Fairytale Come Alive

Chapter Six Knight in Shining Armor

Isabella

Isabella sat in the car beside Mikey as he drove them back to Prentice’s house after they’d had the formal tea with Annie’s bridal party, select close, female friends and Mikey, Robert and Richard.

Today had not been as bad as yesterday mainly because there were very few villagers there (especially Hattie Fennick, who Isabella always thought kind of disliked her but then again, Hattie seemed to kind of dislike everyone) and Clarissa, Annie’s Mom, had finally arrived and she was another one of the few people on the planet who liked Isabella.

Also making the day not so bad was the fact that Isabella only saw Prentice for a very brief period of time.

She’d woken early, done the ironing, had the coffee brewed and was pouring herself a second cup by the time Prentice came downstairs wearing, by the by, a shirt that was very handsome on him but really needed to be ironed.

His beautiful eyes never left her as he moved directly to the coffeepot, saying, “Morning, Isabella.”

“I’m making the children breakfast,” she blurted in reply, rather impolitely and her voice didn’t sound soft and foggy like it did when she was on the anti-depressants but almost, to her own ears, defiant.

His attention turned away from the cupboard from which he was pulling a mug to her and his brows were up.

Then his face changed, she didn’t know how but it did.

“You are?” he asked quietly.

She instantly had second thoughts about defying Prentice Cameron. If yesterday was anything to go by, he could be moody and if the days before were anything to go by, he could be mean.

She didn’t reply, just held his stare.

Then he queried, “What are you making us?”

He said “us”. That word out of his mouth gave her a shiver up her spine.

Earlier, while she was ironing and psyching herself up to approach him about breakfast, she hadn’t thought forward to what she was actually going to make, just that she was going to demand the right to make it.

She made a quick decision and announced, “A fry up.”

He burst out laughing.

Isabella stared.

God, she forgot how handsome he was when he laughed. She thought she remembered but she sure as heck didn’t.

Or, maybe it was that he looked better now.

She hid her reaction to his laughter and calmly waited until he got over his bizarre hilarity.

He turned his attention to the coffee, saying, “You feed my kids a fry up before school, they’ll be asleep within fifteen minutes of hitting their desks.”

“Children,” Isabella retorted, her voice cold and authoritative, “I’ve read, need a good breakfast before school. Brain food.”

Prentice turned to her, leaned a hip to the counter and sipped his coffee, his eyes never leaving her.

Then he replied, “Porridge is brain food. Make them porridge. There’s instant –”

She cut him off by declaring evenly, “I’m not making instant oatmeal.”

He studied her for a long moment then grinned and gave in, saying, “Suit yourself.”

With relief, she tore her gaze from his sexy, grinning face and walked away, murmuring, “I will.”

She didn’t go the way of the fry up (it wouldn’t be good if the kids fell asleep in school that would be yet another thing the villagers could hold against her).

But she did make scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese, bacon and toast coated in butter and lime marmalade.

And she made it for all of them.

Including Prentice.

While the kids were leaving the kitchen and Prentice (she thought) was in his study, Isabella caught Jason and said, “I’ve done the ironing, including your father’s shirts. Can you take them upstairs and put them away before school?”

“Can’t I do it tonight?” Jason asked.

She leaned in conspiratorially and asked in a teasing tone, “Honey, have you seen his shirt?” Then she shook her head. “No, you can’t do it tonight. You might forget and I don’t know when I’ll be back. It must be done,” her voice lowered jokingly to indicate the gravity of the situation, “and it must be done now.”

Jason grinned at her dramatic delivery then his eyes slid to the side, caught on something and he let out a little snicker.

Isabella felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She slowly turned and saw Prentice there, arms crossed on his chest, eyes on her, facial expression indicating that, perhaps, he heard every word she said.

“Is there something wrong with my shirt?” he asked in a low tone.

Yes, he heard.

Oh dear. What did she do now?

Well, she might as well be honest.

Her eyes dropped to his chest then went back to his face.

“It’s a lovely shirt. It just needs ironing.”

