Fairytale Come Alive

Chapter Eleven Celebrity Gossip Magazine

Isabella

“Can I have Miss Bella’s chocolate cake for breakfast while I’m recupralating?” Sally asked from her place, buckled safely in the back of Prentice’s Range Rover.

Isabella looked over at the child as Jason twisted around from the front and corrected, “Recuperating.”

“That’s what I said, recupralating,” Sally shot back.

Isabella smiled.

From behind the wheel, Prentice replied, “No.”

Sally’s face turned obstinate then it brightened as a new idea came to her. “Since I got knocked over by a car, can I have a horse?”

“No,” Prentice answered.

“A puppy?” Sally tried.

“No,” Prentice repeated.

“A kitty?” Sally pushed.

“No, Sally,” Prentice returned.

“A fish?” Sally cried in desperation.

Prentice chuckled before he replied, “We’ll see about a fish.”

Sally smiled cheerfully at Isabella and Isabella smiled back.

A miracle had happened.

When the doctors woke Sally after her brain swelling had gone down, she was groggy, in pain and confused but mostly she was Sally.

They did tests and found no memory loss, her concentration and recall were excellent, in fact all functions were a go.

The doctors were stunned.

Prentice, Jason, Debs, Annie, Dougal, Fergus and Prentice and Fiona’s families (not to mention Isabella) were relieved.

A miracle.

Isabella had never witnessed a miracle. In all her life, the only kind of miracle she’d experienced was Dougal and Annie finding their way back to each other.

Isabella was used to tragedy and disaster. She didn’t know what to do with a miracle.

She found she didn’t have a great deal of trouble coping.

The last week had gone by in a blur.

If she wasn’t at the hospital with Sally, she was at the market (there always seemed to be something they needed in the house that wasn’t in the house, they ran out of salt, they ran out of laundry detergent, they ran out of furniture polish, it was never-ending).

If she wasn’t at the market, she was mopping, sweeping, vacuuming, doing laundry, ironing, stripping beds, making beds or dusting. Prentice, it was obvious, had done very little (if any) housework since she’d left.

If she wasn’t doing that, she was (at Prentice’s surprising request) running Jason to school, from school or to football practice in her rental car when Prentice couldn’t do it because he was at work or had to be at the hospital for one of Sally’s tests.

If she wasn’t doing that, she was spending time with Sally or Fergus and Annie.

Another, smaller miracle had occurred that week too.

For, when she was in town or waiting with the mothers and fathers for football practice to end, the villagers didn’t avoid her or give her nasty looks. People she knew way back when (and some she didn’t know), smiled at her when they caught her eye. Some said hello. A few even engaged her in conversation, asking about Sally, Jason and Prentice and even how she, Isabella, was bearing up under the strain (and offering help!).

Isabella figured this about face had a good deal to do with the fact that her father humiliated her in front of the entire village.

Which, in itself, was refreshed humiliation.

However, Isabella was too exhausted to focus on that. Instead, she focused on their kindness which was a great deal easier to deal with.

Even though her days were mentally and physically strenuous, her nights were spent tossing and turning. She rarely slept and most of the time forgot to eat (probably due to the fact that she wasn’t hungry).

Isabella was running on empty. She knew this but had no clue what to do about it or any time to come up with a solution.

Except when she was tossing and turning but most of that time was spent thinking about Prentice sleeping in his own bed under the same roof not far away and how much she’d like to crawl out of her bed and into his and what she’d like to do with him there. She thought both about the semi-appropriate things, like giving him the affection he surely needed, and the very inappropriate things, like putting her hands and mouth on him.

Likely, this didn’t help her sleeplessness.

She decided not to think about that either.

“Miss Bella,” Sally called, taking Isabella from her thoughts. “When we get home, are you going to teach me how to be ambidextry?”

Isabella started to answer but Jason turned (again) and corrected (again), “Ambidextrous.”

Sally glared at him, losing patience, “Jace! That’s what I said! Am-bee-dex-try!”

Isabella leaned toward the girl, wrapped her hand behind her head, gently pulled her close and kissed her shining hair.

