Fairytale Come Alive

Chapter Fifteen That Path Led Home

Prentice

“Bye! Bye! Byeeeee!”

They were standing outside, Elle plastered to his front, her torso leaning to the side, and she was shouting and waving her arm fanatically at Fergus driving Dougal and Annie away.

Prentice had a grin on his lips, his hands on her hips and he was, with some difficulty, shuffling her backwards to the front door.

“Bye! Bye! Byeeee!” Prentice heard Annie call back in return, he looked over his shoulder and saw Annie was leaning her entire upper body out the back window and waving fanatically at Elle.

Elle started jumping up and down, still waving, and now shouting, “Hasta luego!”

“Hasta luego!” Prentice heard the now distant Annie return.

Prentice chuckled.

He succeeded in getting Elle through the door and once he did, she abruptly turned and headed into the great room.

“That was fun!” Elle exclaimed, her back to him.

He watched her walk to the kitchen while he mentally agreed with her.

Their night at the pub was fun. More fun than he’d had in years.

Twenty of them to be precise.

Fiona was social, she enjoyed going out and his wife had a wicked sense of humor that she used often.

But Annie plus Elle, when they were in a mood (and twenty years ago, they always were), were wild and hilarious in an infectious way that was beyond anything he’d ever experienced before he met them and since.

He turned to secure the door and switch off the lights, the events of the evening flashed through his mind and a smile came to his lips.

At first, Elle was cross at both Prentice and Annie. She ignored them totally and seemed intent on dragging every minute of the history of Dougal’s life for the last twenty years out of him.

She continued this through her first three vodka, lemon and limes which she consumed in less than an hour.

Through this time, Prentice enjoyed the show.

Annie, however, on several occasions tried to get a word in edgewise. When she did, Elle turned a cold shoulder to her or stared her down and, later when she was drunker, she actually put her hand out, palm up, an inch from Annie’s face.

At this (as with most everything Elle did in that hour), Prentice bit back laughter.

Annie’s eyes stared at Elle’s hand, her mouth dropped open, her face went red and she started to blow but Elle calmly turned, disregarding Annie completely and leaned into Dougal. She stared at him as if he was the center of her universe and asked breathily as if his answer would be the key to meaning of life something like, “And then, after you went to the chippie for the fifteenth time in the month of August in the year of our Lord two thousand and two, what did you do next?”

Eventually deciding her interrogation was over, Elle stood with her bag to go to the bar and buy her fourth drink.

As she did so, she pointedly continued to ignore Annie and Prentice, turned to Dougal and enquired, “Dougal, would you care for another beverage?”

Dougal, who had been keeping up with Elle drink for drink and had a few before they came out, replied, “Abso-fucking-lutely Bella Bella.”

As amusing as this was, at that point, Prentice was done.

Therefore, when Elle stepped over his legs to head to the bar, he leaned forward, caught her hips and pulled her off her feet and into his lap.

She let out a high-pitched shriek that brought the eyes of half the patrons of the pub their way, including, he noted distractedly, Hattie Fennick who wore an expression which was the epitome of someone who’d sucked a lemon.

He ignored the patrons, and Hattie (who routinely wore that look), because Elle twisted in his lap, put her hands on his chest and demanded haughtily (and loudly), “Unhand me, Prentice Cameron!”

He also ignored her ridiculous demand.

“When you’re out with me, you don’t buy your drinks, I do,” he declared.

“I think not!” she returned.

“Elle –” he warned.

“Pren –” she mocked his tone.

He grinned.

She stared at his mouth.

Then she blinked before she demanded, “Let me go, I’m thirsty.”

“I’ll get you a drink but only if you promise to drink this one slowly,” he told her.

“I can’t do that.”

“Why no’?”

“Because they’re yummy.”

Something about Elle saying the word “yummy” was unbelievably cute.

But even more unbelievably sexy.

In response, his hands travelled from her hips, up her back and one twisted in her hair.

“Even so, baby, you’re already pissed. You continue to drink like this, you’ll be rat-arsed or passed out in another hour.”

Her eyes slid away and she bit her lip considering this. Prentice watched with amusement as she struggled with her decision.

Then her eyes came back to him and she replied, “All right. I’ll drink it slowly. Passed out is not a good way to end an evening and I promised Sally pancakes tomorrow and I’m not sure I can make pancakes hungover.”

Then she did a pretend shiver at the thought of cooking pancakes hungover.

Prentice allowed himself a moment to appreciate her behavior and allowed his body a moment to savor hers shivering in his lap.

Then he used her hair to bring her face closer to his.

“You still cross with me?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.

“Are you having fun?” he went on.

“Yes,” she answered, again without hesitation.

“Then why are you cross?”

“Because you and Annie played me.”

“Aye, we did,” he agreed with total honesty. “Regardless, the result is you having fun so why are you cross?”

Her face grew serious and it was such a departure from her adorable irritation that Prentice braced.