His hands went to the buttons while he enquired, “Should I do that now?”

“No!” she (nearly) cried, taking a swift step forward and putting a hand up, not wanting to see his chest again, ever, until the day she died.

He went on, “I wouldn’t want to embarrass the Cameron name.”

He couldn’t do that even if his shirt was in tatters.

And his pants.

He looked over her shoulder and winked at his son.

Isabella relaxed.

Prentice was teasing, not her, but Jason. She could deal with that.

“I’ll get you another shirt,” she offered on a whisper, not looking at him and moving toward the mudroom.

“I’d be obliged,” he murmured as she rounded him and felt his eyes on her.

There were, luckily, no more incidents but Sally demanded Isabella stand on the front steps and wave them away “until we’re out of sight”.

Which she did.

“How are things with Mr. Broody-Hot?” Mikey asked, taking Isabella out of her thoughts.

Mr. Broody-Hot. Where did Mikey come up with this stuff?

“If you mean Prentice,” Isabella answered, “they’re nearly one day closer to me being out of here.”

“That bad?” Mikey asked quietly.

Isabella looked at her friend’s profile. “Next time you love a man for twenty years, return to him and he thinks you jilted and made a fool of him and you have to sleep under his roof for a week, slowly falling in love with his two children then you can tell me how bad it is.”

“I’d say that’s bad,” Mikey returned.

Isabella didn’t reply because she didn’t need to.

“You’re falling in love with his children?” Mikey asked, voice still quiet.

Mikey knew all about her quest to get pregnant. He’d lived through it with her, though he’d been in Chicago and she’d been, well, globe-trotting with Laurent.

“There’s a good deal to love.”

Mikey sighed. “I noticed they’re good kids.”

Isabella was again silent.

“They like you,” Mikey said.

Isabella looked out the window. “More fool them.”

She felt Mikey squeeze her thigh. “There’s a good deal to like, girlie-girl.”

Hardly, she thought but she kept her silence.

Mikey slid to a halt outside Prentice’s house and ogled it through her window as he had that morning when he came to pick her up.

“I’ve got to say, Bella darling, this house is something else.”

She couldn’t agree more.

She stared at the house, sprawling and imposing on its cliff, somehow looking like it erupted from the cleft where it was situated and belonged there.

She hadn’t seen any of his other work but if this was anything to go by, Prentice was very talented.

Not for the first time she thought her father was an idiot. Even Carver Austin, who could find fault in anything, wouldn’t have been able to find fault with this house.

She pulled her eyes from the house and turned back to Mikey while saying, “Thanks for the ride.”

But she said it to no one. Mikey was out of the door and closing it.

She didn’t have a good feeling about this.

Isabella got out her side and slammed the door, calling, “Mikey, what’re you doing?”

“Bumming a meal off Mr. Broody-Hot,” Mikey scarily answered. “I’m famished.”

Isabella, mind scrambled near to panic at the very idea of Mikey sharing a meal with Prentice and his family without a variety of other distractions available to Prentice, Sally, Jason and Mikey, opened the backdoor and grabbed one of the bags of groceries she’d bought (it was early enough for her to intervene in takeaway and she fully intended to do it).

“You’d be bumming a meal off me,” she told Mikey. “I bought the food and I’m saying no, you can’t stay.”

Mikey reached in, grabbed the other bag then threw the door to. “You can’t say no, it isn’t your house.”

“You can’t stay,” Isabella retorted, standing out in the crisp, chill air and perfectly willing to stand out there until Christmas if it took that long to talk him out of staying for dinner.

“Why on earth not?” Mikey enquired.

Mikey loved her unreservedly. Isabella had no problems being honest with Mikey.

“Because you can be unpredictable,” she answered.

Mikey mixed with Prentice mixed with Sally, for God’s sake. That was a recipe for disaster.

He grinned at her. “Life’s a lot more fun that way.”

Life was never fun at all in Isabella’s estimation.

He started marching to the door, Isabella’s panic escalated, she opened her mouth to protest but the door opened and Sally shot out of it, screeching, “You’re home!”