Then she answered, “I’ll do my best.”

And she would, in the few days she was going to remain there.

Sally was gaining strength. She’d broken her right forearm which was in a cast thus Isabella had told her she’d need to learn to be ambidextrous while her arm healed. She’d also had a couple of ribs broken which they’d been told would heal quickly. She’d had a number of deep contusions which were fading.

Other than that, shockingly (and thankfully), she was fine.

Therefore, Isabella reckoned, she’d get Sally settled. This, she decided, would take a day or two (or three). And then she’d get out of Prentice’s hair.

It must be said she didn’t want to be out of Prentice’s thick, dark hair.

In fact, Isabella spent way too much time thinking how much she wanted to run her fingers through it.

Nevertheless, although Prentice had been polite and even grateful for her help, he was just that. Nothing more. His politeness and gratitude were of the distant variety, and not, Isabella guessed, just because he had a lot weighing on his mind.

Which meant it was time for her to go.

At least, she thought (with not a small amount of sadness), this time it wouldn’t be ugly.

Things were settled between her and Prentice, in a way. It was over. They were acquaintances, ex-lovers of both varieties. There was so much water under the bridge, it was a wonder the bridge wasn’t flooded.

Even in the short expanse of time after the drama of their mini-reunion, they’d moved on.

Or, at least, it was clear Prentice had.

Isabella was just pretending. Then again, she was good at it as she should be, she’d had enough practice.

But the good thing was that meant that this time she could stay in touch with the kids from afar and not worry that Prentice was going to blow his stack.

Prentice rolled to a stop in the drive of his house and Isabella watched him as he looked around at the cars parked everywhere.

She bit her lip.

She probably should have told him about the party.

It wasn’t her idea. It was Annie and Debs’s idea.

She’d just cleaned the house and baked the chocolate cake and, maybe, bought all the decorations, blew up the balloons and hid them in her rooms.

He turned in his seat and locked eyes on Isabella, who was sitting behind Jason.

Isabella sucked in breath.

When she returned a week ago, he seemed somewhat angry and definitely impatient. This had gone away.

She could easily read annoyance and impatience in his eyes now.

Annie and Debs had talked Isabella into the party, insisting it was a fabulous idea the latter who, during their planning session the day before, had shown absolutely no ill-will to Isabella and was again treating her like the sister she always wanted but never had, a change in attitude that Isabella was also too exhausted to process.

Looking at Prentice, Isabella felt maybe they were wrong.

“Um…” she started hesitantly and he shook his head.

Then he turned away and got out of the SUV.

Isabella scrambled out and saw that Jason was looking around, eyeing the cars, a smirk on his mouth. Prentice unbuckled Sally and carried her in his arms as Jason hurried forward to open the door. Isabella, ever the coward, trailed behind.

So far behind, she heard the congregation inside shouting, “Surprise!” but she didn’t see it. It took her a couple of seconds before she entered behind Prentice and his family.

In the great room were Annie and Dougal, Fergus, Dougal’s parents, Prentice’s parents, Fiona’s parents, Debs, her husband and two kids, Morag, her husband and two kids and Mrs. Kilbride. The great room was festooned with pink and white streamers, bunches of pink and white balloons were fastened here and there and there was a big banner hanging on the stairs that read, “Welcome home Sally!”

There were trays groaning with food all over the bar-slash-counter that delineated the kitchen from the great room. The pièce-de-résistance, Isabella’s chocolate cake on a high cake stand Isabella had unearthed, the chocolate frosting decorated with swirls of pink and white icing, sat right smack in the middle of the culinary extravaganza.

But it was worse.

Annie was holding a little, adorable, squirming black kitty with a pink and white bow around its neck.

Isabella stopped next to Prentice, spied the cat and mumbled, “Oh dear.”

Sally’s eyes honed right in on the feline.

“Kitty!” she shrieked with pure joy.

“Oh dear,” Isabella repeated.

Prentice put Sally on her feet as Annie came forward with the cat. Then his gaze cut to Isabella.