Her voice was as serious as her face when she answered, “Because I wanted to talk to you tonight.”

He realized then that she had all day without him. Even with the children around, she had plenty of time to twist that head of hers into making ridiculous decisions. And, from the look on her face, she’d made some ridiculous decision she was going to impart on him that night.

He was fucking thrilled he’d come up with the idea of taking her to the pub with Annie and Dougal.

He made a mental note, until he’d bested his challenge, not to give Elle the time to twist that head of hers into making ridiculous decisions.

But, for the moment, he had to stall.

“We’ll talk later,” he lied.

“When?” she asked.

“Later,” he repeated.

“Tomorrow?” she pressed.

No way in fucking hell.

“Maybe,” he lied again.

She watched his face. Then she smiled a heartbreaking, sad smile.

His eyes dropped to her heartbreaking, sad smile and he determined that the answer was really no.

No way in fucking hell were they talking tomorrow.

Finally, she whispered, “Okay.”

With some regret he transferred her sweet ass out of his lap into the booth beside him saying, “I’ll get your drink.”

Then he bought her a drink.

When he did so it was not lost on him that their intimate conversation had been watched by avid eyes, most especially Hattie who was still gazing at him openly, that sour expression on her face even though her husband Nigel was speaking to her.

By the time he returned from the bar, Elle had forgiven Annie and the night began.

As Elle promised, she drank this drink (and the ones following it) slower but the damage was already done. Elle was borderline smashed and Annie was in the room. Only one thing could happen and it did.

Madness ensued.

Therefore, the night included Annie challenging Prentice and Dougal to a team dart competition with Elle being Annie’s partner.

And Elle was hopeless at darts.

In three games she barely hit the dart board no matter how much Annie coached her which was a great deal, all of it misguided and most of it drunken but it was, nevertheless, coaching.

Annie and Elle found Elle’s ineptitude screamingly funny and spent most of their time in fits of laughter, doubled over, their arms wrapped around their middles. Whilst they did this, Prentice and Dougal stood grinning at them, coaxing them to get on with the game or assuring other patrons that neither Elle nor Annie was under the influence of illegal substances.

After one throw where Elle took five minutes to line up her shot, the tip of her tongue at the side of her mouth, her eye squinting down the dart, her mouth eventually assuring Annie with mistaken confidence, “I think I’ve got it this time,” (and then she embedded the dart in the wall beside the board) that Annie laughed so hard she fell into Elle who fell into Dougal who managed, miraculously (since he was also laughing), to keep them all standing.

After the dart game and another vodka, lemon and lime for Elle and some very animated but completely incomprehensible discussion between Annie and Elle about “recycling outfits”, the night also included Elle suddenly and bizarrely shouting across the pub, “You are my new favorite person!” when Gordon Taggart walked in.

She then hurried across the pub (under the watchful, interested eyes of most of the patrons) and gave Gordon a huge hug.

When Prentice sauntered to them and extricated the astonished Gordon from Elle’s tight embrace, she explained to Prentice, “Gordon tried to save Sally and me from the big, bad paparazzi today.”

This was news to him and not good news.

Therefore, Prentice turned his now unamused gaze to Elle. “You didn’t tell me you saw photographers today.”

She took in his expression, bit her lip and then leaned into Gordon and whispered loudly, “Whoops.”

In turn, Gordon leaned into Elle and advised, “Probably should tell him when the vultures are circling, lass.”

Gazing at Gordon as if he was a renown sage, Elle nodded before she shared, “I got caught up in cookie baking, ironing and hamburger meat and I forgot.”

Gordon smiled at Prentice but replied to Elle, “That happens.”

“I just had an idea!” Elle cried suddenly and latched onto Gordon’s arm. “You need to come over for hamburgers!”

Gordon chuckled before he replied, “I’d like that.”

“Okay!” she agreed eagerly and put her hand to her ear, thumb and forefinger extended like a phone, the finger of her other hand pointing back and forth between her and Gordon as Prentice (now back to amused) pulled her away and she assured, “I’ll call you.”

Gordon smiled at Prentice but spoke to Elle, “Look forward to it, lass.”

Elle turned and let Prentice guide her to their table as she said, “He has a cute dog.”

“The collie Sally mentioned,” Prentice guessed.

“You betcha,” Elle replied, threw herself into the booth, grabbed her drink, sucked a healthy sip through her straw, slammed her glass back down and turned to Prentice who’d seated himself beside her. She slapped a hand on his chest and leaned close, declaring, “Sally needs a dog.”

Prentice slid his arm along her waist and smiled before he replied, “Sally does no’ need a dog.”

“She so needs a dog,” Elle returned.

“She’s no’ getting a dog,” Prentice stated.

Elle turned her head to Annie but left her body leaned close to Prentice and called in reinforcements, “Annie! Does Sally need a dog?”

Immediately, head bobbing wildly, Annie concurred with her friend, “Sally so needs a dog.”

