Fairytale Come Alive

by Kristen Ashley

  Knowing Hattie, who could be vicious but who wasn’t stupid, Prentice reckoned this wasn’t the picture she wanted to paint but the only one she could if she didn’t want to be stoned by the villagers.

  At his office where Dougal had arrived unexpectedly to show him the spread in the magazine, Prentice had been surprised to see two photos of Elle and Prentice taken twenty years ago mingled with the others.

  Which meant Hattie had also given them photos, photos Prentice didn’t know she had, intimate photos of Elle and Prentice that made Prentice feel unsettled that Hattie had at all.

  One was at a party at the beach. He remembered that night though he couldn’t recall Hattie being there. The night was, as always with Elle, a good night. The photo was obviously shot without Prentice or Elle knowing it was being taken. They were standing by the bonfire, her arms were around his neck, his hands were resting at her waist. She was pressed against him, gazing lovingly up at his face. They were both smiling.

  The other was on the pavement in the village. He remembered that day as a good one too but again couldn’t imagine why on earth Hattie had a photo of it. The photo was also shot without Prentice or Elle knowing it was being taken. Elle had been horsing around and had jumped on his back. She had her thighs tight to his hips, her arms were around his chest. He had his arms behind him, his hands on her ass. She was leaning into his back and his neck was twisted to look at her as she peered around his shoulder. They were both laughing.

  Seeing the photos he realized with disbelief that he’d forgotten exactly how beautiful Elle used to be when she was younger.

  He thought he’d remembered but he had not.

  Also seeing them he was stunned at how much more beautiful she had become. Especially now, when she slept deep and peacefully every night and had gained back some weight.

  He would have thought that was an impossibility but it was not.

  Those photos were mingled with others he hadn’t seen but he knew they likely existed, these taken recently. One, shot the day Sally left the hospital, showed Prentice lifting his daughter to put her in the Rover. Elle was close to them, Jason close to Elle. There was also a photo of Elle and Sally standing on the pavement talking animatedly to Denise and Gordon. Another was at Jason’s football match showing Elle standing in the curve of Prentice’s arm, her head tilted back, her face smiling as they spoke to each other. Sally was gazing into the distance but her arms were wrapped around Prentice’s leg.

  And finally, there was another photo of Prentice and Elle that Prentice wasn’t aware it was being taken, shot only days before the article ran. They were alone at the beach, Debs had taken the kids for the day.

  The final photo was almost an exact replica of the first one, except it was day rather than night and there was no bonfire. They were in each other’s arms, looking in each other’s eyes and they were smiling.

  The magazine the article ran in (and the article got it mostly right, though it dramatized some of it and made Carver seem even more of a monster than he already was which was quite a feat) was popular and had a huge circulation.

  The bad news about this article was that there was a possibility that Jason and Sally could see it or hear friends talking about it. They didn’t know Elle and Prentice had a history and Prentice didn’t want them to know, not now. He would find a way to tell them later, when things were settled, when Elle was settled, which she gave too many indications that she was currently not.

  The good news about the article was the possibility that Carver had seen it.

  But even if he hadn’t, it was now obvious Carver had seen the photo of Elle holding Sally’s hand, her other arm around Prentice’s waist, Prentice holding her close with his arm around her shoulders and Jason walking in front of them but looking back. All of them were laughing as they came out of a restaurant the first night they were in Chicago.

  A photo which was printed that day in a Chicago newspaper.

  A photo with the caption, Reunited lovers Isabella Austin and Prentice Cameron, out on the town with Cameron’s children.

  Prentice would have paid them to print it.

  Prentice would have paid them double for dropping Laurent Evangelista’s name from Elle’s.

  Luckily, he didn’t have to do either.

  He turned on the light in the foyer and pressed the button for the speaker on the security panel by the front door.

  “Yes?” he asked and listened to the static that seemed satisfyingly heavy.

  Finally, Carver Austin demanded to know, “Is my daughter there?”

