“So?” Jason asked. “People get their feelings hurt all the time. Worse stuff happens.”
Prentice’s face changed, anguish tore through it because both her husband and son had learned that lesson.
And Jason was right. Worse stuff happens, that was the God’s honest truth. Fiona was beyond the veil existence proof of it.
And now Fiona knew that something did not quite fit together with Isabella Austin Evangahlala.
There were, indeed, two sides to every story and no one knew Isabella’s.
Except perhaps Annie, Mikey and Fergus and they were all intensely loyal to her, something Fiona never understood about Annie or Fergus and didn’t think much about, until now.
Fiona felt another bolt of worry tear through her.
“Aye, Jason, worse stuff happens,” Prentice agreed.
“You should have said something,” Jason accused and Fiona was surprised at the heat behind his words.
He was defending Isabella. Fiona didn’t know what to feel about that but she had to admit the first thing it felt like she felt was pride.
Then again, Jason had always been a good lad.
“Jason –” Prentice started.
“You know she’s no’ a bad lass. You ate her pancakes.”
“Jace –” Prentice tried again.
“And she liked Mum,” Jason kept at it.
“Jason, it’s complicated,” Prentice finally got out.
“I don’t know what’s complicated about it. She’s nice and she painted Sally’s fingernails. And people like you. You’ve been living here all your life. They’d listen to you.”
Fiona watched as Prentice approached his son, reaching him and putting his hand on Jason’s tense shoulder.
“You’re right, I should have said something.”
“Next time, you hafta say something.”
Prentice nodded. “Aye, I will.”
Jason stared at him and Prentice held his stare. Then Jason nodded back and mumbled he was going to bed. Prentice went to his study and Fiona hovered with him until they heard Isabella come down the stairs. The minute he heard it, Prentice got up and walked into the great room, Fiona floating after him.
Isabella didn’t hesitate or look at him; she went straight toward the hall.
“Goodnight, Prentice,” she whispered, intent on (nearly) ignoring him.
Prentice had other ideas.
He took two long strides and his hand wrapped around her upper arm, halting her.
Fiona watched Isabella’s hands ball into fists and she bit her ghostly lip. She was beginning to hate it when Isabella did that.
Which was a lot.
Isabella’s head tilted back and she looked at Prentice. “Is there something you want?”
“Aye,” Prentice answered. “I want to know if Sally’s asleep.”
Isabella nodded. “PJs on, I even got her to brush her teeth before getting into bed. I didn’t get halfway through the book before she was out.”
Prentice didn’t move nor did he take his hand from Isabella’s arm. She shrugged her shoulder, bringing his attention to his hand. He still didn’t remove it.
“Prentice, I’m tired,” she said and she sounded tired.
She sounded shattered.
“Today –” Prentice started.
“No!” Isabella’s tone was sharp and it so surprised Prentice (and Fiona) that they both jerked (even Fiona).
Isabella twisted her arm but Prentice didn’t let her go.
“Isabella –” Prentice began again.
She stopped twisting her arm and glared at him. “Let me go.”
“I’ll have a word with –”
Isabella turned to face him, her expression grew cold and her brows went up. “What word will you have, Prentice? And with who? And why? In four days I’m gone.”
“But you still have four days.”
She laughed, it was an ugly sound.
Fiona felt something pierce her non-existent heart and she saw Prentice’s body go completely still.
“Trust me, Prentice, in my life? Four days of this is nothing. Four days is a walk in the park.”
Fiona saw Prentice’s hand tighten just as his brows drew together.
“Maybe I’ll take that offer you made a few days ago and you can explain,” Prentice said quietly.
She twisted her arm and she did it viciously, winning freedom from Prentice’s hand.
But she didn’t move away.
“Too late,” Isabella replied, her voice back to soft. “In four days, I’ll be gone and you’ll forget about me.” She threw out her arm, a movement that signified the villagers. “They’ll forget about me.” She pointed up the stairs and her voice changed, it grew rough as if coated with unshed tears. “And they’ll forget about me.”
Prentice got closer, Isabella stepped back.
When Prentice spoke again, his voice had grown soft and rough with emotion too.
“You’re not easy to forget.”
Isabella’s head tilted to the side as if genuinely perplexed.
“Really?” she asked quietly. “You could have fooled me.”
With that successful parting shot, she turned on her booted foot and walked away.
Prentice watched her go. Then he watched the empty hall. Then, as Fiona knew he’d do, he went to the study, got himself a whisky and went to the upstairs balcony to study the sea.
After some time, he went back to his study, refilled the glass and resumed his position on the balcony.
He left that glass on the railing beside the other one.
Chapter Six
Knight in Shining Armor
Isabella
Isabella sat in the car beside Mikey as he drove them back to Prentice’s house after they’d had the formal tea with Annie’s bridal party, select close, female friends and Mikey, Robert and Richard.
Today had not been as bad as yesterday mainly because there were very few villagers there (especially Hattie Fennick, who Isabella always thought kind of disliked her but then again, Hattie seemed to kind of dislike everyone) and Clarissa, Annie’s Mom, had finally arrived and she was another one of the few people on the planet who liked Isabella.