Dougal grinned at Prentice.

Prentice sighed.

Then he repeated, “She’s no’ getting a dog.”

Elle’s head twisted back to face him. “But she wants a dog.”

“She wants a horse, a trip to Harrods and to be a princess too.”

He watched as Elle’s eyes drifted over his shoulder and she whispered, “I could do that.”

And she could.

Christ, he was fucked.

His arm gave her a squeeze as his voice gave her a warning, “Elle –”

Her eyes came back to his. “All except the princess part.”

“You aren’t buying her a horse.”

“Okay,” she relented. “Maybe not the horse. You live on a cliff. Horses don’t do cliffs.” Her eyes went unfocused and she finished on a mutter, “I don’t think.” Then she turned to Annie again and called, “Hey Annie, do horses do cliffs?”

Annie was cuddling against Dougal watching Prentice and Elle but, at Elle’s question, her eyes slid to the side as if contemplating this question.

Then she looked back at Elle and answered, “Nope.”

Elle turned to Prentice and declared, “Okay. The horse idea is out.”

Prentice wanted to laugh. He really did. However there were more pressing things to attend to.

“You aren’t taking her to Harrods either,” he stated.

“Why not?”

Prentice found he had no answer to that. He also found he liked the idea of Elle granting his daughter’s wish.

He liked it a great deal.

His hand, curled at her waist, drifted up her side, bringing her closer.

“All right, baby, you can take Sally to Harrods,” he said softly.

Her arms shot up in the air and she shouted, “Hurrah!”

Her exuberance was intoxicating, so much so he decided the night was over.

His other arm circled her and he brought her closer.

“Finish your drink, Elle,” he ordered.

Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, her head tipped to the side and she asked, “Why?”

“Because it’s time to go home.”

She rested her body against his, her breasts pressed against his chest, her face close enough to kiss and she asked, “It is?”

God, she was cute.

“Definitely,” he said firmly.

Her eyes moved over his face then they warmed as her body relaxed into his.

Then she whispered, “Okay.”

She pulled away and turned, announcing to Annie and Dougal as she reached for her drink, “Prentice says it’s time to go home.”

“I bet he does,” Annie mumbled through a chuckle.

“Dougal says it’s time to go home, too,” Dougal declared as he curled Annie closer.

Annie tilted her head back and looked at her new husband.

Then she murmured, “Mm.”

Prentice watched his friend touch his mouth to his wife’s.

Then he watched his friend’s eyes turn to catch his.

That was when Prentice realized life’s path took him and Dougal full circle, through a lot of beautiful landscape with a side trip to hell (for Prentice) and just a lot of wandering through hell (for Dougal).

But, in the end, that path led home.

Elle finished her drink, they climbed in Harry’s taxi and Harry took them home.

He walked through the great room, turning off the lamp by the couch on his way, and went into the kitchen. He came up behind Elle who was raiding the cookie jar and circled her waist, his hand sliding across her belly as he pressed against her back, feeling her ass against his thighs and liking it.

“You want a cookie?” Elle asked, mouth full, her neck twisting so she could look at him.

“No,” he replied.

He loved her cookies, he’d never tasted better.

But, at that moment, his mouth went someplace his tongue preferred to taste.

And as he ran it the length of her neck from the join of her shoulder to her ear, his body absorbed her tremble.

“We’re not having sex tonight,” she declared in a breathy voice.

There it was, the ridiculous decision.

“We’re no’?” he asked her neck as his hand slid up her midriff.

“No. No more sex,” she replied, her voice even breathier.

“Why no’?” he asked before he nipped her earlobe with his teeth.

Another tremble.

He grinned against her ear.

“It’s confusing.” Now her voice was a whisper.

“Confusing who?” he murmured in her ear as his hand reached her breast and his fingers curled around it.

“Confusing…” she started and then sucked in breath when his thumb slid across her nipple.

No tremble this time. Instead, he took her body weight and had to slide his other arm along her waist to keep her standing.

“Elle?” Prentice prompted in her ear, “Confusing who?”

His finger joined his thumb and he rolled her taut nipple between the two.

Her upper body reared into his.

God, he loved how responsive she was.

“Wh… what?” she stammered, very breathy this time.

He was enjoying this.

He braced her weight with his body and his other hand undid the belt of her jeans. Then he undid the button. Then he slid down the zip.

All the while he did this, he reminded her, “You said it’s confusing. I’d like to know what’s confusing.”

His hand left her breast but went under her shirt.

“Um…” she replied, hesitated then her head fell back to his shoulder as his fingers pulled her bra down and he found her nipple again at the same time the fingers of his other hand found her wetness.

So wet.

So responsive.

Yes, he loved that about her.

“Baby?” he prompted her again for her answer.

Her hips ground down on his hand.

He smiled against her ear again.

“The children,” she whispered.

“If they wake, I’ll hear them.”

“You’re sure?”

“Relax,” he coaxed.

