At that, Isabella’s head shot up and she actually felt her face grow pale. Then, quick as a flash, she threw her napkin on the table and stood up.
“Seconds for anyone?” she asked the table at large.
Jason and Sally both looked startled. As did Mikey.
Prentice’s eyes were locked on her and his brows had knitted.
“My first portion was fit for an elephant, so, no, I don’t want seconds,” Mikey replied.
“I want pudding!” Sally cried.
“I could take seconds,” Jason answered and Isabella could have kissed him.
“I’ll get the casserole,” she declared, bent to Sally and whispered, “Pudding in a second, sweetheart.” Then she walked as calmly as she could to the kitchen.
“You know her father, of course,” Prentice said as she moved away and his voice had a tinge of acid as well.
Isabella’s fingers curled into her palms tightly and briefly, the flash of pain not near enough to get her through this.
“The Wicked Warlock of Chicago?” Mikey drawled. “Wish I didn’t but I do.”
Bella wished at that moment for the first time in her life that she didn’t know Mikey.
“The wicked what of what?” Jason asked, his voice tinged with humor.
“You know Annie and Dougal are a Scottish fairytale come alive?” Mikey asked Jason as Isabella returned with the casserole dish and scooped a heavy spoonful onto Jason’s plate.
“What?” Jason asked, voice now tinged with confusion but also still with humor.
And who could blame him. Where was Mikey going with this?
It was only seconds later Isabella found out she didn’t want to know.
Mikey waved his hand around. “Separated for decades by tragedy, reunited, getting married, the whole fairytale come alive. That’s Annie and Dougal. Well, Bella’s fairytale includes a wicked warlock of a father and an evil duke who stole her away and was a cad and a bounder. But she finally escaped him and now she’s waiting for her knight in shining armor,” Mikey explained.
Isabella stood, holding the mostly empty casserole dish, staring at Mikey in horror.
Jason and Sally were both staring at Mikey with rapt faces. Then their eyes moved to Isabella.
That whole time, Prentice was simply staring at Isabella.
“You were married to a duke?” Jason asked.
“No, she was married to a –” Mikey started.
Isabella swiftly interrupted him by asking, “Prentice, do you want seconds?”
His eyes still locked on her, Prentice shook his head.
She walked directly to the kitchen wishing she could ignore this but she damn well couldn’t.
Sally turned to her father and asked, “Daddy, what’s a bounder?”
“Aye, and what’s a cad?” Jason asked right after Sally.
Isabella wondered how long it would take for Mikey’s body to wash ashore after she threw him over a cliff.
And, also, would they consider foul play if it was just a push?
“Both are names for not very nice men,” Prentice answered his children.
“I don’t like Miss Bella being with a not very nice man,” Sally said quietly.
Well, maybe Isabella would stab Mikey before pushing him.
Or, at least, conk him on the head.
“I don’t either,” Jason mumbled.
No, she decided she’d go with stabbing.
“How’d you get away from the evil duke?” Sally yelled as Isabella slid the apple crumble out of the oven and put it on a hot pad.
“She divorced him,” Mikey answered for her. “And took a boatload of his money with her when she did, thank God.”
Isabella rolled her eyes heavenward. Then she rolled them back and switched off the oven.
“Is she rich?” Jason asked, now amazement was tingeing his voice.
“Filthy,” Mikey answered.
“Miss Bella’s not filthy,” Sally stated crossly.
“Filthy rich, cutie pie,” Mikey amended.
Sally looked to her father as Isabella reluctantly resumed her seat next to the girl. “What’s that mean?”
“It means Miss Bella has a lot of money, baby,” Prentice answered, eyes on his daughter.
“Then Miss Bella can buy me a horse!” Sally shouted, turning bright eyes to Isabella.
Isabella turned irate eyes to Mikey. Mikey grinned.
“She’s not going to buy you a horse,” Prentice stated.
“But –” Sally began.
“No,” Prentice’s tone was firm and unyielding.
Sally’s face drooped into a pout and Isabella decided she’d conk Mikey on the head before stabbing him and then she’d push him over a cliff.
But before that, she had to make it through the night.
She turned to Sally. “I can’t buy you a horse, honey, but you can help me make the custard.”
“I like custard but I like horses better,” Sally retorted through her pout.
Isabella wrinkled her nose and replied, “Horses smell funny and they eat a lot. Custard smells yummy and you get to eat it.”
“Do you have a horse?” Sally asked and Isabella shook her head. “A dog?” she went on and Isabella kept shaking her head. “A cat?” Sally continued and Isabella grinned but kept shaking her head.
“I had a fish once,” she told the girl.
“You can’t pet a fish,” Sally returned.
“This is true,” Isabella murmured.
“And you can’t ride it, unless it was a dolphin. Was it a dolphin?” Sally asked.
“It was a goldfish and you couldn’t ride it. But it had a frilly tail and I named it Goldie.”
Sally gave herself a moment to consider this information.
Then she concluded, “A horse is better than a fish.”
