Ghost 05 - Fairytale Come Alive

by Kristen Ashley

  She exited the bathroom muttering, “I’m not going to have time for makeup.”

  Good, he thought, she looked far more beautiful without that veneer.

  She spied him still in bed.

  “Pren –”

  “Come here,” he murmured.

  Her face went dazed upon hearing his soft command.

  Unfortunately, only for a moment.

  Then her brows snapped together, she nabbed his jeans from the floor and snapped, “Get…” she threw his jeans at him and finished, “up!”

  Then she ran from the room.

  He rolled to his back, sat up and surveyed the room.

  Her journals, jars and bottles were tidy on the nightstand.

  However, the bed was unmade, their discarded towels from that morning and clothes from last night littered the floor and he could see from his place in the bed that she’d left the container of whatever she used on her hair uncapped and sitting on the sink beside her comb, which she also didn’t put away.

  He grinned to himself and got up.

  She made pancakes whilst running back and forth to the guest suite. First, to put on makeup (much to Prentice’s displeasure, however, it was light as that was, as she explained in mutterings to herself, all she had time for) then to do something with her hair (she left it long and loose but dried it) and then to add jewelry and a belt to her outfit of fitted, long sleeve t-shirt, jeans and high-heeled boots.

  Then she tidied the kitchen whilst running up and down the stairs. First, to help Sally dress. Then to show Jason where his football kit was as he couldn’t find it because Elle had actually put it away, something that hadn’t occurred since Fiona died as Jason was responsible for putting away his clean clothes on the occasion that Prentice cleaned them and Jason never did. Then she had to calm Sally’s fears because Blackie had taken a tumble whilst leaping from bed to bureau. Sally was convinced the cat had to go to the “Kitty Doctor” even though Blackie seemed no worse for her fall and was racing around the house like she was being chased by something very frightening and very fast.

  As Prentice led them out to the Range Rover, Elle pulled on a thick knit, heavy, open front cardigan with a wide lapel and hood at the back that looked, even with Prentice’s very limited knowledge of fashion, like it cost a fortune.

  The cardigan had the annoying effect of instantly changing her from Elle to Isabella Evangelista and Prentice didn’t like it.

  That was until she buckled in beside him.

  Even belted in, she fidgeted. If she wasn’t fidgeting, she was twisting around to answer Sally’s incessant questions and to ask Jason if he remembered this or that or half a dozen other things. Then she scooped up her hair and twisted it in a messy knot at the top, back of her head. She didn’t do a stellar job with this, spikes shot out around the holder and tendrils fell down her neck.

  She looked adorable.

  And she looked like Elle.

  Prentice relaxed.

  Elle kept fidgeting.

  They were standing by the field watching Jason’s game when it happened.

  He had his arm around her shoulders. Her arm had slid around his waist and she’d rested her weight against his body. Sally had stopped racing around with the other kids and was leaning against Prentice’s leg, her arm wrapped around his thigh.

  “You know, I have no idea what’s happening,” Elle whispered.

  He looked down at her. She was gazing at the pitch, her eyes focused on something but moving and he knew she was watching Jason.

  He smiled.

  “Do you no’?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  He squeezed her shoulder and her head tipped back to look at him.

  “I’ve never been a sports person,” she admitted.

  He bent his head and touched his lips to hers before he murmured, “I’ll teach you.”

  She smiled and it lit up her eyes.

  No, it lit her entire face.

  Prentice felt her smile hit him with the force of an oncoming lorry before her gaze drifted over his shoulder.

  Then her smile died and her body stilled.

  She started to pull away.

  His arm tensed and he looked over his shoulder. There were two photographers on the other side of the pitch, the lenses of both of their cameras trained on Elle, Sally and him. You didn’t have to be close to know they were snapping shots.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  Sally’s head shot back and she shouted, “Daddy!”

  Elle pulled at his arm saying, “I should –”

  “Don’t move,” Prentice ordered, reflexively placing a protective hand to the top of Sally’s head at the same time halting Elle’s retreat by locking his arm around her.

  She looked at him. “Pren –”

  “Don’t move.”

  “But –”

  He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Ignore them.”

  “But –”

  He dipped his head and rested his forehead against hers.

  “Elle, baby, I said ignore them.”

  “But they’re taking pictures of Sally,” she whispered.

  “Ignore them.”

  “And they’re taking pictures of you.”

  Christ, she could be stubborn.

  His hand went from her shoulder to the back of her neck, he gave her a squeeze there and he asked a question to which he did not expect a response, “Elle, what did say?”

  Her eyes searched his. Then they closed.

  Then she nodded her head and opened her eyes and his Elle was gone.

  Prentice saw it immediately and he wanted to walk across the pitch and do bodily damage.

  He didn’t.

  Even though she’d retreated, still she agreed quietly, “Okay.”

  And she stood by his side in the curve of his arm, when she wasn’t off doing something for Sally or chatting with one of the other Mums, the rest of the match.

  But she did most of this with her fists clenched.

