“You have that right,” Debs snapped back.
Isabella leveled her gaze on Debs and, if Fiona could still feel she would have felt a chill.
“Yes,” she said in a strong, cultured, not at all soft or breathy voice, “I do.”
Then without looking at Prentice, who was staring at her in what Fiona knew exactly was shock, or anyone else, Isabella turned to Annie and said, back to her soft voice, “I need to freshen up. I’ll be back for champagne.”
She leaned in and kissed her friend, nodded to Mikey and then gracefully and slowly walked up the stairs, arse swaying, like she hadn’t a care in the world.
Fiona’s apprehensive eyes moved to Prentice knowing he was an ass man and that was one fine ass, even as a woman she had to appreciate it. One could safely say Isabella Austin Evangelista had, somehow, since Fiona had died and seen any photos of her, put on a few pounds but, for her, they were a few good pounds which Fiona thought was distinctly unfair.
But Prentice wasn’t checking out Isabella’s arse, he was pulling his sister to the door.
“A word,” he said in his deep, warning voice that said, quite clearly, Debs was in trouble and not a little bit of it.
The door closed behind them and Annie swung around on Dougal.
“Debs is now officially uninvited to the wedding.”
“Annie, luv –”
Annie shook her head and lifted her hand. “Nope, nuh-unh, no. Un… in… vite… ed.”
Then she flounced from the room toward the kitchen.
Dougal cast an apologetic glance to Fergus and Mikey and followed her.
“I’m thinking this is going to be an interesting week,” Mikey commented blandly.
Fergus looked at his guest. “And I’m thinking you’re not wrong, lad.”
Fiona couldn’t agree with them more.
Then her mind switched to Isabella’s (possible but not probable) flinch when Prentice said her name and, again, she had to ponder what was that all about?
Chapter Two
Accommodation Arrangements
Prentice
Prentice opened the front door to his home, trying to unclench his jaw, and turned to Isabella, sweeping his arm wide to indicate she should precede him.
She nodded and did as he indicated, gracefully carrying one of her four suitcases as if it weighed no more than a feather when he knew it did not.
His six year old daughter, Sally, followed, not gracefully at all lugging an enormous cosmetics case not wanting to be left out and having a strange, six year old girl fascination with a fancy, huge cosmetics case.
His ten year old son, Jason, manfully heaved up the third largest suitcase and entered the house.
Prentice followed with the largest one, dropped it in the vestibule and then moved through the three of them, all of whom stopped and looked at him questioningly.
“Leave the luggage in the hall, kids, I’ll see to it later,” he ordered, his voice tight and Jason gave him a look Prentice carefully didn’t return as he passed his son and went into Fiona’s huge, open plan great room.
Prentice was going to kill his sister because her behavior had made it impossible to say no when Annie had announced her ridiculously inappropriate plans for the accommodation arrangements of two of her many wedding guests.
Mikey would be staying at Fergus’s house.
Isabella would be staying with Prentice, Jason and Sally.
Dougal’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when Annie made her announcement. Fergus’s eyes had rolled to the ceiling. Mikey’s lips had twitched and he looked carefully to the side. Isabella had remained completely cool and took a sip from her champagne.
Then she said, “I’d like to stay with you and Fergus, if you don’t mind, Annie.”
“I don’t mind but Richard and Robert are going to be here later tonight and Mikey might mind.” Annie leaned into Mikey and whispered loudly, “They’re both fit and they’re both gay and they’re both single.”
Mikey leaned to Annie and whispered back (loudly), “Really?”
Annie widened her eyes comically and nodded.
Mikey turned to Isabella. “You’re staying with Prentice.”
Isabella sighed then replied, “I couldn’t impose. I’ll get a room in a hotel.”
Dougal started nodding and sat forward but Annie got there before him.
“You’re in the Scottish Highlands, my lovely, the closest hotel is twenty-five miles away and it’s booked with my party guests. Not… gonna… happen.”
Isabella didn’t lose even a little of her composure as her eyes moved to Prentice. “Perhaps we should ask Prentice if it’s okay if I stay with his family. I’m sure they’re very busy with school and work and activities and the like.”
She was, to his vague surprise, trying to give him an out.
Or, more likely, covering her own hide as she probably didn’t want to sleep under the roof of a man who she’d heartlessly played twenty years ago.
However, twenty minutes after his sister had verbally accosted her in the foyer of her friend’s home, he could hardly say no.
Therefore, he said, “We have plenty of room.” Then he lied, “You’re more than welcome.”
She didn’t miss a beat, nodded to him and said, “Well, that’s kind of you.”
Then she took another sip of her drink and started to study the carpet.
Complete cool.
In fact, ice cold.
How was he once in love with this woman?
An hour later, when he had to pick up the kids, he took her to the school and she stood beside him while Jason had sauntered and Sally had rushed toward the 4x4.
Sally came to a skidding halt and stared at Isabella. Then her wide, glittering, happy eyes swung to her father.
“Is she a movie star?” Sally breathed.
Isabella startled him by laughing. It was not the uproarious, full-throated laughter he knew from decades ago. This was more controlled but, nevertheless, authentic.
