bedroom, and started down the next set of stairs.
At the bottom step, Rumald could hear things being moved around in his kitchen. His brow sat heavy over his eyes, whilst he took the last step and went through the opening into the kitchen. Neal was pulling a box of cereal, from the cupboard over the fridge, smiling over his shoulder at Emma, who was leaning against the counter by the sink, smiling back at him. Rumald's eyebrows twitched up his forehead. He had not been aware of Emma staying over. Though, as he thought about it, he had not been paying much attention, to what was going on downstairs in his house. While he walked further into the kitchen, he quickly dismissed the thought, of what his son and Emma might have been doing, and joined them in the kitchen.
"Morning, Mr Gold." Emma was the first to greet him.
Neal twisted his body, to see his father over his shoulder. "Hey, dad. Do you want some coffee?"
"Please." Rumald held up his cup, indicating he already had a cup, and put it as near as he could, into the middle of the kitchen island.
"Emma?" Neal asked, claiming his dad's cup.
"No, I'll grab something from Grannies." She told him, pushing herself away from the counter, meeting him to kiss him. "I've got to get to the station, but I'll call you, when Henry and I are ready."
Neal smiled. "Okay."
The two danced by each other, smiling stupidly at each other. Seeing his son happy was a rarity. When Milah had left, the lost had been pretty hard on Neal, as the two had been close. The two of them shared a love for drawing. Many evenings, Rumald had come home from the shop, finding the two of them in the dining room, practising their drawing together. After she had left, Neal had refused to draw anything, and had thrown his drawing pads and pencils, swearing never to draw ever again. Though as time passed, Rumald had noticed more and more, Neal had been doing small doddles on things. Sadly, it was soon after this point, Rumald had become distant from Neal, solely occupied with Cora, and had missed out on witnessing Neal refining his craft into the artist he had become. He had found out about the prizes Neal had won for his drawings.
A considerable time after the fact, finding the certificate or trophy in his son's room. It was things like that, which stung Rumald, when he thought back on what he missed. Staring down at the counter of the kitchen island, Rumald balled his hands into fists on top of the counter, silently cursing himself. The guilt he felt would always be his burden. A burden, which he deserved to carry.
Rumald raised his head, in time to see Emma walking passed him. Reaching out his hand, he touched her arm, halting her from going any further. There was an alarmed look on her face. He edged closer to her, while she glanced to Neal in the corner of the kitchen, preparing drinks for Rumald and himself.
Following her gaze to his son, Rumald said in a hushed voice. "I take it you haven't told him yet?"
"I haven't found the right moment." Was her hasty reply.
"Find it. Soon." He told her, turning his head to meet her gaze.
"I will." Emma shamefully dropped her gaze from Rumald's, before glimpsing to Neal.
Rumald took his hand back, letting Emma be on her way, and returned his hand to the counter. He did not want to get involved in his son's business, but this was too important to let idle hands deal with. The girl had sat on this secret for eight years. She had had ample time to come clean with Neal, doing the right thing. Whether her family liked it or not, Rumald would be damned, if Neal remained ignorant to being a father.
"Oh, hey Emma." Said her sweet voice.
Whipping round at the sound of her voice, Rumald grinned at Belle, stood in the foyer, wearing his dressing gown. Her hands clutched the flaps of his dressing gown, wrapping them tighter around herself, covering up any possible chance to peek at her bare skin. Emma sidestepped around Belle, a tinge of pink in her cheeks.
"Belle." Emma briskly returned Belle's greeting.
Belle shyly smiled at Emma. "Off already?"
"I'm due on shift." Emma motioned to the door with her thumb.
"Oh, okay." Belle glanced to the front door and then back to Emma. "Try and have a good day."
Emma unsurely looked back to the kitchen, an unsure smile on her face, and her farewell to them all as she neared the door. "Later, everyone."
"Bye, babe." Neal called through.
Hearing his son call Emma, 'Babe', Rumald turned his head to look at his son, who was beaming a smile and waving to Emma in the foyer. In the foyer, he heard the distinct sound of the front door opening, and seconds later, felt a wisp of cold air sweep over his bare feet. The front door closed, as Rumald saw the unguarded emotion on his son's face. It was nice to see his son so happy, opening himself up to the joy of love. Though, by putting himself in the firing line of love, Rumald hoped Neal was strong enough to take the shot, which Emma would hopefully fire soon.
"Hey, you." Belle crooned, as she reached up to the back of his head and combed her fingers though his hair.
Sliding his arm around her waist, Rumald drew her closer to kiss her. "Morning."
"Coffee, Belle?" Neal inquired, whilst he reached across the kitchen island, delivering his father's coffee.
"One sugar, no milk, please, Neal." Belle told him.
Rumald slid his coffee cup closer to him, while Neal nodded his head, to acknowledge Belle's order, and turned away to make her drink. Lowering his gaze to where the flaps of his dressing gown overlapped, Rumald easily spied down into the valley of Belle's breasts, smirking as the memory of last night came back to him.