  Prentice grinned before saying, “Carver, it’s late. If you want to see Elle while she’s in town, call her. We’ll meet you for lunch.”

  “Let me up,” Carver commanded.

  “No. It’s late. Elle’s sleeping.”

  “Cameron, I’ll stand here all night pressing this infernal button, damn it, let me up.”

  “Suit yourself,” Prentice replied casually and hit the button to buzz him up.

  He looked back into the apartment filled now with boxes.

  Although Elle’s apartment was large, roomy and had an amazing view of Chicago, it was pristinely clean and decorated in a beautiful but cold way that was vaguely unwelcoming. It was as if it was a show apartment, meant to be viewed not to be lived in.

  Upon entering it, he’d felt a not vague at all sense of alarm at the thought of his Elle inhabiting this impersonal space until he’d seen Elle nervously surveying her own home likely looking at it through Prentice’s eyes.

  So he’d kissed her, open-mouthed and long, even in front of the children.

  “All right,” Jason said, cutting their long kiss shorter than Prentice meant it to be, “I said you could snog but I’m thinking I didn’t mean it.”

  Sally giggled.

  So did Elle.

  And her nervousness, something that Prentice noted was always at the surface, sometimes minutely, sometimes acutely, slid away.

  At least, Prentice thought, he hadn’t seen her clench her fists, not since the night she burned her hand.

  That, he hoped, was something.

  There was a knock on the door and Prentice opened it.

  At the sight of Prentice, Carver’s face paled before it flushed with anger.

  Prentice watched Carver’s jaw tense as he pushed in asking, “Where’s Isabella?”

  He closed the door behind Carver but Prentice didn’t guide them out of the foyer. “As I said, she’s sleeping. Is there something you’d like me to tell her?”

  Carver started to move to the hall. “I’ll speak to her directly.”

  Prentice was stunned that this man thought he could stride into Elle’s home in the middle of the night, wake her up and have an unpleasant chat.

  Hell, he was stunned Carver seemed to think it was his due that he’d woken Prentice and treated him like an unwelcome butler so he could have his fucking chat with his daughter.

  However, he didn’t allow either reaction to delay him from curling his fingers around Carver’s upper arm, stopping his advancement.

  Carver’s eyes went to Prentice’s hand and then to Prentice’s face. “Take your hand off me.”

  Prentice didn’t do as he asked. “You’ll no’ be waking her. If you have something to say, say it to me. Then leave.”

  “I said, take your hand off me,” Carver repeated.

  “As it’s the middle of the night, my guess is you have something on your mind. Share it so I can get back to Elle.”

  “I will repeat,” Carver said softly, angrily, “take your hand off me. I’ll talk to Isabella myself.”

  Carver yanked at his arm as his body leaned toward the hall but Prentice’s fingers flexed and he got close to the older man.

  “And I’ll repeat, you’re no’ waking her. You have two choices, you leave your message for Elle with me or I eject you from this apartment physically.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Carver straightened and hissed back.

  Pre
ntice didn’t reply.

  Carver read his non-answer correctly and threatened, “If you manhandle me, I’ll call the police.”

  “I hope you do. I’m sure the gossip magazines will enjoy relating this latest story in all its glory.”

  Prentice was pleased to see Carver go pale again.

  Yes, he’d seen the article that painted him as a monster.

  Prentice felt like laughing.

  He didn’t.

  Carver jerked his arm out of Prentice’s hand and he stalked to the living room. He’d turned on a lamp before Prentice arrived and was surveying the chaos of boxes and filled rubbish bags which was far more welcoming, even given its sense of departure, than the room was normally.

  Carver’s eyes cut to him and then dropped to his chest before he ordered, “For God’s sake, put on a shirt.”

  “I’ll just have to take it off in five minutes so I’ll no’ waste my time,” Prentice returned. “Say your piece and then go.”

  Carver glared at him, anger etched in every line of his expression.