“You’re my new best friend,” she told Sally.
Prentice mentally braced.
His daughter was all girl, all girl with no mother and the likes of Isabella was undoubtedly a dream come true.
“I am?” Sally whispered.
“You are,” Isabella confirmed on a nod then went on, sealing Prentice’s doom, “I like your nail polish.”
Sally held up her hands and surveyed them. “It needs changed.”
“I’m a pretty dab hand with a manicure,” Isabella replied.
Prentice had no doubt of that.
“You’d give me a manicure?” Sally asked, like this was her most fervent wish when he knew that morning (because she told him, twice), her most fervent wish was to have a horse and the morning before it had been to go shopping at Harrods, not that he knew where she picked up that ludicrous idea and lamented the fact that his daughter had to go to school at all, especially when there were other girls there with imaginations far more vivid than Sally’s, which was saying something.
“I’m Bella,” Isabella said softly and Sally sighed.
“No, you’re Mrs. Evangelista,” Prentice stated firmly and Isabella’s head turned to him enquiringly but he ignored her and looked at his daughter. “And she’s staying with us for a week. She’s Annie’s maid of honor.”
“And I’m the flower girl!” Sally trilled, rushing up to Isabella and grabbing her hand. “We are going to be best friends, even better! Annie’s-wedding-friends!”
Prentice sighed, Jason, who had arrived, stared at his sister like she was from another planet.
“This is my son, Jason,” Prentice offered.
“Hello,” Isabella said softly, studying his son.
Jason moved his stare to her, pink hit his cheeks then he moved to the 4x4 and muttered, “’Lo.”
Fiona’s death had caused Sally confusion and distress, both of which she worked through with the spirit and zest for life that she’d inherited from her mother.
Fiona’s death had caused Jason immense pain which had not abated in the slightest in over a year.
The drive home had been filled with Sally’s chatter which was lucky even as it was annoying.
Now they were home and Prentice had no earthly clue what to do with Isabella Evangelista.
What he did know was that there was only one thing more hateful than having this woman in the home he’d built for Fiona and that one thing was the fact that Fiona no longer shared that home with him.
Sally, however, knew exactly what to do.
“I’m starving,” she cried, dancing into the great room, holding Isabella’s hand and dragging her along. “Daddy, make us toad in the hole,” she demanded.
“I want takeaway,” Jason muttered as he slouched through the room, threw the post on the kitchen counter then headed toward the open-backed stairway that led to the second floor.
“We had takeaway last night,” Sally whined, “and the night before.”
She wasn’t wrong.
It had been takeaway the night before that too.
Fiona had done the cooking and the shopping. Since she was no longer there and the only things Prentice could cook that didn’t taste crap were cheese on toast, beans on toast and toad in the hole, takeaway was a staple for the Cameron family.
“It’s takeaway, lass, I’ve got things to do,” Prentice murmured, hitting the kitchen that opened to the great room, separated by a long, wide, v-shaped counter with stools and on its other side, floor to cathedral ceiling windows that faced the sea.
He picked up the post.
“I’ll cook,” Isabella offered and Prentice’s head snapped up.
Earlier, he’d been incorrect. It was more hateful having Isabella in Fiona’s kitchen cooking than it was simply having Isabella in Fiona’s house. Or, more to the point, cooking better than Fiona in Fiona’s kitchen.
Fiona was a damn fine cook however, if memory served, Isabella was an excellent one. Her cooking was a delicious mixture of home-cooking and gourmet. When she’d been there twenty years ago, both summers, she did it often for him, his family, their friends and she’d cooked and served fabulous tasting meals like it was second nature.
Sally’s head tilted back excitedly to look at her new idol.
“You cook and wear high heels?” she asked as if this was an act akin to negotiating world peace with global socialized healthcare thrown in.
“We don’t have any food in the house,” Prentice cut in and Isabella’s eyes moved to him.
“I’ll go to the store.”
Sally jumped up and down. “Can I go to the store with Bel… I mean, Mrs. Evangahlala? Can I, can I, can I?”
“I said takeaway,” Prentice replied.
“Daddeeeeeee!” Sally whined.
“Takeaway,” Prentice repeated and Sally’s face fell.
Fucking, bloody, hell.
He gave in.
He couldn’t help it. He hated it when Sally’s face fell.
However, he needed time to adjust to the idea. He also needed time with Jason to see how his son was faring with movie star glamorous Isabella Evangelista in the house.
“Perhaps Mrs. Evangelista will cook for us tomorrow night,” he suggested.
Sally jumped up and down, clapping and whirling toward Isabella.
“Will you? Will you, will you, will you?”
Isabella smiled down at his daughter and said softly, “Of course, sweetheart.”
Sally stopped jumping and clapping and stared in bright-eyed, happy wonder at Isabella.
At the same time Prentice felt like someone had hit him in the gut with a sledgehammer.
Then he felt his temper flare.
This woman was not going to turn her considerable charm on his children then walk out of their lives without a second thought.
He started to move around the kitchen counter saying, “Isabella, I’ll show you to your room.”
