The key slipped easily into the lock and receded back with a satisfying click, before Rumald yanked open the door, pouring bright light into the foyer of the old picture house. There were cobwebs streamed across the entrance, which Rumald easily brushed out of his path, as he entered the building. Marco followed him through the door, his eyes narrow, sweeping a keen eye over the interior of the foyer. It was like stepping back in time, to the late nineties. Rumald pocketed his bundle of keys, into his overcoat pocket, whilst he removed his sunglasses to tuck into the inside pocket of his overcoat. He turned, his gaze raised to stained glass windows.
"Wow." Marco set his large toolbox down on the entrance mat, his eyes wide with wonder. "Apart from the cobwebs. You could open up for lunchtime matinee."
"A testament to being well built." Rumald commented.
Marco walked over to the confectionery counter and leant over it, placing his hand on top of the glass counter, as he said. "It's just how I remember it."
"Hopefully, we can keep some of the original features." Rumald waved the blueprints Neal had drawn up and left on the desk in his study. "We'll keep the counter, but I want to open out this space behind there." He waved to the wall behind the counter and the doors either side of counter, leading to the smaller screen rooms.
"Looks as though, we don't have to reinforce it. There's a support beam across the top there." Marco pointed to wall in question.
Rumald nodded his head, agreeing. "They must have reinforced it, when they converted it from a theatre into a picture house."
"Let's have a look at these plans." Marco said, walking over to Rumald.
"Probably best, if we go up into the main screen room, then you'll get a better idea of what I have in mind." Rumald gestured to the stairs on his left, using the roll of paper.
"Sounds good. Lead the way." Marco swept his arm to the stairs, as he spoke.
Together, with Rumald partially in front, they climbed one of the set of stairs, leading to the upstairs landing. On the changeover, to the next set of short steps, Rumald glanced to one of the larger stain glass windows, illuminating the stairs with brightly coloured light. At the top of the stairs, they crossed the very large landing, to one set of the double doors leading into the large screen room. The door creaked as they opened it. Rumald wrinkled his nose at the musty smell, invading his nose, but pushed on, ignoring the smell.
"This is amazing." Marco stated, as he descended some of the stairs, his fingers gliding across the back of the chairs.
Rumald remained near the doors, needing the light, and rolled out the plans. "It was a shame, I had to close it."
Marco pointed to a random seat, a couple of rows down from where he stood, near to the middle of large seating area. "That's where I shared my first kiss with Peggy Napster."
"Delightful." Rumald scrunched his brow at Marco's omission.
"So many memories." Marco climbed back up the steps to where Rumald stood.
Rumald braced a small smile. "Hopefully, we can make some new ones." He offered one side of the plans to Marko, freeing his hand to point. "What's I'm proposing, is we knock through down there," He pointed to the walls, leading to the smaller screens. "Take out all this seating area, up to the projection booth, which we'll covert into an office space. This whole area up here, will be converted to a balcony area, where we'll have tables and such, for the VIP area of the club."
"Constructing the balcony is going to take the time." Marco shuffled closer, brushing his shoulder with Rumald, and pointed to a point on the plans. "But it looks as though, if your original plans are correct, there's already a lot of support beams in place. We'll just add a few more and maybe replace some of the older ones."
"I leave that in your capable hands, Marco." Rumald said, looking from the plans to Marco's face.
Marco's eyes widened, as he scrutinised the plans. "The timescale is going to be the problem. Three weeks?"
"I have every faith." Rumald patted Marco's shoulder.
Marco scoffed. "Going to take a miracle, not faith." He shrugged a shoulder. "But, we'll give it ago."
"Any problems, just let me or Dove know, and we'll sort it. You concentrate on managing it all and we'll deal with everything else." Rumald told him, giving Marco's shoulder a slight squeeze of reassurance.
"I better call the boys then." Marco let go of the plans, to get his phone out of jeans and began calling his men.
Rolling the plans back into a tight roll, Rumald grinned at the prospect of restoring the old picture house, back to some of its former glory. Giving things a new lease of life, always thrilled him. Whether it was a pocket watch, a painting or a building. Everyone deserved a second chance at life – living or inanimate. His smile partly wavered, as he swivelled on the balls of his feet to leave the room. 'Maybe, third time, will be the charm', he thought to himself, with his thoughts going to the weekend.