At the look in his eyes, Isabella went directly on the defensive. “I didn’t know anything about the cat. I swear.”

He straightened and turned to her. “The party?”

Isabella bit her lip but decided it best not to answer.

“The cake?” he went on.

Isabella hugged her middle and cupped her elbows with her hands. She’d snuck down to the kitchen in the wee hours of the night to make the cake on the sly.

She didn’t explain this. Instead, again, she decided not to answer.

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

Sally was on her knees, Annie in a crouch in front of her. The kitty was jumping excitedly around Sally as Sally tried to stroke it with her good hand and Annie was doing her best to keep the cat from overwhelming the just knocked over by a car little girl.

Sally tilted her head back to Prentice and requested loudly, “Can I keep her, Daddy? Can I, can I, can I?”

“Sorry, mate,” Dougal murmured and Isabella saw that he’d sidled close to Prentice’s side, “you know Annie.”

Annie grinned up at Prentice, completely unrepentant.

“I vote we push her off a cliff,” Isabella said in a soft whisper and then felt the blood drain out of her face because she meant to think it not to say it.

Dougal and Prentice’s heads turned to Isabella.

Isabella’s hands released her elbows and clenched into fists.

Dougal burst out laughing.

Prentice didn’t laugh but his face changed. He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. Then his eyes dropped to her hands and she forced her fists to uncurl.

He quickly guarded his expression and looked down at his daughter.

“You can keep her, baby.”

“Hurrah!” Sally shouted.

Prentice bent down and picked up Sally, carrying her to the couch. “But you’ve got to rest. You’re just out of hospital.”

“Can I have cake?” Sally asked.

“In a minute,” Prentice answered.

“Hurrah!” Sally repeated.

The partygoers closed in on Prentice and Sally. Jason and his cousins claimed the attention of the cat. Annie got close to Isabella.

“I need to talk to you,” Annie said out of the corner of her mouth, being cloak and dagger.

Isabella looked at her friend, knowing Annie’s cloak and dagger was never a good thing but she had other, more pressing things on her mind.

“And I need to talk to you,” her look turned severe, “Annie, a cat?”

Annie gave Isabella a “What?” look and Isabella gave her a “You know!” look in return.

Then Annie grabbed Isabella’s hand and dragged her down the hall, up the stairs and to the guest suite.

“Annie, what on earth?” Isabella asked when Annie stopped them in the sitting room.

On the couch were coats and bags. Annie dug through them, pulled out her big, suede, satchel purse and yanked out a magazine.

“I’m sorry, Bella, something’s happened,” Annie said and handed the magazine to Isabella.

Isabella took it, saw it was one of the way too many celebrity gossip magazines and she stared at the cover.

Confused, she looked at Annie and asked, “You dragged me up here because you’re upset Bianca Preston is adopting another child from Africa?”

Annie’s eyes bugged out, her hand shot forward, she ripped the magazine out of Isabella’s hold and opened it to a page that Isabella saw had been marked by Annie turning down the corner. She flipped it in half and handed it back to Isabella.

Isabella instantly understood.

She saw a full page photo of Prentice, Jason and herself walking from the Range Rover toward the hospital. It had been taken several days before.

Prentice was close to Isabella, guiding her with a hand at the small of her back. Jason was walking close to Isabella’s side. Isabella and Jason had their heads bent, eyes to the ground as they walked. Prentice was gazing straight ahead.

They all looked pale, tired and worn.

Isabella’s eyes flew to the caption.

Socialite Isabella Evangelista, with her new beau, handsome, award-winning architect Prentice Cameron and his son, Jason, visiting the hospital after a tragic accident involving Cameron’s daughter.

Isabella’s eyes flew to Annie and she said the first idiot thing that came to mind.

“Prentice has won awards?”

Annie’s eyes bugged out further then she snatched the magazine from Isabella’s hands and snapped, “That’s not the point. Prentice is going to freak.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Prentice was going to more than freak.

He’d always wanted a quiet life, a simple life and that was what he’d given his family. He’d moved them to their private house on the cliff close to the sea. He (obviously) excelled at his work (awards!) and she knew he enjoyed travel (or, he did twenty years ago, she had no idea about now).