The fingers of his hands moved.

She relaxed.

Completely.

Except her hips moved against his hand.

“Pren,” she breathed, her neck and torso twisting toward him.

She wanted his mouth.

“Elle, baby, I’ll no’ kiss you.”

Her hand encouragingly cupped his at her breast over the fabric of her t-shirt as her hips rocked against his fingers.

“I want you to kiss me,” she whispered between breaths coming fast.

He liked that she wanted that.

And he’d give her what she wanted.

Just later.

“But I want to watch you come.”

He listened to her quiet moan and ground his hard groin against her ass.

“Okay,” she yielded softly.

In the catalogue of things he wanted to do to Elle, Prentice ticked off the selection of making (and watching) her come in the kitchen.

When he’d done this and her breathing had slowed, he cupped her sex but took his hand from her breast and put it to her jaw, twisting her beautiful face to his.

Then he kissed her.

Then he carried her to bed.

Then he took off her clothes and smoothed one of her short, sexy, silky nightgowns over her body (another item in his catalogue).

Then he disrobed and took her to bed.

Feeling the satin against his chest, her ass tucked tight in his lap, their legs cocked together and their fingers linked, he realized belatedly that tonight at the pub, Elle had been Elle.

His Elle.

All night.

And the heavy warmth that always hit his gut when he was reminded of his Elle hadn’t hit him.

It had already been there, all night.

And all day too.

His fingers tensed in hers.

“Pren?” she mumbled sleepily.

“Aye?”

“What about you?”

He liked it that she asked. And he liked it that, even sleepy and intoxicated, she asked it in a way that sounded like she cared.

“You can take care of me tomorrow.”

She snuggled her ass deeper into his lap and he reconsidered that decision.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Then almost immediately he felt her body shift into sleep.

He pulled her close, listened to her steady breathing and decided to stick with his decision.

Prentice woke when the bed bounced.

He knew what that bounce meant.

Elle woke as well.

She likely had no idea.

He rolled to his back and went up on a hand, looking toward the foot of the bed.

He felt Elle get up on her elbow.

Then he heard her gasp.

“Morning!” Sally, who was on her knees at the end of the bed holding a struggling Blackie in her arms, shouted.

“Oh my God,” Elle whispered, her body locking.

“When can we have pancakes?” Sally asked Elle, showing no reaction in the slightest that she was disturbed she’d found Prentice in Elle’s bed.

Elle emitted a strangled noise.

Prentice bit back laughter.

Instead of laughing, to Sally he muttered, “Come here, baby.”

Elle jerked in surprise at his words but Sally released Blackie without delay and crawled up Prentice’s body.

Sally had been doing this nearly every Saturday and Sunday (and other days besides) for as long as she could climb on his bed.

As Sally moved, Prentice laid back at the same time he pushed an arm under Elle’s body and curled her around so her front was pressed to his side. Then his arm locked and his fingers curved securely at her waist, holding her to him. His other arm went around his daughter as she collapsed on his chest.

“Are we going to have pancakes?” Sally asked him.

“In awhile,” Prentice answered.

Sally looked at Elle. “Can I have choco-chips in mine?”

Elle was up on an elbow, her other hand pushing against Prentice’s chest, her hips unsuccessfully resisting his hold, her horrified eyes were on Sally.

“I… erm, I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

“Blueberries?” Sally enquired, tilting her head so she could rest her cheek on Prentice’s chest but her eyes were still on Elle.

Suddenly, Elle’s body ceased its resistance and her face grew soft. For a moment, she simply gazed at Sally.

Then she replied in a tone as soft as her face, “You can have blueberries.”

It was then Sally reached out and stroked Elle’s hair. At his daughter’s touch, Elle’s eyes slowly closed and Prentice’s heart clutched at the look of longing exposed on her beautiful face.

Isabella Evangelista was the woman that everyone thought had everything.

Seeing that look, Prentice realized she had a handful of good friends.

And, as far as he could tell, not one fucking thing else.

“You have pretty hair,” Sally whispered, still stroking Elle’s hair.

Elle’s eyes opened. Her hand at Prentice’s chest lifted, her fingers caught a lock of Sally’s hair and started twisting it.

“So do you, Sally.”

Prentice felt like he’d become invisible. He didn’t mind, not even a little.

He let them have their moment then Prentice gave his daughter a squeeze and said, “Go watch telly, baby. Let Daddy and Elle sleep in awhile.”

Sally stopped stroking Elle’s hair, her head darted up to look at him and Elle’s body went solid again.

“Telly?” Sally breathed.

“Yes, telly,” Prentice replied.

“But you don’t like us watching telly,” Sally reminded him.

He pulled her up his chest so her face was closer to his. “This morning, you get an hour of telly.”

Sally lifted up with both her hands pressed in Prentice’s chest and she shouted, “Hurrah!”

Then she scrambled out of the bed, not about to miss the unusual opportunity to waste time in front of the television.