Isabella’s grin widened to a smile and she leaned into Sally. “You got me there. A horse is definitely better than a fish. But horses are still smelly and eat too much. Now, do you want to help with the custard or not?”
Sally’s gave herself a moment to consider this as well, the pout disappeared, her eyes lit up and she awarded Isabella with a small grin.
“I wanna help with the custard,” Sally answered.
“Good girl,” Isabella whispered then looked at the table.
Jason was watching them with a goofy grin on his face.
Mikey was watching Prentice with a satisfied grin on his face.
Prentice was watching Isabella with an unreadable expression on his face.
Isabella decided to ignore it all and wait for Jason to finish his second helping.
“Do you want me to warm that up?” she asked Jason with a polite nod of her head to his plate.
Jason took the hint and started eating.
Mikey chuckled.
Prentice took a sip from his wine without taking his eyes off Isabella.
Sally asked, “Do we have to wait for Jace to finish to make the custard?”
“Yes,” Isabella replied at the exact same time Prentice answered, “Aye.”
At that, Mikey, for some barking mad reason, burst out laughing.
* * * * *
It took two and a half books to get Sally to sleep that night likely because she was wound up over dinner and guests and tales of knights in shining armor who had not yet arrived.
After tucking her in tightly and turning out the light, Isabella hustled out of her room.
Mikey had been downstairs alone with Prentice for two and a half books. No telling what antics he’d get up to.
She quickly walked down the dark hall and was closing on the stairs when she heard the end of something Prentice was saying.
“…Jason and Sally.”
To which Mikey immediately replied, “Of course she would. She lost her mother when she was eight. It isn’t the same, considering her mother slit her wrists, but she still lost her.”
Isabella’s body rocked to a halt and she stood, statue-still, out of sig
ht at the top of the stairs.
She’d never told Prentice about how her mother had died. She wanted to, she’d even rehearsed what to say but she never found the right time.
And, if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want him to think bad things about her mother or her and what her mother’s act might make him think about Isabella.
There were bad vibes rolling up the stairs and pounding against Isabella but her mind was blank with panic and her body was numb with fear.
“I’m sorry?” Prentice asked softly.
“You didn’t know?” Mikey replied, then after a long, pregnant moment, he muttered, “Oh my God, you didn’t know.”
There was more silence, more bad vibes rolling and Isabella didn’t move a muscle.
Then Mikey decided he hadn’t yet finished sharing. “She found her, Prentice. Eight years old and Bella found her mother in a bathtub filled with blood.”
Isabella’s mind shut out the rest of the words and she took a step back then another one, automatically seeking retreat.
She ran into something.
She whirled and stared at Jason who was standing behind her in the dark but she could see his face was white as a sheet.
He’d heard.
“Jason,” she whispered, horror saturating her.
“Your Mum died when you were eight?” Jason whispered back.
“Jason,” Isabella repeated, her mind unfocused, unable to think of anything else to say.
“You found her?”
It was a shout, a shout filled with sheer agony and it felt like it tore apart her ears and her heart.
She instantly dropped to a knee and grabbed Jason’s hands as she heard quick footfalls on the stairs.
“Jason, listen to me, it was a long time ago,” she whispered urgently.
“You found her,” Jason repeated and Isabella felt Prentice with them but her eyes were riveted on his son.
“A long time ago, Jason.”
“Your Mum’s dead, like mine.”
She scooted closer, squeezing his hands and whispered, “Honey.”
He shook his hands free but he didn’t run away.
He threw his body into hers, nearly taking her off-balance and his arms closed around her so tight it hurt.
It didn’t hurt her body. It hurt her heart.
Isabella gathered him close.
“You know how it feels,” he mumbled into her neck, his voice thick with unshed tears.
She melted into his ten year old grieving boy’s arms.
“I know how it feels, sweetheart,” she whispered, her hands moving on his back.
“You know how it feels,” he repeated.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Jace, come here, mate,” Prentice said gently from close and Isabella could feel a soft tug pulling Jason’s body from her arms but Jason stayed fix and the tugging stopped.
“Does it still hurt?” Jason asked and Isabella closed her eyes, stopped stroking his back and held onto the boy even tighter.
What she didn’t do was answer.
Jason pulled a little bit away and looked in her eyes.
After what felt like an eternity, he muttered, “It still hurts.”
She should lie. It would make it easier at that moment for both of them.
But he’d eventually know she lied and she didn’t want Jason Cameron to think she was a liar.
Ever.
So she didn’t lie.
Instead, Isabella put her hands to either side of his head, leaned in close and said quietly, “I’m sorry, Jason, but yes, it still hurts.”
He swallowed.
Then he nodded.
Then he pulled away, turned and walked to his room.
Isabella didn’t look at Prentice as she straightened but when she was upright she saw his broad-shouldered back turning into his son’s room.
Slowly, she walked down the stairs. Mikey was standing, face pale as a ghost, in front of the couch.
Isabella wished she felt fury. Instead, she felt nothing but heartache.
When she got close, Mikey asked in a low voice, “Girlie-girl, why didn’t you tell him?”