  When they went back to the house, she got the kids sorted and excused herself to her rooms, promising Sally she’d be back so they could make dinner together.

  Prentice gave her some time then he followed her.

  He stopped halfway up the second flight of steps.

  The door to her rooms was open, the scent of lavender drifting out, Elle had changed into yoga gear and was in a yoga pose. She fluidly moved out of the position she was in to another one and, with fascination, he watched her hold it, every inch of her body in her control, legs firm and strong, arms steady. Then she leaned forward and went into a pose where she was on one straight leg, her body balanced perfectly, her stance firm, she made it look effortless and graceful.

  It was serene.

  It was controlled.

  It was beautiful.

  It was extraordinary.

  Although all of this was delightful, what it wasn’t was Elle.

  Silently, he turned and walked down the stairs.

  She rejoined them in time to work with Jason on his guitar and for Sally to help her with dinner. She ate with them. She tidied the kitchen.

  Then she disappeared.

  Prentice gave her some time then he followed.

  His feet in socks making no noise on the stairs, he stopped yet again halfway up the second flight.

  He saw Elle through the door. She was curled into the chair, knees bent, feet up on its edge. The lavender scent was again permeating the air. Her head was bowed and he could see she was writing in one of her journals.

  Peaceful.

  Quiet.

  Withdrawn.

  Not Elle.

  Again, he silently made his way back down the stairs.

  She rejoined them again to get Sally to bed, walking her up the stairs, hand in hand. She stayed upstairs to read Sally a bedtime story.

  “Do me a favor, mate, go to your room,” Prentice said to Jason.

  “But Dad –”

  Prentice looked at his son.
Jason knew that look. He grabbed his guitar, said his goodnight and went up to his room.

  Prentice watched his son until he was out of sight.

  Then he made a decision.

  It might be too soon but he didn’t give a fuck.

  They’d lost twenty years, he’d lost a wife, his children had lost their mother and, as far as he could tell, Elle had lived a life where she had very little that was meaningful to lose.

  Life was too short.

  There was no time to waste.

  He went to the kitchen, found a bottle of red wine Elle had bought and put it on the counter with the corkscrew. He was taking down two glasses when she walked down the stairs.

  “Where’s Jason?” she asked, her eyes on the wine, her expression guarded.

  “Early night,” Prentice answered, grabbing the glasses by their stem and upending them then wrapping his hand around the neck of the bottle and nabbing the corkscrew.

  “Prentice,” Elle said as he walked up to her, “we need to talk.”

  Good, she didn’t intend to delay in telling him what was on her mind.

  That worked for him because neither did he.

  Obviously, Prentice had changed his mind about talking that day; it was just that he now also had something to say.

  “Aye,” he agreed.

  “I…” she started but stopped when he threw an arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the stairs. She began again when they hit the stairs, “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to talk,” he said, resolutely moving her up the stairs.

  “But where?”

  “The best place in the house.”

  She fell silent.

  At the top of the stairs, he directed her toward his rooms.

  Her body jolted.

  “Pren –”

  His arm left her shoulders and the hand with the bottle went to the small of her back. He pushed her into his sitting room.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she whispered when he closed the door behind them.

  “Why no’?” he asked, guiding her through the small sitting room into the bedroom, putting everything on his bureau and opening a drawer.

  “Because…” she began then paused then went on, “Can we talk in your study?”

  He walked up to her with a pair of his thick socks.

  “No,” he held out the socks, gentled his voice and ordered “Put those on, baby.”

  She stared at the socks but didn’t move. He lifted her hand, set the socks in her palm and walked away.

  “Socks?” she asked his back as he opened another drawer.

  “Put them on,” he ordered.

  “But –”

  He turned to look at her.

  She couldn’t even see his face but she still bent and put on the socks.

  When she straightened, he was close and before she could say a word, he pulled one of his jumpers over her head.

  “Um…” she muttered as she shoved her arms through and he tugged the tendrils of hair at her neck free of the collar, “I’m not getting it.”

  He looked at her shadowed form in his sweater. She swam in it.

  Definitely better than the posh cardie.

  He walked away, explaining, “We’re going outside.”

  “We are?”

  He pulled on a jumper. “Aye. Best place in the house.”

  He grabbed the wine and then guided her out the door to the balcony. He put the glasses on the railing and saw her give them a funny look while he uncorked the wine.

  Then her eyes went to his face. He couldn’t see her clearly in the dark but he felt her gaze.

  “Pren,” she said softly.

  He cut her off. “We need to talk about Fee.”

  Even though she was two feet away, Prentice felt her go still.

  He ignored it and poured the wine. Handing a glass to her, he took a sip from his.

  Then Prentice decided it was fucking well time to get a few things straight. Straight enough so that head of hers couldn’t twist them, no matter how hard she tried.

  He got close and circled her with an arm around her chest, turning her so her back was to his front. He rested his weight against the railing and put pressure against her chest with his forearm as indication she should rest her weight against him.