Monday night had been a rush of stripping clothes, clumsy kisses and a sprint for ecstasy. Last night, Rumald had lavished her with attention. He had tried to kissed every inch of her skin, wanting to worship her, grateful she had chosen to go with what her heart wanted. Her hands had reached to touch him, again and again. Every time, he had thwarted her attempts, making it all about her. It may have been part of his self-loathing, but he wanted her to have all of the pleasure. God knows, for the things he had done and things he was willing to do, Rumald did not deserve to feel an ounce of pleasure. He would have been satisfied with just pleasing Belle. Nonetheless, the deep animalistic need to claim her and have her, releasing his seed into her, was too strong to ignore. The thing that gave him solace, when he was striving for his own release, was that she would take satisfaction in it. Unlike Milah and Cora, Belle appeared to care.
Shaking his depressing thoughts away, Rumald squeezed her against him, saying to her. "I'm going to pop back upstairs and get showered and dressed. If you want anything, just ask Neal."
"Okay." She smiled at him.
He returned her smile and dipped his head to kiss her again. Her hand, which had lingered on his shoulder, clasped at the back of his head, keeping him from backing away from her. Belle further their kiss, titling her head to the side, nipping at his lower lip. Encircling his other arm around her, Rumald gave into her, opening his mouth to her, tentatively meeting her tongue. Her other arm wrapped around his neck, hanging herself from his neck, whilst they kissed.
"Coffee, Belle." Neal stated.
Belle ripped her lips away from Rumald's, leaving him to kiss the air, as she gave Neal an embarrassed look. "Thank you. Sorry."
"It's okay." Neal waved off her apology, and picked up the box of cereal, he had gotten earlier from the cupboard.
Rumald chuckled at her and kissed her forehead, and said. "I'll be back in a minute."
Picking up his coffee, he edged away from Belle and escaped up the stairs. Whilst he was ascending the stairs, Rumald could hear Belle and Neal begin to chat in the kitchen, and stopped to listen. With his hand on the banister, he inclined himself over the banister, looking down into the foyer as though he could see them in the kitchen. His eyebrows squeezed together, at the unusual pain he felt in his gut. Listening to them talk, Rumald was apprehensive about them talking, though he had no reason to be. The times they had met, they had gotten on fine. It puzzled Rumald, why he felt anxious. Belle was not like Cora. And Rumald would be damned, if he ignored his son after all the hard work and grovelling he had done, to win back his son's affections.
Rumald drank from his coffee as he started up the stairs again, ignoring the ache in his gut. He went to his bedroom and diverted himself straight into the bathroom, where he stopped in front of the mirror to look at himself, while he set his cup down beside the sink. Gazing at himself, it was hard for him not to survey his reflection. His beard was grey, his hair was slowly going grey, and he looked old. Whatever Belle saw in him, whatever attracted her, he would never understand. Though, he never understood, what attracted all the other women in his life, either.
Finishing off the last button of his waistcoat, Rumald then claimed his suit jacket to put it on and grabbed his empty cup from the chest of draws. He swept his gaze around his room as he headed to his bedroom door, looking for anything out of place. With nothing astray, his bed immaculate made, the curtains drawn, Rumald was happy to leave his room. He closed the door behind him and set off down the hallway to the stairs. Near the top of the stairs, music was filtering up the stairs from downstairs. Intrigued, he again, looked over the banister downstairs, while he headed to take the stairs to his study. Rumald wondered, what they could possibly be doing downstairs, but shrugged the thought away, taking the stairs to the third floor.
He came down the stairs into the foyer, holding his phone to his ear, listening to it ring, and traipsed through into the kitchen. Neither Belle or Neal were in the kitchen. Glancing back, he wondered if they were in the living room, as the person he was calling answered.
"Good morning, sir." Dove said.
"You know, how I've talked about turning the old picture house into a venue centre?" Rumald was straight to business.
"Yes." Was Dove's only response.
Rumald negotiated the kitchen to the sink, delivering his cup to the sink, while he said. "I need you to start making enquiries into the things we'll need. Materials, sound system, suppliers, what licenses we'll need, that sort of thing. Look into it and get back to me."
"Of course, sir." Dove ended the call.
Slipping his phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, Rumald pivoted round, intrigue as to where Belle and Neal had gone. He moseyed over to the entrance to the dining room, popped his head around the corner, only to see they were not there. His brow hunched down over his eyes, as he detoured through the dining room and into the living room. They were not there either. Rumald turned the music down, listening intently to the house for their voices. Nothing. 'They couldn't have gone outside.', he decided, as he walked through the living room to the foyer, his eyes immediately on front door. Scratching absently at this beard, Rumald could not bring himself to believe, that Belle would go outside in his dressing gown. One, it was too cold. Two, she was not the sort of woman, in his mind, who would do such a thing. Unlike her best friend, who hardly wore anything, most of the time.