“Close the door,” Prentice called, rolling to Elle who had immediately begun struggling. Sally closed the door and Prentice shouted, “Close the other one too.”

“Okay!” Sally shouted back before he heard the other door slam.

Then his full attention diverted to Elle because now she was full on struggling.

“Elle, relax.”

Her body went still and she stared at him.

Then she breathed, “Relax?”

His face went into her neck and, with lips below her ear he replied, “Yes, relax.”

“I can’t relax!” she snapped then started struggling again. “Oh my God, I can’t believe that just happened! Sally caught us in bed.”

He rolled on top of her to control her thrashing, caught her flailing wrists and pinned them to the bed beside her head. His face neared hers and he touched her lips with his.

“Baby, relax. It’s okay,” he assured her.

She glared up at him.

Then, eyes wide with horror and disbelief, she declared, “It is not okay!”

He grinned, “Why no’?”

“She’s going to freak!”

Prentice started chuckling.

“This isn’t funny!” Elle clipped.

Prentice was still smiling when he asked, “Did Sally look upset to you?”

He watched as Elle’s horrified face became thoughtful before she replied, “Well… no.”

“She’s no’ going to freak. She’ll be fine.” His head bent and his mouth went back to her neck. “She loves you,” he said there.

And he meant it.

He figured Elle didn’t hear him or didn’t process what he said because her wrists pushed against his. He pressed her wrists deeper into the bed.

She stopped pushing but declared, “Prentice, I know how this works. Sure, she seems fine now. But in fifteen years when she’s standing on top of a clocktower with an automatic rifle mowing down innocent bystanders, don’t call me asking what went wrong.”

At the thought of his effervescent Sally picking off innocent bystanders in a murderous rampage, Prentice burst into laughter as he rolled to his back, taking Elle with him. Her hands released, Elle immediately pushed up on his chest. His arms locked around her waist, holding her captive.

She stopped pushing and glared down at him. “I need to get up. I need to make pancakes. I need to find out how to erase Sally’s memory.”

He grinned at her and said, “Sally doesn’t need her memory erased.”

She wasn’t listening.

She was looking at the headboard muttering, “I’m sure the military has something. Who do I know in the military?”

He was back to laughing when his hand slid up her spine, into her hair and he bent her head to his, maneuvering it so his mouth was at her ear.

Softly, he ordered, “Forget about mind control drugs. You have more pressing things to see to this morning.”

Her head twisted and she looked at him. “Yes? And those would be?”

His other hand caught hers and guided it between their bodies. Then he curled her fingers around his stiff cock.

Her eyes grew wide the moment before they went dazed.

There it was.

He had her.

“That,” he whispered.

“We can’t do that,” she whispered back but her hand moved, forming a tight fist, her thumb sliding over the tip.

Christ.

Magnificent.

“We can,” he groaned.

“What if the kids –?”

“They won’t.”

“You’re sure?”

“Aye.”

Her hand stroked then her thumb circled the tip.

Prentice gritted his teeth.

Her mouth went to his neck and she whispered, “We’ll be fast.”

“You go fast, baby, there’ll be consequences.”

Her head came up, her hand stroked and his body liked it so much his hips involuntarily bucked.

When her eyes met his, he demanded on a rumble, “I want your mouth to work me and I want it to work me slow.”

Her lips parted, her eyes glazed, her hand clutched his cock tightly, he growled and she breathed, “But… pancakes.”

“We have an hour.”

“But –”

His hand fisted in her hair and he forced her mouth to his.

Then he kissed her.

When he was done, his voice throaty, he ordered, “Slow.”

“Okay,” she agreed immediately.

Then her face disappeared in his neck and she used her mouth on him, going to his collarbone then down his chest. He pushed himself up so his shoulders were against the headboard as she went further down.

Then further down.

Then further.

His hands gathered her hair and pulled it back just in time to watch Elle slide his cock into her mouth.

Then he watched as Elle, in her sexy, satin and lace nightie worked him.

Slow.

It was magnificent.

He lost her.

And Prentice knew it was the fucking photographers.

He’d had her. She was back.

Entirely.

Then she slid away.

And, as the day progressed, she retreated more and more until he lost her.

They were late leaving the guest suite because, after Elle took care of Prentice with her mouth, Prentice took care of Elle in the shower with his fingers.

Then, considering she smelled like lilies of the valley, she looked so fucking sexy with her hair wet and he hadn’t had his cock inside her for over twenty-four hours, he took care of both of them in the bed.

She’d been collapsed on top of him, her face in his neck, her breath had slowed, her bodyweight fully relaxed and heavy on him, his cock still hard and imbedded in her wetness, when she suddenly jerked up.

She stared at him in panic and shrieked, “Pancakes!”

Then in a flurry of movement, she exited the bed and ran around the room, pulling on underwear (which was, he noted, rolling to his side and watching her, just as sexy as her nighties), then spritzing with perfume, then yanking on a t-shirt.