  Prentice held his glare, finding himself completely at-ease as he studied Elle’s father.

  He was old and, if not frail, he was no longer strong. His power was gone, what he emanated was false, conjured, believed in only by him.

  He was a joke.

  Carver didn’t think so. Prentice knew this when his eyes lit with something vile.

  And he didn’t hesitate with spilling his malevolence into the room.

  “A million dollars,” he said.

  “Pardon?” Prentice asked, taken off-guard by his bizarre words.

  “No, make that three,” Carver amended. “One for you and one for each of your children.”

  Prentice realized what he was saying and he didn’t feel at-ease anymore.

  The anger had returned.

  “Get out,” Prentice said between clenched teeth.

  “All right. Six,” Carver responded instantly. “I’ll give you six million dollars and you’ll leave Isabella and never see her again.”

  Prentice could not fucking believe this bloke.

  “Get out,” he repeated.

  “Twelve,” Carver countered.

  Prentice leaned in at the waist and clipped, “Out.”

  Carver crossed his arms on his chest and said condescendingly, “Cameron, let me do the math for you. That’s four million for you, four for your son, four for your daughter. Invest it wisely and those children will live a very happy life.”

  “They already live a very happy life without four million dollars,” Prentice retorted.

  Carver grinned. “All right, son, then it’ll be happier.”

  No, Prentice could not fucking believe this fucking bloke.

  “As happy as the life Elle has lived with her millions?” Prentice asked.

  He scored his point; he saw it and it fucking thrilled him.

  Carver recovered quickly and stated, “Isabella’s not well. She never has been, just like her mother.”

  It was safe to say Prentice was no longer angry.

  He was enraged.

  However, letting anger loose was one thing.

  Fury quite another.

  Therefore, against his wishes but for Elle, he controlled it.

  Only barely.

  “Elle’s not well?” Prentice asked in a deceptively calm voice.

  “Mentally,” Carver confirmed with a nod of his head. “You should know that, considering she’s spending time with your children.”

  “You’re telling me Elle is mentally ill,” Prentice stated.

  “Yes, son, just like her mother. If you haven’t noticed it, I’m sorry to be the one to inform you.”

  “Oh, I’ve noticed,” Prentice replied and Carver’s eyes widened slightly before he hid his response.

  “Then you should protect your children. She’s –”

  Prentice cut him off. “I’ve noticed, regardless of her beauty and intelligence, she lacks confidence. I’ve noticed that despite her friendly manner and innate kindness which instills loyalty in those around her, she doesn’t trust others’ reactions to her. I’ve noticed she has dreadful nightmares that frighten her senseless even though she long since should have moved on from them. I’ve noticed she was unhappy, nearly pathologically so, because she’d lived under the thumb of an unfeeling bastard who cowed and humiliated her regularly and, when he wasn’t doing that, he was abusing her physically. Like her mother.” When Carver’s face got red, Prentice finished, “So, I don’t know for certain but I reckon what you say is correct, she’s just like her mother.”

  “Are you implying –?”

  Prentice leaned in again and interrupted harshly, “No, Carver, I’m no’ implying fuck all. I’m saying it straight out, you sadistic, condescending bastard.”

  Carver leaned in as well. “How dare you?”

  “I dare pretty fucking easily now that I know what you did to her, what you did to the mother she loved. Your reign of terror is over, old man. You’re done. Now get, the fuck, out.”

  Carver’s eyes went to the door. “I’ll be speaking to Isabella.”

  “No, you bloody well won’t,” Prentice shot back.

  “Yes, he will,” Elle said from behind Prentice and he turned.

  Elle was standing in the doorframe wearing a dove gray satin dressing gown over a matching satin nightie edged in intricate black lace that was visible at her chest through the drape of the dressing gown. Her hair was loose and tousled and her face was makeup free.

  She looked glorious although her face was pale and her eyes were stunned and resting on him.

  “How do you know about my mother?” she asked quietly.