Apart from his run in Cora, and Neal's shock at Emma's secret, Rumald had fully enjoyed his weekend away with Belle. Granted, she had driven him mad, with her nose buried in her tourist book, while dragging him from monument to monument, recommend visiting spots and anywhere else, her book had recommended. Her thrill, when she realised they were somewhere, that had been featured in a film or a TV show, she had seen, had annoyed him after the fourth time. The loud gasps had made him start more than once. Her glee had oozed from her, while they had sat waiting at the airport, waiting to board their plane back to Portland. It was not until after the plane had taken off, Belle's excitement had drained her energy and she had slumped against his shoulder, clutching at the crook of his arm, that Rumald had gotten some peace.
Descending the stairs, back to the old picture house foyer, Rumald smiled broadly at the memories. Being with her, being near her, or just knowing he was hers, put a spring in Rumald's step. He could not deny it. If only, he could take himself back, back to the twenty-year-old, he had been when he had met Milah, before he had tainted himself with too darkness. That was who he wanted to be for her. And there he was, already keeping secrets from her. His face took on a sombre look, as he deposited the plans to the confectionery counter.
Rumald shoved open the door to the old picture house, strolling out onto the sidewalk, crossing it to his Cadillac, parked at the kerb, and turned round to lean against the passenger wing of the car. The winter chill nipped painfully at his cheeks and where his neck was exposed. To ward off the cold, Rumald turned up the collar of his overcoat. He peeled back his left sleeve, checking the time, Regina was not due for a while. With a leather clad hand, he slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out his phone, and began the mundane task of checking the morning emails. Really, he wanted to check to see, if Neal had messaged him, or if he had any missed calls from his son. Rumald had been hoping to see him, on his return from New York, but had come home to empty house.
There were shallow lines drawn across his brow, unknowingly wearing his worry. They had been there since his encounter with Cora. He had tried to mask them, but Belle had seen them. Pointing them out to him, after they had left the party and had gotten into limousine. A gentle hand had rested on his thigh, giving him a look, which he rarely received off anyone. To explain the lines of worry, Rumald had told her about Neal being Henry's father, but had refrained from telling her about Cora. He should have. He wanted to be honest with her. But he had his reasons. One: He wanted to know, what Cora was up to, before he told her. Two: He did not want to explain, why Cora's hands had been all over him. Three: (and his main reason) He really did not want to talk about it. The whole confrontation had left him with a bad taste in his mouth, and had unsettled him for the rest of their evening. Thankfully, Belle's excitement for sightseeing, had distracted her, from seeing any traces of the lines, behind his mask.
And that was the other reason, for the lines of worry on Rumald's forehead: Lying.
Rumald folded his arms across his chest, hating how his old habits were slowly resurfacing. He wanted to be honest with her. He wanted to be an open book to her, but he also wished to protect her. The mantra, 'She deserved better', kept going round and round in his head. He had known that since the day he met her. It was just so hard, to shake off the man, he had become and be… Him. Be that innocent twenty-year-old for her.
Shaking his head to dislodge his thoughts, Rumald unfolded his arms and unlocked his phone again, deciding to send his son a message. This would be his first step. Normally, Rumald would have waited until Neal had called, too afraid to push the boundaries, in case he was rejected again. Using both his thumbs, he typed out his message to Neal. It was short and to the point, 'I love you and I'm here, if you want to talk'. He tapped to send it, and then stood staring at his phone, with an uneasiness, clawing its way up his spine. The worried lines on his forehead deepened slightly, whilst he held his phone in his hands. He questioned his decision, fretting he had done the wrong thing.
"Well…" Said a breathless voice. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"
Curious, he flicked his gaze to where he had heard the voice, and did a double take of Belle, who was slowing her stride to stop in front him, breathless, flushed and looking absolutely beautiful. "Hello, sweetheart." Rumald grinned, pushed himself away from the car and greeted her, kissing her clammy cheek. "I wasn't expecting to see you this morning."
