Chapter 1.1 - Humble Beginnings

"Um...Sweetheart?"

James grimaced slightly at the tremor in Starla's voice. He knew what was coming...had known since the cab pulled into this less-than-nice neighborhood and the smile had slipped from Starla's face. But he'd still hoped for a miracle.

"Why have we unloaded all of our things in front of this old, abandoned building? Why aren't we going to the house?"

The innocent sing-song in Starla's voice was fake, of course, but James doubted even Starla realized it at the moment. The less Starla liked something, the more childlike and helpless she became. The need to protect her was what had drawn James to Starla in the first place, and it certainly wouldn't hurt her acting career. But at times like this, it grated on James' last nerve. 

"This *is* the house, Sugarplum," James replied. He managed to keep his tone even, despite the sarcastic endearment. Starla just folded her hands in front of her and looked at her feet. Never a good sign.

"Oh Starla, look at me," James coaxed, bringing his wife's gaze back to his face. "It's not as bad as it seems. Loft conversions are all the rage these days, and this one is only ten minutes from the studio. The neighborhood has seen better days, but it's safer than it looks. We'll have the place fixed up in no time. Best of all, we own the property outright...which means we don't have to worry about making rent while you pursue your career."

"The convenience isn't worth this, James!" Starla exclaimed, some of the sweetness gone from her voice. "When we talked about a 'nice little fixer-upper in the suburbs' I thought we were talking about a *house* not...not some old factory with holes in the roof and rats and bugs and..."

Starla's voice rose an octave with each exclamation, and James could tell a fit of hysteria was just around the corner. When one of her hands swung a little too close to his face for comfort, he grabbed her wrist, speaking to her as he would a child.

"Starla, calm down. First of all, this was an old warehouse, not a factory. There are no rats, and any bugs will be gone by this evening, I promise. The holes you're so worried about are in the loft floor, not the ceiling, and I'm going to patch them this afternoon."

Starla jerked her hand away, but she didn't say anything. 

"Honestly, what did you expect? I had just shy of eighteen grand in my trust fund, and we left Sunset Valley with two suitcases full of clothes, a couple of sleeping bags, and my dad's old tool box. I know this isn't what you're used to, but you can't say I wasn't upfront about the "for poorer" part before we said our vows. You knew I couldn't give you the lifestyle you're accustomed to yet. We're going to have to build our life together from the ground up."

"I never asked you for the Ritz!" Starla fumed. "But when you said you would take care of finding us a place of our own, I wasn't expecting this. You can't just drop an abandoned building on a girl and expect things to be all sunshine and daisies!"

James sighed, then brushed past Starla toward the door. She'd calm down eventually, and in the meantime they had work to do.

"I've got a few deliveries and a couple of hired hands coming this afternoon. I need to get the worst of the brambles out of the yard so the truck can pull up to the door. I'd appreciate your help." He didn't allow himself a backward glance, but he let out a breath he hadn't realize he was holding when the front door closed and her quiet footsteps followed behind him.