Also making the day not so bad was the fact that Isabella only saw Prentice for a very brief period of time.
She’d woken early, done the ironing, had the coffee brewed and was pouring herself a second cup by the time Prentice came downstairs wearing, by the by, a shirt that was very handsome on him but really needed to be ironed.
His beautiful eyes never left her as he moved directly to the coffeepot, saying, “Morning, Isabella.”
“I’m making the children breakfast,” she blurted in reply, rather impolitely and her voice didn’t sound soft and foggy like it did when she was on the anti-depressants but almost, to her own ears, defiant.
His attention turned away from the cupboard from which he was pulling a mug to her and his brows were up.
Then his face changed, she didn’t know how but it did.
“You are?” he asked quietly.
She instantly had second thoughts about defying Prentice Cameron. If yesterday was anything to go by, he could be moody and if the days before were anything to go by, he could be mean.
She didn’t reply, just held his stare.
Then he queried, “What are you making us?”
He said “us”. That word out of his mouth gave her a shiver up her spine.
Earlier, while she was ironing and psyching herself up to approach him about breakfast, she hadn’t thought forward to what she was actually going to make, just that she was going to demand the right to make it.
She made a quick decision and announced, “A fry up.”
He burst out laughing.
Isabella stared.
God, she forgot how handsome he was when he laughed. She thought she remembered but she sure as heck didn’t.
Or, maybe it was that he looked better now.
She hid her reaction
to his laughter and calmly waited until he got over his bizarre hilarity.
He turned his attention to the coffee, saying, “You feed my kids a fry up before school, they’ll be asleep within fifteen minutes of hitting their desks.”
“Children,” Isabella retorted, her voice cold and authoritative, “I’ve read, need a good breakfast before school. Brain food.”
Prentice turned to her, leaned a hip to the counter and sipped his coffee, his eyes never leaving her.
Then he replied, “Porridge is brain food. Make them porridge. There’s instant –”
She cut him off by declaring evenly, “I’m not making instant oatmeal.”
He studied her for a long moment then grinned and gave in, saying, “Suit yourself.”
With relief, she tore her gaze from his sexy, grinning face and walked away, murmuring, “I will.”
She didn’t go the way of the fry up (it wouldn’t be good if the kids fell asleep in school that would be yet another thing the villagers could hold against her).
But she did make scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese, bacon and toast coated in butter and lime marmalade.
And she made it for all of them.
Including Prentice.
While the kids were leaving the kitchen and Prentice (she thought) was in his study, Isabella caught Jason and said, “I’ve done the ironing, including your father’s shirts. Can you take them upstairs and put them away before school?”
“Can’t I do it tonight?” Jason asked.
She leaned in conspiratorially and asked in a teasing tone, “Honey, have you seen his shirt?” Then she shook her head. “No, you can’t do it tonight. You might forget and I don’t know when I’ll be back. It must be done,” her voice lowered jokingly to indicate the gravity of the situation, “and it must be done now.”
Jason grinned at her dramatic delivery then his eyes slid to the side, caught on something and he let out a little snicker.
Isabella felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She slowly turned and saw Prentice there, arms crossed on his chest, eyes on her, facial expression indicating that, perhaps, he heard every word she said.
“Is there something wrong with my shirt?” he asked in a low tone.
Yes, he heard.
Oh dear. What did she do now?
Well, she might as well be honest.
Her eyes dropped to his chest then went back to his face.
“It’s a lovely shirt. It just needs ironing.”
His hands went to the buttons while he enquired, “Should I do that now?”
“No!” she (nearly) cried, taking a swift step forward and putting a hand up, not wanting to see his chest again, ever, until the day she died.
He went on, “I wouldn’t want to embarrass the Cameron name.”
He couldn’t do that even if his shirt was in tatters.
And his pants.
He looked over her shoulder and winked at his son.
Isabella relaxed.
Prentice was teasing, not her, but Jason. She could deal with that.
“I’ll get you another shirt,” she offered on a whisper, not looking at him and moving toward the mudroom.
“I’d be obliged,” he murmured as she rounded him and felt his eyes on her.
There were, luckily, no more incidents but Sally demanded Isabella stand on the front steps and wave them away “until we’re out of sight”.
Which she did.
“How are things with Mr. Broody-Hot?” Mikey asked, taking Isabella out of her thoughts.
Mr. Broody-Hot. Where did Mikey come up with this stuff?
“If you mean Prentice,” Isabella answered, “they’re nearly one day closer to me being out of here.”
“That bad?” Mikey asked quietly.
Isabella looked at her friend’s profile. “Next time you love a man for twenty years, return to him and he thinks you jilted and made a fool of him and you have to sleep under his roof for a week, slowly falling in love with his two children then you can tell me how bad it is.”
“I’d say that’s bad,” Mikey returned.
Isabella didn’t reply because she didn’t need to.
“You’re falling in love with his children?” Mikey asked, voice still quiet.
Mikey knew all about her quest to get pregnant. He’d lived through it with her, though he’d been in Chicago and she’d been, well, globe-trotting with Laurent.