Belle grabbed the sleeves of his overcoat, bracing herself, as she panted for breath. "I was running…" She twisted to wave back towards the docks. "And saw the car." And gestured to the car.
"Tis rather noticeable." Rumald eyed the dark purple woolly hat, she was wearing, as he pocketed his phone.
Her chest heaved with the big breath she took. "I haven't got long, but I couldn't help myself, when I saw your car."
"How long have you got?" He asked, reaching a hand up to touch her hat with his finger, gently probing the knitted item.
"Like I said, not long. I need to get back, get showered, get dressed and have breakfast before half eight." She blew out a breath, straightening her back. "Why?"
"Because I'm suddenly developing a fetish for purple woolly hats." Rumald grinned at her, lowering his hand to touch the back of his fingers to her cheek.
"Oh, stop it!" Belle swatted his hand away. "It's the first one I grabbed and it's warm."
Rumald captured her in his arms, and turned her, so her back was to the car, and walked her backwards, pinning her between himself and the car. "Oh, no, dearie. I'm serious." He reached up to her face, slipped his fingers into her hair, stroking his thumbs over her cheeks, telling her before he kissed her. "Such a turn on."
Her hands grasped at his back, a light encouragement, for him to further lean into her, opening her mouth to him. Their tongues tentatively touched, as Rumald titled his head to the side, wanting to delve deeper into her mouth. Belle moaned, pressing herself against him. Stroking his thumbs over her cheeks, Rumald pulled back from their kiss, a mischievous glint in his eye as his gaze flicked from Belle's to her purple hat.
She shook her head at him, an amused smile on her face. "Have you heard from Neal?"
"No, not yet." He informed her, his lips forming a weary smile, as he untangled his fingers from her hair and moved his hands to rest on the roof of the car. "I just sent him message, actually. Maybe I'll hear something later."
Belle nodded her head in acknowledgement. "After you drop me off last night, Emma was in Grannies, drowning her sorrows in a cup of cocoa."
"Not my prefer choice, for drowning one's sorrows." He commented dryly.
"She looked miserable." Belle wore a look of sympathy, as she spoke. "She didn't go into too much detail about it, but I get the feeling it was explosive."
"Understandable." Rumald said, lowering an arm to his side, shifting his stance to stand more at her side, staying in close proximity to Belle.
Belle crooked her head to the side, her lips contorting with a thought. "I just can't believe, she never told him. Keeping a secret like that, for all this time. It must've been eating her up inside." She shook her head. "I couldn't have done it. Keeping a secret like that, all this time."
His eyebrows scrunched together. "Yet, you managed to keep your feelings a secret from Gaston… Your father… Me…" He lifted his hand up, extended his forefinger out and dropped his hand to point the finger at her. "And from yourself, quite successfully."
"That was different." She gave him a pointed look. "That wasn't keeping a father from his son."
"No," He hooked his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her face closer to his. "You were keeping me from ravishing you!" Rumald declared and dipped his face into her neck, nudging his way pass the collar of her jacket, to kiss and nibble her neck.
Her knees gave out underneath her as she struggled to fight him off, pushing at his chest, while titling back her head, giving him more access, giggling down his ear. He kissed and nipped his way up to her jawline, across her cheek to the corner of her lips, and captured her lips into a searing kiss. A small groan burbled from Belle's mouth and into Rumald's, whilst her arms latched around Rumald's neck.
"Could you two possibly get a room and eat face in private?" Regina inquired dryly.
Belle broke their kiss, inclining her head back to let out a heartfelt laugh at Regina's jest. Shifting his stance, Rumald twisted his upper body to see Regina, standing on the sidewalk with her arms crossed, her sunglasses hiding her eyes, her lips formed into a playful grin.
"I need to get going anyway." Belle told them as she lightly patted Rumald's shoulder, who took the hint and stepped back from her.
Rumald kept Belle was leaving straight away, by taking a hold of her at her waist, manoeuvring her to stay stood in front of him, prolonging the satisfaction of her pressed up against him. "Will I see you later?"
"Did you have something in mind?" She asked in a sultry tone, slinging her arms, one by one, around his neck.
"You, me, dinner, my house?" He grinned at her.
"Sounds like heaven." Belle quickly brushed her lips over his and said as she backed out of his arms. "I'll come over as soon as I'm done at practise."