Oh dear.

Sally entered the mix.

Sally came to a skidding halt and stared at Isabella.

“I love your outfit!” she shrieked.

“And I love this child,” Mikey muttered.

Isabella gave him an “I told you so” look. Mikey smiled.

Sally started her dash again, collided with Isabella and threw her arms around Isabella’s thighs.

Isabella steadied her body and allowed herself to let the sweet feeling of Sally’s hug wash over her.

“She can hardly make you dinner if you hold her captive on the front walk, darling,” Mikey drawled but the smile was still on his face and his eyes were on Sally.

He said this just as Prentice hit the door.

Wonderful.

Prentice was now in the mix.

Sally threw her head back and yelled, “You’re making dinner? Again! Hurrah!”

“Only if you haven’t had something,” Isabella answered, ignoring Prentice.

Sally disengaged but caught Isabella’s hand, explaining, “Daddy was just going to order takeaway.” She saw her father and shouted, “Daddy! Mrs. Evangahlala’s home in time to make dinner!”

“I heard,” Prentice replied dryly. “The village heard and we live five miles away.”

They’d come abreast of Mikey and Sally leaned toward him and whispered loudly, “Daddy thinks I can be loud sometimes.”

“Only way to be heard,” Mikey replied blandly.

Sally grinned.

“Mikey,” Isabella said in a warning tone.

“What?” Mikey asked, poorly feigning an innocent look.

Isabella gave him a glare then controlled her expression and transferred her gaze to Prentice who was blocking the door.

She stopped in front of him. “Mikey would like to stay for dinner, if that’s all right with you.”

“No,” Mikey said, coming up behind her. “I am staying for dinner,” he announced, eyes on Prentice. “I’ve made myself Bella’s designated bodyguard.”

Prentice’s mouth got hard and Isabella held her breath.

“Why does Mrs. Evangahlala need a bodyguard? Is she famous?” Sally asked in a breathy voice and Mikey looked down at her.

“Mrs. Evangahlala is quite famous, cutie pie, but she doesn’t normally need one. It’s just here, where –”

“Well!” Isabella cried (also loudly), interrupting Mikey. “I better get a move on with dinner or it’ll be the children’s bedtime.”

She lifted her brows at Prentice who still looked angry but he stepped forward and took her bag from her. She started to tighten her hold on it but realized it would be silly to wrestle over a grocery bag so she let go.

He moved to the side, motioning with a wide sweep of his arm that she should precede him and she quickly did so, dragging the lagging Sally, who still had hold of her hand, with her.

She and Sally hit the great room, Mikey and Prentice following and she saw Jason was on the couch, his feet flung over the back, a book in his hands.

His eyes came to her.

“Hey, Mrs. Evangelista.”

“Hello, Jason.”

“What is this Mrs. Evangelista business?” Mikey asked, going directly to the kitchen counter and dumping his bag. “She’s feeding you. You should call her Bella.”

“Mikey,” Isabella said, again in a warning tone and Sally danced to the kitchen, climbing up on a stool and rooting through the bag.

“What? Seriously, you’ve twice now bought them a boatload of food,” Mikey returned.

Prentice was also depositing his bag in the kitchen and his head came around, his eyes pinning Isabella.

Well, one could say that Mikey didn’t waste any time with creating havoc.

Then again, he never did.

“I thought Annie bought the food,” Prentice said in a voice that was deeper, thus obviously not so happy.

Isabella opened her mouth to speak but Mikey, unfortunately, beat her to it.

“You didn’t buy that did you?”

Prentice’s eyes narrowed and Isabella wondered if Prentice would find it untoward if, in front of his children, she took off her pump and threw it at Mikey.

She figured he would.

Therefore, Isabella decided to ignore any of this was happening and focus on dinner.

And nothing but dinner.

Except maybe Sally.

And, of course, Jason.

“I’m going to get changed before I cook,” Isabella announced and turned to her friend. “Mikey, come with me to see the pretty guest suite that –”

“No, darling, I’m going to stay here. Unpack groceries. Examine Sally’s fabulous manicure. Tour this spectacular house.” He grinned at Isabella. “Take your time.”