She was hopping around trying to get in her jeans when her eyes hit him.

“Pren, what are you doing?” she demanded to know.

“I’m enjoying the show,” he replied.

Her eyes narrowed as she pulled her jeans over her hips. “Get up.”

“In a minute.”

She zipped her jeans and buttoned them while saying, “We have to make pancakes and Jace has a soccer game we have to get to.”

She called his son “Jace”.

He liked that.

“We’ve got time.”

She grabbed her deodorant and shoved it under her t-shirt, “No we don’t. Look at the clock! Get up!”

She finished with the deodorant, slammed it onto the bureau then ran into the bathroom.

Prentice adjusted his position so he could watch her squirt something in her palm, rub it in her hair and then she yanked a comb through its length with agitated movements.

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 because 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.

“No, baby. What’s funny?”

“He divorced me.” She looked at him and continued, “I never wanted him and, in the end, he divorced me. Isn’t that funny?”

What it was, was ironic.

What it was not, was funny.

He didn’t answer, he simply pulled her closer. Her head tipped back further to keep her eyes on him and her hands came to rest lightly on his waist.

Prentice liked the feel of Elle’s hands on his waist. He’d like it better if it was her arms around his waist.

“Why do you think that?” she asked quietly.

He put a hand to her jaw and stroked her cheek with his thumb, asking, “Think what?”

“What you said about me. That I was the best thing to come in your life. With all the gifts you’ve been given, how can you think that?”

His mind flooded with all that was Elle.

Her pancakes. Her cookies. Her smile.

The way she cared for his home.

The way she cared for his family.

The way she handled Sally with infinite patience appearing to enjoy every second.

The way she understood what Jason needed and gave it to him after Prentice spent a year trying to figure it out.

The way she kept his children’s mother’s memory alive instead of trying to bury it deep.

The way she could make him laugh when she forgot to be Isabella and, instead, was Elle.

The way she responded to his hands, his mouth, his cock moving inside her.

The way she consistently gave of herself, second by second, to him, to his children, to her friends the latter to whom she’d been giving for years, without even noticing she was doing it or expecting that first thing in return.

Prentice was in love with her.

And he’d been in love with her for over twenty years.

But now, knowing what he knew about how she’d helped Annie with unfailing determination and seeing what he saw when she dropped everything and raced to his daughter’s bedside at the hospital, he loved her even more.

He’d had a beautiful run with Fiona and he loved his wife deeply.

But he’d never been in love with Fee.

Not the way he’d always been in love with Elle from the first time he saw her with Annie, her beautiful face lit up with laughter, walking into the same pub they went to last night.

He studied that face in the dim light and slid his thumb along her lower lip.

“How can I no’?” he answered her question with a question.

She shook her head and tried to pull away.

His hand left her face so his arm could lock around her back.

She stilled and whispered, “I don’t understand.”

He pulled her even closer. “You don’t have to understand. I do. Isn’t that enough?”

She shook her head again, her body still tight. “I don’t think –”

He cut her off, asking, “Do you like it here?”

He felt her frame jerk and she stammered, “P… pardon?”

“Do you like this house?” he enquired.

She slightly relaxed and her voice was soft when she replied, “It’s a beautiful house, Pren.”

“Do you like being with the children?”

Her voice was suddenly firm (and slightly loud) when she replied, “Of course I do!”

His fingers went to her hair, pulling out the holder so its weight tumbled into his hand.

He fisted it, dipped his face closer and asked, “Do you like being with me?”

“Pren –”

“Answer me, Elle.”

She tried to turn her head away but he held her fast with his hand in her hair.

“Elle –” he prompted.

“What does it matter?” she whispered.

“Because if you like it and you want it, you can have it,” he told her, pulling her head back so he could rest his forehead on hers. “I think it’s about time you get what you want, baby. Don’t you?”

He was getting somewhere. He knew this because her body relaxed into his and her hands at his waist slid around his back.

“I like it,” she said softly and her body pressed closer. “And I want it.”

Yes, thank Christ, he was finally getting somewhere.

He felt like roaring his triumph.

He didn’t because she went on.

“But –” she began.

His hand in her hair tightened, his other arm giving her a squeeze, stopping her next words.

“No,” he stated firmly.

“But, Pren –”

This time, he dropped his head and he kissed her silent.

That worked.

Just like it always did.

Her weight was resting fully against his body when he lifted his head.

“You want it,” he said, touching her lips with his again. “I want it.” He touched her lips again. “And the children want it. We’ve all lost enough. It’s time to move onto something better.”

“Okay,” she whispered, suddenly acquiescent, dropping her head, putting her cheek to his chest and snuggling close.

He held her for a long time.

Then he kept her in his arm as he reached for her glass, handing it to her.

Then he reached for his own.

They drank their wine together and silently watched the sea.

Fiona

You’re getting somewhere, Fiona told her husband as she floated, arse to the railing, beside Prentice and Bella.