“There’s a good deal to love.”
Mikey sighed. “I noticed they’re good kids.”
Isabella was again silent.
“They like you,” Mikey said.
Isabella looked out the window. “More fool them.”
She felt Mikey squeeze her thigh. “There’s a good deal to like, girlie-girl.”
Hardly, she thought but she kept her silence.
Mikey slid to a halt outside Prentice’s house and ogled it through her window as he had that morning when he came to pick her up.
“I’ve got to say, Bella darling, this house is something else.”
She couldn’t agree more.
She stared at the house, sprawling and imposing on its cliff, somehow looking like it erupted from the cleft where it was situated and belonged there.
She hadn’t seen any of his other work but if this was anything to go by, Prentice was very talented.
Not for the first time she thought her father was an idiot. Even Carver Austin, who could find fault in anything, wouldn’t have been able to find fault with this house.
She pulled her eyes from the house and turned back to Mikey while saying, “Thanks for the ride.”
But she said it to no one. Mikey was out of the door and closing it.
She didn’t have a good feeling about this.
Isabella got out her side and slammed the door, calling, “Mikey, what’re you doing?”
“Bumming a meal off Mr. Broody-Hot,” Mikey scarily answered. “I’m famished.”
Isabella, mind scrambled near to panic at the very idea of Mikey sharing a meal with Prentice and his family without a variety of other distractions available to Prentice, Sally, Jason and Mikey, opened the backdoor and grabbed one of the bags of groceries she’d bought (it was early enough for her to intervene in takeaway and she fully intended to do it).
“You’d be bumming a meal off me,” she told Mikey. “I bought the food and I’m saying no, you can’t stay.”
Mikey reached in, grabbed the other bag then threw the door to. “You can’t say no, it isn’t your house.”
“You can’t stay,” Isabella retorted, standing out in the crisp, chill air and perfectly willing to stand out there until Christmas if it took that long to talk him out of staying for dinner.
“Why on earth not?” Mikey enquired.
Mikey loved her unreservedly. Isabella had no problems being honest with Mikey.
“Because you can be unpredictable,” she answered.
Mikey mixed with Prentice mixed with Sally, for God’s sake. That was a recipe for disaster.
He grinned at her. “Life’s a lot more fun that way.”
Life was never fun at all in Isabella’s estimation.
He started marching to the door, Isabella’s panic escalated, she opened her mouth to protest but the door opened and Sally shot out of it, screeching, “You’re home!”
Oh dear.
Sally entered the mix.
Sally came to a skidding halt and stared at Isabella.
“I love your outfit!” she shrieked.
“And I love this child,” Mikey muttered.
Isabella gave him an “I told you so” look. Mikey smiled.
Sally started her dash again, collided with Isabella and threw her arms around Isabella’s thighs.
Isabella steadied her body and allowed herself to let the sweet feeling of Sally’s hug wash over her.
“She can hardly make you dinner if you hold her captive on the front walk, darling,” Mikey drawled but the smile was still on his face and his e
yes were on Sally.
He said this just as Prentice hit the door.
Wonderful.
Prentice was now in the mix.
Sally threw her head back and yelled, “You’re making dinner? Again! Hurrah!”
“Only if you haven’t had something,” Isabella answered, ignoring Prentice.
Sally disengaged but caught Isabella’s hand, explaining, “Daddy was just going to order takeaway.” She saw her father and shouted, “Daddy! Mrs. Evangahlala’s home in time to make dinner!”
“I heard,” Prentice replied dryly. “The village heard and we live five miles away.”
They’d come abreast of Mikey and Sally leaned toward him and whispered loudly, “Daddy thinks I can be loud sometimes.”
“Only way to be heard,” Mikey replied blandly.
Sally grinned.
“Mikey,” Isabella said in a warning tone.
“What?” Mikey asked, poorly feigning an innocent look.
Isabella gave him a glare then controlled her expression and transferred her gaze to Prentice who was blocking the door.
She stopped in front of him. “Mikey would like to stay for dinner, if that’s all right with you.”
“No,” Mikey said, coming up behind her. “I am staying for dinner,” he announced, eyes on Prentice. “I’ve made myself Bella’s designated bodyguard.”
Prentice’s mouth got hard and Isabella held her breath.
“Why does Mrs. Evangahlala need a bodyguard? Is she famous?” Sally asked in a breathy voice and Mikey looked down at her.
“Mrs. Evangahlala is quite famous, cutie pie, but she doesn’t normally need one. It’s just here, where –”
“Well!” Isabella cried (also loudly), interrupting Mikey. “I better get a move on with dinner or it’ll be the children’s bedtime.”
She lifted her brows at Prentice who still looked angry but he stepped forward and took her bag from her. She started to tighten her hold on it but realized it would be silly to wrestle over a grocery bag so she let go.
He moved to the side, motioning with a wide sweep of his arm that she should precede him and she quickly did so, dragging the lagging Sally, who still had hold of her hand, with her.
She and Sally hit the great room, Mikey and Prentice following and she saw Jason was on the couch, his feet flung over the back, a book in his hands.
Fairytale Come Alive Page 10