Well, maybe she couldn’t ignore everything and focus on dinner because she sure as heck couldn’t leave Mikey alone with Prentice and his family.

“Really, Mikey, you need to see the guest suite. It’s lovely,” she pressed.

“Really, darling, I need a cocktail.” He turned to Prentice. “What do you have to drink around here?”

“Whisky,” Prentice replied shortly, having come to the edge of the counter that led to the great room and leaned a hip against it, arms crossed, face closed, now so, very (and obviously) not so happy.

Mikey stared at him and waited for his list of other alcoholic beverages on the premises that were available to be consumed to continue.

Prentice didn’t say another word.

“Whisky it is then,” Mikey muttered.

Prentice walked to the study.

Isabella made a split second decision and followed.

At the double doors, she grabbed one doorknob then reached for the other, leveled her eyes on Mikey and mouthed, “Stay and be good.”

She closed the doors and turned to Prentice.

His side was to her but his neck was twisted so he could face her. He still didn’t look happy.

She couldn’t stop herself from licking her lips. Prentice’s eyes dropped to her mouth.

She caught her breath, crossed her arms on her middle and hugged her elbows.

Then she launched in, “I’m sorry about Mikey. He can be a bit overwhelming.”

Without a word, Prentice turned toward a cabinet, opened it and pulled out two glasses and a very good bottle of whisky that was also mostly empty.

“He can be overprotective,” she went on as Prentice poured the whisky but he still didn’t speak.

Isabella continued, “And he doesn’t fancy Robert or Richard and I think he’s kind of bored at Fergus’s house, considering Annie spends most of her time with Dougal… when she’s not wedding planning, that is.”

Prentice put away the whisky but he did so silently.

Once he was done, he turned to face her.

“It’ll be okay eventually, he’ll calm down. You just can’t,” she hesitated. “listen to anything he says.” She paused again. “Or take him seriously.” She drew in breath before she finished, “At all.”

Prentice remained silent and simply regarded her.

“I’ll buy you more whisky,” she told him.

Prentice finally spoke. “I think you’ve bought enough, don’t you?”

Oh dear.

He wasn’t happy about the groceries.

But he wasn’t done.

His eyes swept her from top-to-toe and then they settled on her face, “Go get changed, Isabella. You’re in a family home in the wilds of Scotland, not about to step out with the glitterati.”

There it was again. The non-physical slap. She barely held back a flinch but she managed it.

“Of course,” she muttered, starting to turn to the door.

“It makes me wonder,” Prentice started conversationally, she turned back and saw his gaze was speculative.

“What makes you wonder?” she asked when he didn’t continue.

“This,” he replied nonsensically.

“What?”

“This desperate warning not to pay attention to your best friend. It makes me wonder what secrets you’re keeping.”

“I’m not keeping any secrets,” she replied softly and it wasn’t exactly a lie.

It was just that he lost the privilege to know her secrets twenty years ago when he walked out of Fergus’s living room and didn’t look back.

Prentice went on, “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll pay close attention to everything he says.”

As a matter of fact, she did mind.

Mikey could be considered certifiably insane on entire continents. No one knew what was going to come out of his mouth. That was why he was still single.

Furthermore, why would Prentice care?

“If you’ll open the doors, Isabella, I’d like to serve my guest his drink.”

With nothing else for it, she opened the doors and walked out beside Prentice.

“Thank God! My cocktail,” Mikey exclaimed.

Isabella gave him a look that would turn marble into sand but bounced off Mikey. She smiled weakly at Sally and Jason. She ignored Prentice completely. Then she turned on her spike-heeled pump and used everything she had to force herself to walk calmly down the hall and to the guest suite.

Once there, she dashed around like a crazed demon, yanking off her (very pretty, she thought, still, it was expensive but then practically everything she owned was expensive, she was rich, for God’s sake!) sapphire blue dress. She tugged off her matching sapphire blue suede pumps and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sage green, tunic style sweater. It had a boat neck and bell sleeves and was hand-knit from the finest wool by what could only be considered a craftsman. It was one of a kind and cost a mint.