His gaze rose to look at the stairs, even though, he knew they were not upstairs. He would have heard them earlier, when he was up there and he would have seen them. There was only one other place in the house, they could be, where he possibly could not hear them. Taking a few steps towards the kitchen, Rumald looked down the small corridor, which led to the cupboard under the stairs and to the basement door, which was open. Why they would be downstairs, was beyond Rumald, but he followed regardless.
It was on the second step of the stairs, he heard his son say to Belle. "Yeah, it's a shame, but they've been down here for years."
"He should have them on display." Belle remarked.
"They used to be on display in the dining room." Neal informed her.
"I guess after she left him, he packed it all up and put them all down here. Didn't want the reminder." She hypothesised, hitting the nail on the head.
From what they had said, Rumald could guess, they were surveying the boxes of trophies, he had stored down in the basement. A lot of the trophies were broken or damaged, taking some of the wrath, he had delivered to the display case. Rumald slumped against the banister, closing his eyes, as he remembered the vividly remembered the night in question. Coming home from the competition had been hell. He had been so angry. Probably the angriest, he had ever been in his life. Reining that in, for his trip home from New York, had been hard. Countless times, Rumald had wanted to rip someone's head off, who had innocently crossed his path. When he had gotten home, safe in his sanctuary, the floodgates had open and Rumald had to let it all out, destroying the one prominent reminder of her.
"Something like that." Neal said and went on to say. "The neighbours were too scared to check on him. Told me, they heard yelling and things smashing."
"You weren't here?" Belle asked.
There was a pause before Neal answered. "After she moved in, I stayed away from the house."
"You stayed away? It was that bad?" She questioned his son.
"He was different with her." Neal paused. "She brought out the worst in him."
Rumald remembered, when Neal had come to his shop, skipping school, begging Rumald to end things with Cora. At the time, he had refused to listen to his son, ushering him out of the shop and back to school. Neal had fought with him. His fingers had crawled at the sleeves of Rumald's suit, desperate for his father to hear him. Seeing his son like that, frantic and losing control of himself, had torn Rumald's heart open. Every day, Rumald wished to go back to that moment, force himself to listen to his son's concerns and then go home, to throw the bitch out of his house. Instead, his loneliness and cowardice had allowed Cora to come between them, and he hated himself for it.
"I couldn't imagine him being any different." Belle told Neal.
Neal scoffed. "Believe me, he can be darker. And what's scary, is that he enjoys it."
"Maybe… But, at least, he saw the error of his ways and made amends with you." Belle said.
"You really like him, don't you?" Neal put to Belle, changing the topic of their conversation.
"I love him." She beamed proudly.
The front doorbell rang. "Oh, that must be Ruby!" Belle exclaimed. "Excuse me."
Hastily, Rumald leapt up the two steps and exited into the foyer. Tugging down his waistcoat, composing himself, he came out of the small corridor and crossed to the front door. On the other side of the glass, he could see Ruby stood on his porch, lingering close to his front door. Rumald unlocked the front door and opened it. Abruptly, the edge of the door came close to hitting Rumald in the face.
"Oh my God!" Ruby proclaimed on entering his house, carrying a plastic bag, Grannies logo printed on the side of it, and dragging a small suitcase through the door behind her. "It's so cold out there!"
Rumald eyed her attire – a thin zip up hoodie (unzipped), a t-shirt, short mini skirt, thin tights – not exactly dressed for the winter weather, as he closed the door. "Maybe, if you wore appropriate attire, you wouldn't feel the cold, dearie."
"Watch it, Gold." Ruby held the plastic Grannies bag up. "I've brought you breakfast."
"Ah, thanks, Ruby. You're a lifesaver." Belle said after coming out from the small corridor, followed by Neal.
Ruby looked at Belle and grinned. "You dirty stop out."
"Shut up." Belle held her hand out. "Give me my case."
"I put a few extra things in there for you." Ruby said, grinning, as she held the handle of the suitcase for Belle to take.
"What… Extra things?" Belle questioned, hesitant to take the handle from Ruby.
Ruby waggled her eyebrows to Belle's question. Dragging the suitcase closer, Belle eyed the suspicious suitcase down at her feet. Captivate by the exchange, Rumald's own interest in the suitcase had been aroused.
"Something smells good." Neal strolled passed Belle to Ruby and took the plastic Grannies bag from his old friend.
"Yours is at the bottom." Ruby pointed the bottom of the bag. "Grannie's put some extra bits in for you."
Neal licked his lips. "If I was man enough for her, I'd marry for her cooking."
"I'm going to go and get dressed. Be right back." Belle told them, retracting the handle back into her suitcase, and picked her suitcase up by the carry handle.
Ruby and Neal wandered off into the kitchen, oblivious to Belle climbing the stairs, while Rumald was left stood in the foyer, keenly watching Belle ascend the stairs. Taking a couple of steps to get a better view of her, when she rounded the newel to climb the longer staircase to the second floor, he caught Belle's eye. She smiled fondly at him. Following her with his eyes, Rumald sighed happily, feeling contended for the first time, in a long time.