  She struggled with this for a moment. When he didn’t release the pressure, with a sigh she relaxed against him.

  His eyes went to the sea.

  The night was chill, the moon mostly hidden, the sea only a midnight blue blanket with caps of white.

  As it always did, this vision settled him.

  “I loved her,” Prentice whispered and Elle went solid against him for only a moment before her hands came up. Her fingers curling on his forearm, she left them where they were and she relaxed. Prentice went on, “I still do.”

  “You miss her,” Elle said softly.

  “Aye. Every day. Even after all this time, I can open the front door and forget she won’t be on the other side.”

  Her hands squeezed his arm.

  “We were happy,” Prentice told her.

  Elle nodded but he heard her breath hitch.

  This time his arm squeezed her.

  “I’ll always love her, Elle.”

  “Of course,” she whispered.

  He took a sip from his wine and then rested his jaw against her head.

  “I’m a man who’s been blessed.”

  Her body jolted again and she stammered, “Wh… what?”

  “I had Fee. She was no’ long meant for this world but I knew her since she was wee and she was mine for awhile. It was a blessing.”

  Elle relaxed and nodded again. “You’re right, Pren.”

  “Then,” he continued, “you came back.” She went solid as a rock against him but he ignored it and carried on, “I’ve lived a good life in this village, with Fee, but you’re still the best thing that’s been in it.”

  “Oh my God,” she breathed.

  He ignored that too, put his wine glass on the railing and his mouth to her neck.

  “To have Fee, who gave me her and then Jason and Sally and then to have you,” he murmured. “I’m a man who’s been blessed.”

  “Pren –” she started but her breath hitched again and she stopped.

  “Come back to me, Elle,” he coaxed softly.

  She was pulling at his arm with her hands now but he held strong.

  “I don’t give a fuck about the photographers,” he told her. “If they come with you, then Jason, Sally and I’ll get used to it.”

  “You don’t know how bad it can get.”

  “I don’t care, either.”

  “You can’t say that.”

  His mouth left her neck, his jaw went back to her head and his other arm stole around her belly.

  “Aye, I can.”

  “You can’t,” she said firmly.

  She was digging in.

  He decided to switch topics.

  “Tell me about your ex-husband.”

  Her body jerked again.

  Off-guard.

  Good.

  “What? Why?” she asked, her voice higher pitched.

  “Because I want to know.”

  “Why would you possibly want to know?”

  “Because he was part of your life and I want to know about your life which means I want to know about him.”

  “He isn’t that interesting.”

  “Likely no’. You’re still going to tell me.”

  “Pren –” she started, his arms tightened and she stopped.

  His voice dipped lower when he demanded, “Tell me.”

  She was silent. This lasted awhile.

  Finally, she said softly, “Actually, I think this is good.”

  “What?”

  “Telling you about Laurent.”

  Laurent.

  Christ, he even hated the man’s name.

  Over the years, he didn’t think much of Laurent Evangelista be
cause he didn’t allow himself to think much of Elle.

  When Prentice heard about their public split, he did think Laurent Evangelista was all kinds of fool for leaving Elle and going off with a shoddier version.

  Now, he hated him.

  No, actually, he detested him.

  Because someone should have done something about that father of hers, those dreams of hers and how she fisted her hands in that alarming way.

  And it was clear Laurent Evangelista did none of those things.

  “I didn’t love him,” Elle announced, taking him from his thoughts.

  “What?” Prentice asked, surprised.

  “I didn’t love him. I never loved him,” she repeated. “Looking back, I’m not certain I ever even liked him.”

  At that, it was Prentice’s body that grew solid. Feeling it, with a rough jerk, she pulled away. He allowed this because he sensed she needed it.

  He’d disallow it the minute she did not.

  She walked two steps, put her glass to the railing and then turned to him.

  “You won’t be surprised to hear that I married him because my father wanted me to. There wasn’t much I did that my Dad didn’t want me to do.” She waited for that to sink in and, when she received no response, she went on, “Dad liked him. Thought he was a good catch. Said Laurent was our people. He’d known Laurent’s parents for years.”

  “Elle –” he stopped speaking when she turned to face the sea and kept talking.

  “I thought, though, that I’d get something from it. Finally get something I wanted,” she told the sea and her voice dropped to a whisper when she continued, “I was wrong.”

  She was talking about children. A family.

  It was time to disallow the space she no longer needed.

  Prentice approached, Elle retreated but he didn’t let her go. He caught her around the waist and pulled her to him, sliding his arms tight around her.

  She stood stiff in his embrace.

  “Why didn’t you adopt?” he asked quietly.

  “Laurent didn’t want to adopt, so, we didn’t adopt.”

  The way she spoke made it clear that, in her desire to build a family, she tried that too.

  And she, again, failed.

  In other words, what Laurent wanted or didn’t want, Laurent got.

  No matter what Elle wanted.

  Yes, Prentice detested him.

  “You know what’s funny?” she asked the sea, her face turned away from him, her gaze thoughtful.