But he wasn’t the kind of man who wanted his photo in celebrity gossip magazines.

And he wasn’t the kind of man who wanted his children’s photos in celebrity gossip magazines.

And he certainly didn’t want to be referred to as Isabella’s “new beau”.

“This isn’t good,” Isabella whispered.

“No, it isn’t,” Annie returned.

Always, for Isabella, it was something.

Something dark.

Something bad.

Even in the middle of a miracle.

Isabella gazed at her friend. “What am I going to do?”

Annie got close. “Show him the picture. Talk to him for once. Explain how this is for you and how you deal with it.”

Isabella sighed and nodded but added, “And I need to go. They’re going to be all over the village –”

Annie grabbed Isabella’s hand. “No, you don’t need to go. You need to stay. You’re experienced with this. They aren’t.”

Isabella stared at her friend. “If I go, the photographers will lose interest.”

Annie snorted and shook the photo in front of Isabella’s face. “Hardly. Prentice is hot. Look at him. Incredibly photogenic. And Jason is a good-looking lad. You’ve all obviously been run through the mill and you still look amazing together. And it looks like you’re definitely together. They’re going to eat this up. They always do when it’s about you. Bella, they’re going to descend on them like flies on doo-doo.”

Isabella looked to the photo.

Prentice did look great, even though his face was tired and his mouth was tight, he’d never looked so handsome.

And Jason was a good-looking lad, with his father’s eyes and his mother’s hair. Pre-teens the world over were going to be in throes of ecstasy.

Isabella closed her eyes.

Then she muttered, “Damn it.”

“Talk to him,” Annie encouraged.

Isabella opened her eyes. She had no choice.

“I’ll talk to him.”

Annie squeezed her hand.

Isabella took the magazine, shoved it in her nightstand and then they went back to the party.

It was a smash hit, especially the kitty and the cake.

Everyone was nice to her, more than nice, even so far as being warm and friendly, like she was welcome.

Like she belonged.

It was a nice day and Isabella had to admit that Annie and Debs were right. A party after a tragedy that ended in a miracle rather than further despair was just the thing.

Isabella did her best to keep Sally from tiring herself out too much, the exuberant kitty from causing Sally further injury and she consistently cleared away party debris so clean up later wouldn’t be overwhelming.

The only weird thing that happened was when she was standing, talking to Debs and Fergus, Prentice brought her a plate piled high with food.

Without a word, he handed it to her and walked away.

Fergus, Debs and Isabella stared at the plate. Isabella with surprise, Debs and Fergus with knowing looks.

Not hungry, Isabella nibbled from the plate then put it aside.

Not long after, she was gathering discarded plates for the bin when fingers curled firmly around her upper arm.

She looked at the strong hand at her arm and then at Prentice who the hand belonged to when he pulled the rubbish out of her hands, dragged her to the bin, dumped it in then dragged her to the counter. He prepared another plate for her, setting it on the counter and piling the food on it while he kept her imprisoned next to him, his hand still on her arm.

When he was done, he turned to her, plate in hand, and demanded, “Eat.”

“But –” she began, so shocked she didn’t know what to say.

He interrupted her. “Eat.”

“I had some. It was lovely but I’m full. I couldn’t eat more,” she explained.

“You had barely any. It is lovely. There isn’t any way in hell you’re full. And you’re going to eat more.” He paused then said, “Now.”

She stared at him stunned.

Then she said, “Prentice, really, I’m full.”

His eyes narrowed, he (and the plate) got close, his face dipped to hers and he asked in a low, quiet, dangerous voice, “Do I have to feed you?”

Her mind filled with images of Prentice feeding her finger food. Her body reacted pleasantly to these mental images.

She swallowed, shook her head and took the plate. He dropped her arm.

Isabella ate while Prentice stood watching her. This was a difficult task. Firstly, she was confused as to why he was practically force-feeding her. Secondly, his eyes on her did crazy things to her heart, her belly and her head.