"Ok, sweetheart." Rumald could do nothing, but watch as she strolled by him, bidding farewell to Regina with the promise of seeing her later, and broke out into a jog back to Grannies.
He could feel Regina's presence behind him, her shoulder brushing faintly into his, as she leaned into to say to him. "What's this I hear about you being Henry's grandfather?"
"Oh, that." He smirked at her question before he lulled his head in her direction.
"He definitely has your eyes then." Regina said to him, shrugging her eyebrows at him.
"Most certainly." He agreed with her as he swung his arm, motioning towards the old picture house entrance. "Shall we?"
"I'm still not sure, what this is about or how this is going to help, Rumald." She told him, walking with him to the door.
Reaching for the door, Rumald pulled it open and waited for Regina, who was removing her sunglasses to deposit into her handbag, to step inside the foyer before he followed her inside, saying. "You were right. There's no way we're going to find a venue in time for your exhibition."
Regina frowned at him. "So, what the hell are we doing here?"
"I'm going to make you a venue." He explained holding his arms out wide.
"Make me a venue?" Regina's voice conveyed her disbelief.
"Come with me and let me show you, ye of little faith." Crooking his finger at her to follow him, Rumald led the way back up the stairs to large screen room.
At the top of the stairs, Rumald motioned to the double doors, he and Marco had entered earlier, and held the door open again for Regina, following her through to stand at the top of the stairs. Marco was sat on the raised platform at the bottom of the stairs, the large screen looming above him, as he made notes in the pad resting on his thigh. For a second, Marco glanced up at hearing the door, but his eyes flicked back down, concentrating on his notes.
"Picture this." Rumald placed his hand on her lower back and waved his hand at the screen room in front of them. "Balcony sitting up here. A large stage area and dancefloor below." She slanted her head towards him, engrossed in what he was telling her. "You'd never have to look for a venue again. I'd give you president over everyone else, who wanted to book the space. You could then have exhibitions, competitions or even hold larger classes in here, if you so wished."
"Wait a second." Regina edged away from him, turning to face him, as she said. "What do I need to do, to earn this 'president' over everyone else?"
The corner of his mouth crooked into a sly smile. "That's my girl." Then he shrugged his shoulders at her, his eyes moving over the sea of the chairs. "Nothing from you yourself, dearie. I'll be compensated by the business you bring me."
"Well, maybe next year, but there's no way this'll be done in time. I need a venue in three weeks, Rumald. Not in a couple of months." She told him, gesturing wildly to the state of the room around them.
"Regina," Rumald pivoted to face her. "Do I need to remind you, who you're dealing with?"
"Yeah, the devil, but unless you've got a Christmas miracle in your back pocket. There's no way, this'll be done in time." Regina's tone was flippant.
Placing a hand on his chest, Rumald said to her. "You leave me to worry about that. You concentrate on getting your dancers ready."
Regina crossed her arms in front of herself. "And what if it's not done in time? What am I going to do then?"
"I'm telling you, it'll be done in time." He told her firmly, reassuring her concern.
She breathed heavily out of her nose and then looked about the room. "I haven't really got a choice." Unfolding her arms, she pointed her finger at Rumald, telling him as she went to leave the room. "But if I see the Mayor in the meantime, I'm kicking him in the balls."
"As long as I get to watch." Rumald snickered, following her out of the room.
"You can hold him as I do it." She informed him, over her shoulder.
"It would be my pleasure." He grinned at the idea.
Regina paused at the top of the stairs and swivelled round on the balls of her feet, coming round to face Rumald, as she said. "I do appreciate you trying to help me, Rumald, but I really need this to work. The studio's doing well and I want to expand it by opening another studio, but I need to drum up the interest to warrant moving forward with my plan."
His heart swelled, proud of the legacy Regina was trying to build for herself. He had always known she would go far. From a young age, Rumald had seen she had the drive to push herself, to accomplish whatever goal she set herself. It was a trait they both shared, though Rumald had more patience than his prodigy. Regina could never see the bigger picture, too focus on here and now, whereas Rumald could alternate between the short or the long game. Which was why, he always got what he wanted.