Her husband didn’t answer.

You think you’ve cracked it, though, and you aren’t even close, Fiona continued.

Prentice showed no signs of hearing her.

Fiona leaned forward and whispered fiercely, Prentice, read her journals!

Prentice swallowed the last sip of his wine and put his glass on the railing next to Bella’s already empty one.

He turned Bella toward the door.

Brilliant, now Bella was leaving glasses outside. Fiona didn’t particularly relish the fact that Prentice took Bella outside in the first place, seeing as he never did that with her. But, she really didn’t relish both of them leaving the glassware to fend for their inanimate selves in the wild, Scottish elements.

Fiona put the glasses out of her mind and followed them.

She had bigger fish to fry.

Read her journals, read her journals, READ HER JOURNALS! Fiona shouted to Prentice.

They stepped over the threshold.

Fiona followed them.

When she did, she hit black.

Not her tent by the apple tree and the stream.

Black.

Pitch.

She floated to a stop, suddenly terrified out of her mind.

Where was she?

She wasn’t real here, she was floating.

She looked down at herself.

See-through.

Oh no.

Was this hell?

Did she do something wrong?

In a panic, she floated forward, banged into an invisible barrier and was thrown back.

No! she shouted.

She didn’t want to be alone for eternity with a silk tent, a guitar and some books, no matter how pretty the place was.

And she didn’t want to be with her family for eternity, haunting them, watching them live their lives but never being a part of it.

But she really didn’t want to be here (wherever here was). It was dark. It was frightening. And if she stayed there, she’d never know if Prentice breathed life back into Bella, just like the prince in a fairytale.

She flew forward again, faster, more determined.

She floated into the bedroom.

It was dark, Bella and Prentice in bed.

She looked behind her.

Nothing but windows, balcony and sea.

She was safe.

Fiona let out a ghostly sigh of relief.

She looked to the ceiling and said thanks. Then she asked never to be sent there again.

There was no answer.

Fiona shook off the residual fear and cautiously drifted to the bed.

Bella was asleep, dead to the world (as it were).

Prentice was wide awake.

Even though she was frightened that trying to communicate with the living was getting her into trouble (and sent to the pitch black), this was important, she had to risk it so Fiona still reached out and touched her husband’s hair.

Read her journals, she whispered.

She pulled her hand back instantly when his head turned at her ghostly touch. Then she braced, afraid she’d be sent to the pitch black.

She wasn’t.

She watched as Prentice carefully extricated himself from Bella who, Fiona noticed, was wearing one of Prentice’s t-shirts which was good since Sally would undoubtedly be in in the morning.

Prentice pulled the covers around Bella and she saw he was in sweats.

Then she had to hurry and float after him as he exited the room.

Navigating the house in the dark, he went straight to the guest suite.

He turned on the light beside Bella’s bed, looked over his shoulder and out the two doors he left opened.

Then Fiona stared as he picked up and opened the journal that sat on the top of the stack and he read.

He’d heard her.

Hallelujah! He’d heard her!

Fiona saw that he was reading the latest journal, the one Bella just started.

She got close to him and advised, That’s not a good one to read, try one of the other ones.

He obviously wasn’t hearing her now because she saw his lips curve into a smile as he read what she wrote about the children.

Seriously, Prentice, try one of the other –

Fiona stopped when she saw the smile fade from his face when he read what Bella wrote that day.

Then he flipped the book shut and grabbed the next one.

He started at the back.

Fiona looked over his shoulder.

Then her ghostly body braced.

He’d flipped right to the page where Bella wrote about disposing of the pictures and his ring after carrying them with her for twenty years. Disposing of them because she thought he hated her. Disposing of them because he’d been cruel.

Disposing of them because she needed, for her own sake, to let him go, no matter how much it hurt her.

Fiona watched his face grow pale and his body get tight.

Then she watched him flip the book shut in his hand and he stared unseeing at the bed for long moments. Then he turned and sat on its side, putting his elbows to his knees, he bent forward and placed his hands to the back of his head, even the one with the book.

He looked between his knees and clipped, “Fuck!”

Fiona got close and soothed, You didn’t know, even I didn’t know. How could you know?

He sat back and opened the journal again.

Randomly selecting pages, he read. Sometimes, just the page. Sometimes, he’d read for pages and pages.

He did this through all four journals.

Finally, he stood, his face set, jaw tight, a muscle jerking in his cheek.

Fiona knew how he felt.

She wished she could hug him but, unfortunately, she couldn’t.

He set the journal aside, turned out the light and started to walk away.

Fiona held back, worrying her ghostly lip, waiting for him to leave so she could rearrange Bella’s journals like she liked them (Prentice had totally messed them up).

But he turned back, switched on the light and carefully arranged the journals, chronologically and stacked precisely.

Then he turned out the light again and retraced his steps to Bella.

As she crossed the threshold to her old bedroom, Fiona went back to the stream.