When she cleaned the plate, she asked, maybe a little snotty (but really, he was force-feeding her!), “Happy?”

“Not really,” he returned. “But it’s a start.”

Then he walked away.

Isabella glared at him and then felt eyes on her. Prentice’s Mum was looking at her as was his sister as was Jason and Mrs. Kilbride.

They were all grinning.

“You’re getting too thin,” Mrs. Kilbride called out then she advised helpfully, “Now you should have some of your delicious cake!”

At that, Prentice pivoted on his boot, went directly to the cake, cut an enormous piece, slapped it on a plate and handed it to her.

Dougal burst out laughing.

Prentice tipped his head to the cake.

Isabella glared at him.

Prentice calmly accepted her glare.

His every-colored eyes on her did funny things to her heart rate.

She ate the cake.

Seriously, she needed to get out of there.

As soon as she could.

Prentice

The last partygoer was gone and except for the decorations which Sally didn’t want them to take down yet, everything was clean and tidy and his children were in bed.

Even Sally’s new cat, christened Blackie, was curled asleep at Sally’s feet.

Prentice needed a whisky.

In case he received a middle of the night phone call with bad news that would necessitate him being alert, he’d refrained since Sally had her accident.

With Sally home recovering, still in possession of all her important faculties, now asleep in bed and with Elle knocking herself out to care for him, his offspring and his home, including throwing a welcome home party for his injured daughter as well as sleeping in a bed not far away from him, he needed a fucking whisky.

He was considering what to do about Elle as he poured it.

This was a departure since for the past week when he wasn’t worried about Sally, Jason and getting the work done on a deadline that was fast approaching, he normally spent his time considering all the things he’d like to do to Elle.

Regardless of the fact that she still looked exhausted and was losing weight mainly because the woman kept so busy she didn’t fucking eat, not to mention the fact that she’d left him and his family four weeks ago without looking back and for reasons only known in that crazy fucking head of hers, he couldn’t deny that he was attracted to her.

He didn’t want to be attracted. He wanted to be over it and move on, as she clearly was.

But he was attracted to her.

Very attracted.

In fact, he thought about this so often and there were so many different options, his mind had automatically started cataloguing the things he wanted to do to her. Where he wanted to put his mouth, his hands, his fingers, the different positions he wanted to try, the various rooms and furniture available.

Christ, it consumed him.

He’d never experienced anything like it, not even twenty years ago.

Then again, he hadn’t had her twenty years ago.

He was replacing the bottle when he heard, “Prentice?”

His eyes cut to the door of his study.

Elle stood there wearing jeans that fit her too well (even if she had lost weight) and a stylish but see-through purple blouse with tiny pleats down the front and a camisole he could see underneath. Her feet were bare, her hair was in a messy bunch that had slid to the back of her head and she’d taken off her jewelry but still wore her makeup.

She looked like she could be photographed for a magazine.

Instead, she was casually standing in the doorway of his study in his home gazing at him with soft, weary eyes and, if he took six steps, she could be in his arms.

On that tempting thought and to take his mind from it, his eyes fell to her hands something he didn’t realize he habitually did and he saw she was not clenching them in fists (something he did realize she habitually did) but she was carrying a magazine.

“Is something on your mind?” he asked, his gaze going back to her tired face.

“Um…” she started then she stopped.

This annoyed him.

The first time she came back she seemed cool and in control except, of course, when they were bickering but even then she’d seemed in control.

This time she seemed less sure of herself, more hesitant and it irritated him because it made her warmer, more approachable and unbelievably appealing.

He watched as she looked to the ceiling then asked, “Is Sally okay?”

“Aye.”

Her gaze came to him and her head tipped to the side. “Jason?”

“Aye.”

“Are you okay, um… after all of this?”

He liked it that she asked. Especially since she asked in a way that indicated she cared.

That familiar heavy, warm feeling hit his gut.

He ignored it and repeated, “Aye.”

She stopped speaking then she took in a breath.

With little patience, wanting to be out of her presence, wanting to be outside with his whisky, Prentice asked, “Elle, what’s on your mind?”