She shook her head, too weak even to speak.
And besides, what little strength she had she was using to stop herself from weeping.
“Tonight… all my stories… he didn’t…” Mikey stopped and his eyes grew narrow with confusion and sadness. “When you were with him, did you tell him anything?”
She shook her head but this time, she explained.
“When I was here, I wasn’t that girl with sad eyes,” Isabella whispered in a voice that could barely be heard. “When I was with him, I could be free.”
“Oh darling,” Mikey muttered, pulling her in for a close hug and he hugged her for a long time. Then he murmured in her ear, “Walk me to the door, darling.”
She did as she was told.
He hugged her again at the door and then looked her in the eyes.
“You should tell him, you know. Everything.”
It’s too late, way too late, she thought.
But she said nothing.
Mikey gave her a look before he sighed, kissed her temple and walked out the door.
Isabella went back into the great room and stood motionless, waiting for Prentice to return. It felt like years but was more likely five minutes when she saw him walk down the stairs.
He stopped four feet away from her, his beautiful, every-colored eyes locked on her, his face closed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he replied.
“I’m still sorry,” she pushed.
He gave a jerk of his chin but said nothing else.
“Is he okay?” Isabella asked.
“He will be,” Prentice answered.
Isabella slowly closed her eyes.
Then she opened them and repeated, “I’m so sorry.”
Prentice didn’t reply.
Isabella squared her shoulders and licked her lips, waiting for him to say something.
He said nothing. In fact, he looked like he was waiting for her to say something.
She pulled in a deep breath. Then she let it go.
Then she said something.
“I’ll just… head to bed,” she told him.
He didn’t say a word.
She turned to the hall.
“Fifteen months,” Prentice said.
She turned back to Prentice.
“Pardon?” she asked.
“Fifteen months we were together and you didn’t say a fucking word. We spent every minute we could together when you were here and when you weren’t we spent every minute we could talking and you didn’t say a fucking word.” Isabella felt her heart start beating faster but Prentice wasn’t finished. “Did you give a fuck about me at all?”
Bile started climbing up her throat, she ignored it, clenched her hands in fists and simply replied, “Prentice.”
“No.” He shook his head. “You didn’t. If you did, you would have fucking shared your life with me. At least part of it. You didn’t share fuck all. I was in love with you, I asked you to marry me, for fuck’s sake, and I didn’t even know you.”
Her heart stopped beating faster and started slamming against her chest, her nails tore fiercely into her palms and her eyes flew to the stairs.
“Prentice, the children,” she warned.
“Tell me now,” he demanded.
Her eyes jerked to him and her heart stopped.
“What?” she breathed.
“All of it, Isabella. Tell me now.”
“But… why?” she stammered.
He leaned forward at the waist and clipped, “God damn it, tell me now.”
Isabella could take no more.
“Why?” she snapped, throwing her unclenched hand through the air. “What does it matter now?”
But he wasn’t paying attention to her. His eyes had followed her hand.
“Jesus,” he
muttered, anger out of his voice, gaze still on her hand. “You’re bleeding.”
She quickly looked at her palm, saw he was right and closed her hand into a fist. As she did this, he advanced so he was close.
Very close.
She tipped her head back to look at him and declared, “It’s nothing.”
His head was bent toward her hand, his fingers closed on her wrist and he said, “Elle, you’re bleeding. Let me look.”
Isabella blinked, feeling the name only he used wash over her like she hadn’t had a bath in decades and that name was warm, clean water.
“Open your hand,” he ordered, his thumb insistently pressing on her fingers, he looked distractedly over his shoulder to the kitchen and asked, “Did you break a glass washing up?”
“It’s nothing,” she repeated.
His head came back around and he lifted her hand between them, thumb unrelenting, trying to open her closed fist.
“Let me see,” he murmured coaxingly.
Panic stricken, she jerked her wrist and he lost hold. When he did, his eyes snapped to hers.
“I said, it’s nothing,” she whispered.
Prentice stared at her.
Isabella took a step back, holding her wrist where his hand was, feeling his warm strength still there. Memorizing it, she pressed her hand against her chest.
His eyes dropped to her hand. Then they went back to hers.
And they were cold. So cold, she shivered.
“Secrets,” he said softly, his voice awful. “Which is the same as lies. Secrets and fucking lies.”
She held his gaze, it cost her but she held it and didn’t breathe a word.
After long moments, Prentice looked to the floor and shook his head.
Then he turned away and asked, “Turn the lights out, will you?”
Then he walked up the stairs and disappeared from sight.
Chapter Seven
Elle
Prentice
Prentice stood on the terrace of the pub, whisky in hand, eyes on the sea.
Two days it had been since he’d discovered Isabella had not abandoned her best friend in her hour of need but, against the odds (and Annie could be stubborn so Prentice knew the odds were most assuredly against Isabella), she nursed Annie back to her old self.
Two days it had been since he discovered she’d endured only the beginning but most definitely not the end of a fairytale.
Ghost 05 - Fairytale Come Alive Page 12