Prentice

Prentice wasn’t thinking.

Couldn’t think.

Wouldn’t allow himself to.

He put a knee to the bed and pulled the covers down Elle’s body.

Then he joined her in bed and turned her to him.

Then he put his mouth to her neck and his hands went to her panties.

“Pren?” she whispered drowsily, her hands coming to rest lightly on his chest.

He pulled down her panties.

His mouth left her neck so he could yank them down her legs, over her feet and toss them away.

“Pren.” Her voice was less sleepy, her hands more firm on him when he rolled into her.

He kissed her as he forced his hips between her legs.

At his kiss, she opened her legs and her arms wrapped around his back.

His mouth trailed down her cheek to her ear and he tasted the sweetness of her.

She sifted her fingers in his hair, lifted her head, now whispering in his ear, she repeated, “Pren.”

His hands went up her shirt and he found her breasts.

His mouth found hers.

“I’ll no’ let you go,” he vowed, his voice so rough, it was hoarse.

His thumbs slid over her nipples.

“Okay,” she breathed.

“Never. I’ll never let you go.”

Her hand cupped the back of his head, the other trailing down his side, between their bodies, down his stomach.

“Okay,” she repeated.

She pushed into his sweats and found him.

He groaned into her mouth.

Then he fucked her in a way that she could make no mistake he was claiming her as his. It was like their first time, hard, quick, out-of-control and pure magic.

Elle, being Elle, after it was over, and their breath had slowed, mistook him.

She tried to exit the bed.

He caught her and pulled her back into his body.

“Where are you going?” he growled into the back of her head.

“I need to go to my bed. The children –”

His arm got tight and she stopped breathing. He even heard her breath going out of her lungs in a whoosh.

He didn’t care.

He was not letting her go.

“You sleep here, with me.”

She made a noise he couldn’t decipher.

He didn’t try.

Wishing to be certain she was clear and made no further mistake, he repeated, “From now on, you sleep here, with me. You sleep nowhere else, no’ in this house. If you sleep somewhere else but this house, I’ll be there too and you’ll still fucking sleep with me.”

She was silent, her body tense then she asked, “Has… um, has something happened?”

“Aye.”

She was silent again then she asked with a tinge of incredulity, “Erm… how can something happen? It’s the middle of the night.”

He didn’t answer; he just gave her a squeeze.

Elle, being Elle, didn’t let it go.

“What happened?”

“I’m not fucking around anymore, that’s what’s happened.”

“You… um,” she paused then carried on, “you just woke up and decided you’re not fucking around anymore?” This time there was more than a tinge of incredulity.

“Aye,” he lied.

“Fucking around about what?” she asked.

He decided not to answer.

When she spoke again, she was whispering, “Pren, are you okay?”

There it was again.

She asked like she cared, like she was worried, like she wanted to take care of him.

Like she took care of fucking everyone.

But herself.

He gave her a gentle squeeze this time.

“No,” he answered truthfully.

“Do you want to talk?”

“No,” he answered, again truthfully.

“Can I… is there something I can do?”

He was right.

She wanted to take care of him.

“Aye.”

“What?”

“You and Sally made chocolate chip cookies. They’re delicious but I prefer the oatmeal ones. You want to do something, make those for me tomorrow.”

Her body stilled then she breathed, “Are you serious?”

“Aye.”

She was silent.

Then she said, “You wake me up in the middle of the night. We… erm, you know. Then you get all intense and say something’s wrong but you won’t tell me what. And now you’re saying you want oatmeal cookies?”

He could see this would seem highly bizarre.

He didn’t care about that either.

“Aye.”

“Do you have a fever?”

Something relaxed inside him; he felt the fierce clutch of it let him go.

The warmth hit his gut and he smiled into her hair.

“I don’t have a fever, Elle.”

She pulled at his hold. “Maybe I should check.”

His hold again grew tight. “Just go to sleep.”

“Pren –”

“Sleep.”

“But –”

His hand curled on her breast, her body stilled then relaxed.

He nuzzled his face in her hair, his voice went low, soft and coaxing when he urged, “Sleep, baby.”

She didn’t answer.

She also didn’t sleep, not for some time.

Finally, he felt her body get heavy and he let out a relieved sigh.

Before she drifted away, she murmured sleepily, “If you’ve caught something, you’re quarantined to these rooms. I don’t want the children getting it.”

And there it was, yet again.

Elle taking care of somebody.

Since these somebodies were his children, Prentice smiled into her hair.

She fell asleep.

He listened to her breathing.

Against his will, the words she wrote in her journals slid into his mind.

His body pressed into hers.

Twenty years ago, Prentice walked out of a room.

A simple enough thing to do.

But in doing so, he’d left the woman he loved in hell.

He didn’t know it then.

But he knew it now, from what he’d learned through her and through Mikey.

He just didn’t understand it.

Until he read her journals.

Now he understood it.

And it killed him.