She swallowed and then ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip. His body responded strongly to the sight of her tongue.

More of his low volume of patience ebbed away.

“Elle, I’m tired. I want to wind down after –”

“I have something to show you,” she said quickly, taking two steps into the room before she halted. Then he watched as she visibly lost courage, looked at his whisky and asked, “Can I have one of those?”

Careful to shield his still ebbing patience, he poured her a whisky. They walked toward each other, closing the distance between them and he handed it to her.

She took it and belted back a healthy swig.

Too healthy.

After she swallowed, her mouth dropped open, she sucked in breath as if it burned and tears sprang to her eyes.

“It’s meant to be sipped,” Prentice advised but as he was talking she took another healthy swig.

He stared in surprise.

This was something the crazy Elle who was friends with the mad Annie would do twenty years ago.

They’d get up to anything.

Much like her comment earlier about voting to push Annie off the cliff.

Elle and Annie, twenty years ago, would say practically anything as well (Annie still would), most of it hilarious.

She finished the whisky on a third swig, shut her eyes tight and winced.

When she opened her eyes to look at him, she breathed, “Good stuff.”

God, she was cute when she behaved like this. And he didn’t need cute Elle sleeping under his roof either.

No, he especially didn’t need that.

“Elle –” His patience was running out.

“I have to show you something,” she blurted, interrupting him.

“All right.”

“You’re going to be angry.”

His eyes went to the magazine. Then they returned to hers.

He didn’t speak.

“Likely very angry,” she went on.

He still didn’t speak.

“Probably very, very angry.”

“For Christ’s sake –” he clipped but didn’t finish as she flipped open the magazine and showed him a page.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. On it was a photo of Elle, Jason and him walking into hospital days before.

Jason, he noted with pride, held his body with surprising confidence for a boy his age and, even though he looked worried, he was still a handsome lad.

Elle, he noted with annoyance, held her body with unsurprising poise and, even though she looked worried, she was still a beautiful woman.

He didn’t bother studying himself.

Prentice pulled the magazine from her hand and read the caption.

Then he exploded, “Fucking hell!”

“I knew you’d be angry,” Elle replied swiftly.

He narrowed his eyes on her and snapped dryly, “Oh, you knew that, did you?” Flipping to the front of the magazine and seeing it was a celebrity gossip rag, published undoubtedly on a variety of continents he exploded again, “Christ!”

“Annie says I should talk to you. Explain how I deal with this kind of thing,” Elle said quickly.

He looked at her and his tone was biting when he asked, “Aye? You have sage advice on how I should deal with the fact that my son, without my knowledge and against my wishes, has his photograph in a trashy magazine? You have experience with that, do you?”

He watched her face pale.

Fuck.

His anger and impatience, this fucking situation, the last fucking week, hell, the last fucking month, had pushed him over the edge. He hadn’t thought about his words and he’d gone too far.

Way too far.

“Elle –” he started, instantly filled of regret.

“No,” she cut him off, cute Elle gone, warm, appealing Elle vanished, cool and aloof Isabella in her place.

He wouldn’t have said it two minutes ago but he wanted the other two back.

“As you know, I do not,” she went on. “However, I know what it’s like having my photo in trashy magazines without my knowledge and against my wishes. Nonetheless, I’m not a parent so you’re correct, I don’t have any sage advice for this.”

She bent to put her glass on the table and he knew she intended to leave.

He should have let her go.

But Prentice was fucking tired of letting her go.

Therefore, he didn’t let her go.

He slammed his glass beside hers, caught her upper arm in his grip and was surprised at her reaction.

It was violent.

She twisted her arm in a way that he had to release her or he’d hurt her. Which meant to keep her from leaving he had to find other purchase.

So he did.

He put both hands to her hips and yanked her toward him.

Her body slammed into his.

It felt fucking great.

Before he could react to this, she tipped her head back, he saw her eyes flash and she demanded in a voice that was not cold at all. It was heated.

And loud.

Loud enough for the children to hear.

“Take your hands off me, Prentice Cameron!”