Reaching out to Regina, he grasped her by her upper arms and met her gaze, seeing her worries clearly in her eyes. "I won't let you down."
"You better not, or I'll kicking you in the balls." She warned.
"How did you know I was into that sort of thing?" Rumald joked.
"Oh my god!" Regina rolled her eyes at him, whilst she quickly turned out of his grasp and descended the stairs. "I don't want to think about the things you're into." She visibly shivered at the thought. "It's like thinking of my parents having sex." Her step halted as her shoulders hunched up to her neck. "Oh god, that's so worse."
Descending behind her, he chuckled. "We all do it, dearie. Young and old."
"Don't." She pointed her finger at him.
They changed to the next set of stairs together, their arms briefly touching as they swayed into one another. The hint of a touch brought their gazes up to meet the other and they smiled. Taking a hold of her left elbow, Rumald aided her down the stairs, guiding her to walk close to his side. At the bottom of the stairs, he moved his hand from her elbow to her lower back and steered her to the exit, where he pushed the door open for her, awkwardly holding it for as she stepped through the doorway.
"Will you keep me updated with how things are going?" She asked whirling round to face him.
Rumald stepped out of the way of the door, letting it close itself, as he answered her. "I will."
Regina went to take a step and stopped. "I really am happy for you, Rumald."
His eyebrows pushed up his brow, deepening the worried lines on his forehead, surprised by her sudden statement. She took a step closer to him and placed her hand on his face. In her eyes, Rumald could see she was being sincere and that touched him deeply. He did not deserve her affection. He did not deserve to have her in his life, or any of them in his life, for the mistakes he had made in his past. All he could hope to do, was be there for them and then maybe, he stood a chance of making it up to all of them. Another step on the long road to becoming a better man.
"I've never seen you so…" Her eyes narrowed as she tried to think of the right word. "Content."
Pondering her point, he titled his head to the side and he smiled once again. "No, I suppose I haven't been for a long time."
Regina cupped his cheek. "I've never seen you smile so much, either."
"I'm sure that's not true. There's plenty things that make me smile." His lips pouted in thought before he said. "Rent day… Evictions… Terrorising people…"
She rolled her eyes at him, taking her hand from his face, and started to walk away from him. "I'll talk to you later."
"Later, dearie." He called after her, smirking.
He stood there for a bit, watching her sashay away, probably heading back to the dance studio. When she was near enough unrecognisable, Rumald peeled back the sleeve on his overcoat, checking the time on his watch, while he strolled around the front of his car to get into the driver's seat. He could have walked to his destination, but he wanted his arrival to be heard, wanted them to see the car before they saw him, so they knew he was coming to see them. A glance over his shoulder for traffic and Rumald pulled away from the kerb, following the path Belle had taken earlier, and turned onto Main Street, heading south away from his shop.
His gaze drifted to Grannies as he drove by. Belle would have been nearly ready for work, possibly sat at the counter having her breakfast, while he was driving by. Knowing that she would occupied with getting to work, always so frantic to open the library on time, even though she was always ten or twenty minutes late, Rumald was confident she would not be dragged into matters that did not concern her. The audacity of her father to use her again, without her knowledge, as a commodity, made Rumald's blood boil. If he had not been so concerned, with what Cora had said to him, he would have been silently seething about the phone call from Dove. Though, Rumald was thankful to Maurice for one thing: giving him an opportunity to work out some of his frustration.
At a creeping pace, Rumald parked directly in front of the flower shop, in plain sight of the florist, who was tidying the display of flower in the shop window. He thought about leering at Maurice from inside of his car, instead he chose to open his car door and step out of his car, meeting Maurice's gaze over the roof of his car. Rumald saw the other man tense. Shoving his door shut, at a leisurely pace, Rumald made his way around his car to the sidewalk and sauntered into the flower shop, welcomed by the creak of the shop door.
"Good morning, Mr French." Rumald greeted Maurice as he closed the door behind him. "I hope you are well."
"Cut the bullshit, Gold! As I told your minion, I don't owe you anything anymore." Maurice bolstered, thrusting out his chest, to make himself appear bigger than the snivelling worm he was.