“I’ll go too!” Sally announced, grasping Isabella’s hand.
“No, baby, you go put your books in your room,” Prentice ordered.
“Daddy,” Sally whined.
“Now, Sally. I need a word with Isabella.”
Sally sighed with aggrieved exaggeration and then stomped to the stairs.
Prentice headed to the back hall that led to the backstairs that led to the guest suite that was removed from the family areas. It was a suite he’d designed because Fiona said guests needed privacy and when she’d been alive, with her many friends and huge family, it had been occupied frequently.
Since her funeral, it had never been occupied.
Isabella followed.
When she walked into the room, she looked around and Prentice closed the door.
Then she turned to Prentice.
“You have a beautiful home,” she said softly.
Prentice ignored the compliment.
“There are sheets in the wardrobe in the bedroom. Towels in the cupboard in the bathroom. This room,” he indicated the small but welcoming and cozy (Fiona had made it the latter two) sitting room, “has its own phone line, broadband and television so you can have privacy.”
“Thank you.”
Prentice decided it was best if he made his wishes very clear and he didn’t delay.
“I expect you to be in here as often as possible when you’re in my house.”
He could swear he saw her body lock.
“Sorry?” she asked, again with that odd, soft voice.
“I think you heard me,” he replied.
“Prentice –” she started but stopped when he shook his head.
“I’m sure you’re aware that my children lost their mother a year ago. Sally’s obviously looking for anyone to fill that feminine gap and it isn’t going to be you.”
Her face didn’t lose any of its composure as her eyes stayed unwavering on his.
“Prentice –” she started again but he kept talking.
“This is a holiday for you but it’s their life.”
“I wouldn’t do –”
Prentice cut her off and his tone was biting. “Wouldn’t you?”
She looked to the floor immediately and stated, “I deserved that.”
Christ, she was a piece of work.
His temper, already at the surface, boiled over.
“You’ve said that already but you didn’t mean it when you said it to Debs and you don’t mean it now.”
Her eyes shot back to his and she opened her mouth but he didn’t let her speak.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing this time but I reckon you know I’m no’ playing it. What you need to know is, you aren’t playing it with my children.”
“I’m not playing a game,” she returned coolly.
“That’s good then,” he replied but it was impossible to miss the way he said it meant he didn’t believe one word out of her mouth.
And Isabella didn’t miss it.
She leaned forward slightly. “I lost my mother when I was young too. I would never play games with any children, especially not yours.”
“I’ve no idea what a woman like you does for fun,” Prentice shot back. “I just want you to understand whatever fun you intend to have, it will no’ involve my family.”
She crossed her arms and hugged her elbows, whispering, “I don’t deserve this.”
Prentice was silent.
She held his gaze.
Then, as if unable to stop herself, she asked, “What kind of woman do you think I am?”
She shouldn’t have asked it. She knew it and so did he.
He should have let it go.
He didn’t let it go.
Instead, he answered, “The kind of woman who’d play with a man’s heart without a second thought then leave her best friend in a hospital bed for months without lowering herself for that first goddamned visit.”
Prentice watched with detached fascination as her composure slipped for a split second, exposing pain, before she regained it.
Her face softened slightly. “Perhaps I should explain.”
“I don’t want an explanation,” he returned and he didn’t, he was twenty years and a dead wife away from explanations. “I want to know we understand each other.”
Isabella was silent for a moment.
Then she whispered, “Sally likes me.”
“Sally likes everyone.”
Isabella pressed her lips together for a brief moment and he could swear it was an effort to hide her genuine reaction. This was an effort that worked; she gave not that first thing away.
Then she nodded.
“Of course, Prentice,” she gave in quietly. “I’ll stay in these rooms.”
“Except when you cook Sally dinner tomorrow night. That’s one promise you’re going to keep.”
He didn’t wait for her to agree.
He left.
And he put her out of his mind while he called for takeaway.
To Sally’s dismay and Prentice’s relief, Isabella didn’t join them for dinner.
* * * * *
Fiona
Fiona knew she should not hang out in the guest suite but she did mainly because she’d been there when Prentice had told Isabella off and since she couldn’t verbally crow, she wanted to ethereally crow.
She shouldn’t have.
If she hadn’t, she would have missed what Isabella Austin Evangelista did.
See, Prentice brought up her bags and she thanked him graciously while he completely ignored her (this had made Fiona smile).
Then Isabella had taken off her suit jacket and Fiona had been supremely happy she hadn’t done it in front of Prentice for the shirt underneath might have had a high neck but it also had no sleeves and it was sexy as all hell.
Then she made the bed and carefully unpacked as if all her precious belongings should be placed in a high security vault, not the lowly (but beautiful) guest suite that Prentice had designed for their home.
She’d placed four leather bound volumes next to the bed, arranging them amongst her plethora of expensive night creams and eye creams and even (Fiona narrowed her eyes to get a look at the tiny, squirty bottle) aromatherapy (for God’s sake, aromatherapy?).
She’d showered which Fiona absented herself for and spent some time with her wee ones.
Fairytale Come Alive Page 4