Damn, but she looked fucking gorgeous when she was angry.

He didn’t do as she asked.

He shuffled her back toward the open doors. Sliding an arm tight around her waist, he held her front against his side as he reached out, grabbed one door then the other and pulled them to.

Then he pinned her in front of him against the doors.

She was breathing heavily, her breasts pressing against his chest with each breath.

Through gritted teeth, he said, “Now, if you’ll give me a fucking second before you run away, again, I’ll apologize for being a thoughtless bastard.”

“Fine. Apology accepted. Now step away,” she snapped, giving him a push with her hands at his waist.

He resisted the push by leaning further into her which pressed them together from hips to chests.

Her hands stilled and she tilted her head back further to look at him. He could see from the healthy pink in her cheeks that he had her attention.

“No,” he belatedly replied to her demand. “Now, you’ll explain how I deal with seeing my children and myself in those magazines when we’re with you.”

“You won’t,” she returned, her voice still hostile but now also breathy.

“You can promise that?”

“Yes, I can since you won’t be with me.”

Her words felt like a knife twisting in his gut.

She continued before he could react to that as well. “They’ll probably bother you for awhile after I’m gone. Then they’ll lose interest. You just have to learn to ignore it. It gets worse if you react. Trust me.”

He wasn’t listening. His mind was stuck on her telling him he wouldn’t be with her.

And stuck on her telling him she’d be gone.

“You’re leaving?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said shortly, her tone still that mixture of antagonistic and out of breath.

“When?”

“In a few days.”

“Why?”

Her lips parted and Prentice’s gaze riveted on them.

Therefore he watched them form the words, “Prentice step back.”

His eyes went back to hers. “Elle, answer me.”

She seemed puzzled for a moment then shook her head as if to clear it.

“Because…” She stopped and her gaze slid to the side.

He pushed closer. Her gaze snapped back.

“Sally’s fine,” she answered. “She’s going to be okay. And this isn’t my home, this isn’t my life. I have a home and a life in Chicago. I need to get back.”

He stared at her.

When she spoke again, it was softer and the hostility was gone. “They shouldn’t get used to me.”

“Too late,” Prentice returned, watched as her eyes closed and felt his already heightened anger rising even further. “So this is it?” he asked. “This is what you’re going to do now?”

Her eyes opened again and he saw confusion.

“Pardon?”

“Slide into their lives, light up their worlds, slide out, leave me to deal with their disappointment while you send boxes filled with expensive presents from wherever you are, making certain they’ll be thinking of you even though they’ll never be certain they can have you?”

Her face filled with shock and her mouth opened to speak but she didn’t when his anger boiled over.

He let her go and took a step away.

“All right, Elle, if I can guide them through losing their mother, I can guide them through losing you, repeatedly. At least I have practice with that.”

He regretted his words again when her face assumed an expression like she’d just been struck.

But he was angry enough that he didn’t take them back. Furthermore, they were the fucking truth.

He watched as she rearranged her features but she couldn’t quite hide the hurt.

Then she whispered, “What do you want me to do?”

“Don’t leave,” he replied instantly.

Her eyes grew wide.

“You want me to… to… to move here?”

Christ, how had this come about?

But he knew. This came about because this was Elle and every situation with Elle deteriorated to something out of his control.

He glared at her for a long moment before he answered, “No. I don’t want you to move here. But I want you to stay until Sally’s fit again. Until there’s a good time to explain the situation so they know what you are to them and what they can expect.”

“What am I to them?” she asked him, now sounding confused.

He simply stared at her.

She definitely was mad.

When she continued to gaze at him in that baffled way, he enquired with disbelief, “You’re serious?”

“I –”

He tried to gentle his tone when he said, “Think about it, Elle. You lose your mother and, a year later, a glamorous woman who understands your loss floats in the front door baking cakes and telling stories about your Mum and varnishing your fingernails. You lost your Mum, Elle. If you had a woman like that come into your life, what would she be to you?”

Her eyes skittered to the floor; she examined it for awhile before she sighed.

