Several instances in the past few weeks when he sounded odd on the phone immediately come to my mind. Could Natalie's departure be the reason for that?
I scrutinize him intently, but his expression gives nothing away. "I'm curious," I say pensively, deferring not only this conversation but also the talk about my epilepsy for later. I follow him into the house, where he leads me directly to his study and grabs a large roll of paper.
"Are you ready?" His expectant gaze makes me smile. "I present to you…" He almost ceremoniously unrolls the paper, revealing the content.
It's a drawing. A plan of the estate.
"… our future." He raises his eyebrows, his eyes shining.
I step closer to study the plan. But Florian seems so excited that he can't give me a second to process it.
"Okay, let me explain. Up here in the front, we're putting in a completely new pool. We'll build one of those super chic stainless-steel pools. Surround it with black granite. The sun loungers will be white. Everything will be luxurious. And modern," he gushes.
Luxurious? Modern? That doesn't fit the estate at all.
"This way, we can charge even more for nightly stays than if we just had standard accommodations like everyone else in the area," he says, his cheeks glowing with enthusiasm. "I've already spoken to the pool company and placed the order. They have long lead times, so I didn't want to wait." His index finger moves on the plan. "See this? It will be a bar. We'll pave this area, and in the center, we'll have a fan palm. And we'll get cool orange lounge furniture. You know, the ones without cushions."
Cool lounge furniture? "You mean the plastic ones?" I ask, dismayed. He can't be serious.
He nods eagerly. "Exactly. The guests will love it. And that ugly patch of grass in the back will be gone too. We're building a golf course there; that'll attract wealthy customers as well."
The area he refers to as anugly patch of grassis my poppy field. The place where I envisioned a winding gravel path and a romantic pavilion in my mind. But that's not all. Frowning, I look up from the drawing to him. "It was supposed to be an inn, not a luxury hotel for the rich and famous."
"The plans have changed," he dismisses my objection as if he didn't want to hear it. "This is better, I promise. It will help us reach our goal much faster." He spreads his arms wide. "This old inn here isn't prestigious enough. We'll sell it off once the estate starts running."
"What?" I'm so taken aback that I can barely sort my thoughts. We're going to emigrate? He can't decide that without me.
As if he expected a completely different reaction from me, he lowers the plan with a disappointed expression. "What's wrong? Don't you like it?" He sounds offended.
"I don't like it at all!" I reply in horror.
A mixture of disbelief and anger spreads across his face. "I thought you'd be happy." He sounds hurt.
Immediately, I bite my tongue. Have I hurt him with my words? Should I have been more careful? Pondering, I step closer to him and place my hand on his forearm. "I'm sorry," I say conciliatory. "It's just…"
He backs away as if he doesn't want my proximity. "What?" he asks.
Automatically, I lower my gaze. I feel small. It's the exact feeling I've carried within me all my life and had long accepted as a part of me. Until Vico showed me that I don't have to. That what I have to say is valuable. That my opinion matters. And so do my desires—in all their colors.
I won't let this feeling take hold of me again. Not after I now know how life can feel.
Taking a deep breath, I lift my head and gaze firmly into Florian's eyes. "I, too, have been thinking about how the estate could look after the renovation," I say resolutely.
A steep furrow forms between his eyebrows. "Why on earth would you do that?" His words carry bewilderment.
Of course, he doesn't understand. How could he, when he doesn't know the new Hanna yet? The one who is aware of her worth. The one who knows what she wants. "I let my imagination roam," I can barely believe I just said that. At the same time, I'm filled with pride that thanks to everything I experienced in Tuscany, I can finally embrace my artistic soul and no longer be ashamed of it.
"Pfff," he scoffs and rolls his eyes. "You and your daydreams."
Now, it's me who takes a disappointed step back. "Just listen to it before you judge." My voice is firm, just like my gaze.
"Come on, Hanna Daydreamer," he spits out the words like spoiled milk. Did he really call me that? Even though I've always tried not to show him this side of me?
Since when has he been like this?
"Weren't you listening to me earlier? I've already set everything in motion. I had drawings made, made down payments, and placed orders. The look of the estate has already been decided," he snaps at me.
I can hardly organize my thoughts.