  Bloody, fucking hell.

  “Elle, baby, let me handle this,” he coaxed. “Go back to bed.”

  “How did you know?”

  Christ.

  “Elle –”

  “Was it Annie?” she enquired and Prentice felt his jaw grow tight, Elle saw it, her eyes widened as she somehow immediately jumped to the right conclusion and she whispered, “You read my journals.”

  “Elle –”

  She threw her hand out. “That’s what all of this is.” She looked away and he saw her lips tremble before she said softly, “I knew it.”

  “Elle,” Prentice walked toward her, stopping close and putting a hand to her neck, “we’ll talk in a minute. Go back to bed.”

  Her eyes came to his and they were shining with unshed tears. “You read my journals and feel sorry for me.”

  Prentice glared at her.

  Better to do that then turn to Carver Austin and strangle him in front of his daughter. She might not like her father but Prentice figured she’d frown on that.

  “No,” she went on before Prentice could form a reply, “you feel guilty and you feel sorry for me.”

  “Don’t be daft,” Prentice said softly.

  “I’m not being daft!” she all of a sudden snapped.

  Prentice was surprised at her quick, sharp defense.

  Then he was pleased.

  Because this wasn’t Isabella who meekly gave in. The woman standing in front of him with tousled hair, wearing silk was his Elle who never gave in.

  She’d handed him his opening so he went with it.

  “You are Elle, what you’re saying is absurd.”

  “It is not.”

  “Right, so, instead of wanting you in my life, in my home, in my children’s lives because you’re fucking gorgeous, you bake exquisite chocolate cake for my daughter, you make my son laugh and you get wet the minute I fucking kiss you is not why we’re together, it’s because I read your journals and I feel sorry for you. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes!” she flashed.

  “And that’s not absurd?” he returned.

  “You don’t know your own mind,” she retorted. “You’re blinded by guilt.”

  Prentice burst out laughing.

  Through his laughter, he saw her scowling at him and
she snapped, “This isn’t funny!”

  His hand at her neck pulled her to his body as he talked through his dying laughter, “It’s hilarious, baby.”

  “It. Is. Not.”

  He dipped his head and nuzzled her ear with his nose before he said there, “It is.”

  “You’re impossible,” she clipped.

  “I’m in love with you,” he replied and lifted his head when he felt her body grow still and he saw her eyes had gone soft and the tears had disappeared. “No’ because I’m blinded by guilt which is ludicrous. I knew I loved you before I read your journals. I’m in love with you because I just am.”

  “Excuse me,” Carver bit out from behind them and Prentice turned.

  He did so while sliding his arm around Elle’s shoulders and pulling her close to his side, saying, “Fuck, I forgot you were here.”

  “I’ll ask you to mind your mouth when you’re around me and my daughter.”

  Prentice grinned. “Elle likes it when I talk dirty.” He looked down at her and asked softly, “Don’t you, baby?”

  Elle’s eyes rounded in horror then they grew warm and she looked like she was trying hard not to laugh.

  Yes, he hadn’t lost her. Standing at his side was his Elle.

  Prentice nearly laughed.

  Again, he did not.

  “Isabella –” Carver started but Elle’s humor faded and her eyes turned to her father.

  “I thought we’d said what we had to say.”

  “We did but that was before you decided again to throw away your life on this man,” Carver replied.

  “Finally, something I’d like to talk about,” Prentice announced and he felt Elle’s body twitch at his side while Carver’s angry eyes slid to him. “Twenty years ago, for no reason other than to be an asshole, you took away the woman I loved. I’ll expect an apology before you leave.”

  “I… you –” Carver spluttered.

  “And one for Elle too,” Prentice went on.

  “I can’t…” Carver started then finished on a hiss, “You must be joking.”

  “Don’t feel like apologizing?” Prentice asked then concluded, “That’s fine, then. You can just leave.”

  “Isabella –” Carver started yet again but it was Elle who cut him off.