Then she murmured in a voice so soft, he barely heard her, “I really messed this up, didn’t I?”

For some reason her words disturbed him so much his anger immediately evaporated. They were uttered in a way that made it seem she took sole responsibility for everything that befell her, Prentice and his children when practically none of it (but her leaving him the second time) had been in her control.

Before he could stop himself, his hand came to cup her jaw and his thumb stroked her cheek.

At his touch, her gaze went back to him.

“You didn’t mess anything up, Elle,” he replied quietly. “This is bloody life. Life is always messy. Now, we just need to sort it out.”

She nodded, the soft skin of her face moving against his hand, her eyes still confused and tired but they’d grown warm.

Before he did what very much he wanted to do, slide his thumb along her lower lip then put his lips where his thumb had been, he dropped his hand.

“Go to bed and get some sleep. We’ll talk when you’re less tired.”

She nodded, pulled in a breath and with a heavy tone, she whispered, “Prentice, I’m so sorry about the magazine.”

There was more weight to those words than was required. She hadn’t sold the fucking photo to the magazine.

“It isn’t your fault,” he pointed out the obvious.

“I’m the reason –”

His hand came back to her jaw and she stopped speaking.

“It isn’t your fault, Elle,” Prentice repeated firmly.

“Okay,” she replied quickly but not very convincingly and before he could say another word, she said, “Goodnight.”

He watched her whirl, open the door and then disappear.

Prentice stared at the door, feeling a vague sense of unease about that entire scene and not for the obvious reasons one would be uneasy about that scene.

His eyes on the door, he tried to call up what troubled him.

When he failed, he strode back to his glass, grabbed it, went to the cupboard, tagged the bottle of whisky by the neck and took the whole fucking bottle up to his balcony.

Fiona

You should read her journals, Fiona told her husband as she floated with her arse close to the railing of the balcony where he was standing.

She was floating as if she was sitting there, her ghostly elbows to her ghostly knees, her ghostly eyes on his brooding face.

He didn’t respond because he didn’t hear her.

Nevertheless, she kept talking.

You’d understand if you read her journals.

Prentice kept his eyes to the sea as he took a sip from his glass (the third glass, Fiona was counting).

She sighed a ghostly sigh.

Then she said, I don’t know why the powers that be did this to me and I hate it. But I love you enough to want you to have the world and she’s been your world for twenty years. If I wasn’t already dead, that would kill me. But even I can see that you two were meant to be. Why can’t YOU see? Why don’t you FIGHT for her?

Prentice continued to stare at the sea.

You don’t want her to leave, Fiona told him.

He didn’t respond.

Quietly, with all the feeling a dead woman could feel for the live woman who made the words true, Fiona stated, She’d lay down her life for our children.

“Aye,” Prentice said softly to the sea.

Fiona melted through the railing.

Swiftly, she bolted back.

Did you hear me?

No response.

Prentice! Fiona shouted, Did you hear me?

He threw back the remainder of his whisky but didn’t give any indication he heard her.

Fiona didn’t give up.

Read her journals! Look at her palms! TRY to understand her, Prentice! She shouted. Don’t let her go again. She needs you to fight for her! Fight for your happiness, for her happiness, for our children’s happiness! Fight so Bella can be free. Fight for ME to be free!

Prentice set his glass next to the three that were sitting on the railing.

Naturally, he took the bottle inside and put it on the bureau before he changed and went to bed.

Fiona glared at her husband as he lay in bed for a long time, arms crossed behind his head, head on his hands, eyes to the ceiling, sleep eluding him.

You’re an idiot! she snapped.

“Aye,” he murmured, rolled to his side and fell asleep.

Fiona considered throwing something at him which she could do.

Instead she dematerialized and materialized in Bella’s room.

Bella was lying on her back, arms crossed on her belly, eyes to the ceiling, sleep eluding her (again!).

You two are doing my head in! I wish you’d found some other dead woman’s husband to fall in love with! Fiona shouted.

“I do too,” Bella whispered, rolled to her side and fell asleep.

Fiona glared at her.

Then she spent the rest of the night with Sally.