Raising his gloved hand to his face, Rumald stroked his forefinger across his upper lip before jutting his finger out at Maurice, telling him. "You don't owe anyone anything, because I paid off your debts to save your daughter from making worse mistake of her life. Not so, you could cash in on my generosity."
"Ha!" Maurice shook his head. "You mean so you could get your hands up my daughter's skirt?"
Rumald glared at Maurice and secured his hands in front of himself, refraining from pummelling her father to death. "Where my hands have been on your daughter is none of your concern. What should be your concern at the minute, is paying me for this month's rent."
"I'm not paying you a dime!" Maurice barked, a gleeful twinkle in his eye, thinking he had gotten one over Rumald.
"Now, Mr French, I'd just like to remind you, that there are clauses in your lease, which allow me to take goods from you as payment." To emphasise his point, he waved to the contents of the shop. "Stock, furniture, equipment, etcetera."
Maurice blew a breath out through his teeth. "Don't throw your empty threats around my shop, Gold. You're not going to take anything from my shop. You wouldn't dare, seeing as my little girl wouldn't be very happy about it."
Rocking forward on the balls of his feet, Rumald shrugged his shoulders, clasping his hands in front of him, and said. "This is where we differ, Mr French. This is business, not personal." Titling his head to the side, he added. "Although, I do take great pleasure in what I'm about to do."
"What?" Maurice blurted out, tossing a bunch of flowers he had been holding to one side.
With a flare, Rumald whipped his phone out of pocket and called Dove, who instantly answered. "Take it."
Returning his phone to his pocket, he clasped his hands in front of him again and waited. Distantly, the sound of an engine roaring to life could be heard. Maurice's brow twitched with recognition, though his disbelief kept his brow from morphing into a frown. The sound grew louder and clearer. Timing it just right, Rumald turned his gaze to the street outside, watching as Dove drove passed the front of the shop, driving away in Maurice's van. It took a second or two for Maurice to realise it was his van. Though, Rumald would have thought, the big 'Games of Thorns' logo on the side of the vehicle was a big giveaway.
"My van?" Maurice stumbled a step closer to the shop window, helpless but to watch the taillights of his van get further away. "You're taking my van!"
Rumald leaned to get a better view. "Looks like it."
"You've taken my daughter!" Maurice swung round to face Rumald. "Now, you've taken my van, my livelihood! What else are you going to take? The shirt off my back?"
"I'd rather not, dearie, not my style." Was his wryly reply, motioning to his suit.
"I'm going to rip your head off!" Maurice yelled as he launched himself at Rumald, preparing to throw his large fist into Rumald's face.
Without considering his options, Rumald simply ducked and stepped out of the way, dancing quickly around Maurice. Whipping round, Maurice lunged again with another fist aimed at Rumald's head. He twisted out of the path of the fist, raising an eyebrow at the larger man. Maurice let out a frustrated cry before trying again, throwing first his left fist and then his right, when the first had missed its target. Swiping angrily through the air at Rumald, Maurice put himself off balance and Rumald took advantage of the situation, hitting the palm of his hand into the centre of Maurice's chest. The larger man staggered back, clutching both of his hands to his chest, wheezing for breath. His knees hit the floor with a loud thud, while Maurice cradled his hands to his chest, trying desperately to suck in a breath.
Rumald flicked out the tail of his overcoat before he knelt down, bringing him face to face with Maurice. "As soon as you pay me this month's rent, I will return your van. But…" Rumald grabbed Maurice by his throat, tightly squeezing his grip. "If you ever – EVER – think about using Belle as a bargaining chip again, I'll break every bone in your body, starting with the smallest."
Maurice's face was rapidly changing from bright red to a dark reddest colour, as Rumald questioned him. "Do I make myself clear, Mr French?"
A strange noise escaped from deep down in Maurice's throat. Accepting that noise as a 'yes', Rumald let go of Maurice's throat and stood to his full height, while Maurice bundled himself into a ball on the floor, taking in an exaggerated breath, almost sounding like a banshee. Rumald stepped over the poor excuse of a father, tugging at the lapels of his overcoat, and opened the door to the shop, giving Maurice's crumpled form one last look before he stepped out of the shop, closing the door behind him.