It would have to do.

She snatched the bobby pins out of the complicated chignon she’d fashioned at her nape (she’d always been good with hair, it was one of her few true talents, even her father begrudgingly admitted that) and shook out her hair. Once she’d done that, she piled it up on her head in a messy knot and fastened it loosely with a ponytail holder.

She allowed herself a split second to look in the mirror to see if she was fit for spending the evening in “a family home in the wilds of Scotland”.

She decided she wasn’t but she took off out the door anyway.

When she hit the kitchen, Sally and Mikey were in it, Jason was seated at the counter and a quick glance showed that Prentice was on the phone in his study.

Maybe her luck had changed.

“We’ve decided to call you Miss Bella!” Sally shrieked from her place on the stool at the counter, tea towels already wrapped around her.

“Have you, now?” Isabella muttered, entering the kitchen to see the groceries unpacked, the peas were at the boil and the water for the noodles was already at a flame on the stove.

At least Mikey had some uses.

“Mister Mikey says I can help,” Sally announced.

Isabella gave her a smile and started to get busy. “That you can, sweetheart. Your choice, you can do the crunchy bit or the smushy bit.”

“Can I do both?” Sally asked.

Isabella set a bowl in front of her, leaned in to kiss the top of her head and murmured there, “Why not?”

Sally threw both her hands up, nearly hitting Isabella in the jaw and shouted, “Hurrah!”

“Mental,” Jason mumbled.

Isabella looked at him and chuckled.

“I wish I found making tuna casserole so exciting,” Mikey remarked, carrying his whisky around the counter to sit beside Jason.

“You’re too cynical,” Isabella told him, opening cans of mushroom soup. “Making tuna casserole is exciting.”

And it was when one was making it for Prentice, his family and one’s best friend.

“She’s mental,” Mikey stage-whispered to Jason and Jason grinned as Prentice joined them from the other room.

Well, that reprieve didn’t last long.

Sally didn’t waste any time getting Prentice up to speed.

“Mister Mikey says we can call Mrs. Evangahlala, Miss Bella and I’m doing the crunchy and smushy bits for dinner.”

“Crunchy and smushy,” Prentice murmured, his eyes warm on his daughter. “Sounds like dinner is going to be interesting.”

“Tuna casserola!” Sally shouted and Prentice looked at Isabella.

Isabella busied herself with draining the tuna.

“Have you had her tuna casserole?” Prentice asked, she looked over her shoulder and saw he was talking to Mikey. The palms of his hands were at the edge of the counter and he pushed up to sit on it.

“I’ve sampled Bella’s entire culinary arsenal,” Mikey replied. “It must be said, the woman can cook.”

“We know. She made us chicken fingers, homemade, the other night. They were brilliant,” Jason put in.

Isabella ducked her head and bit her lip at the compliment while she went to stand behind Sally and set the cans around the bowl.

“All right, honey, we need to dump all this into the bowl and then smush it together. Yes?” she told the girl softly and Sally nodded exuberantly.

She handed Sally a spoon and Sally went straight for the mushroom soup as Isabella, her arms around Sally, her eyes looking over the girl’s shoulder, used a fork to flake out the tuna.

Isabella was attempting to ignore everything and focus on the food and Sally.

This was difficult.

It became more difficult.

“Isabella doesn’t seem the type of woman to have tuna casserole in her culinary arsenal,” Prentice commented and Isabella felt her shoulders get tight.

Didn’t he remember she cooked for him all the time twenty years ago?

Didn’t he remember what she’d cook for him?

She’d never made him tuna casserole, of course, that was winter food and she was only there in the summers.

But, still…

Mikey laughed, loud and with great hilarity.

When he was done, still chuckling, he replied, “Bella’s the Queen of Comfort Food. She used to cook all the time when she, Annie and I shared an apartment at Northwestern. Annie and I both gained fifteen pounds, each year.”

That wasn’t true. Mikey had gained twenty pounds.

“Did you meet her at uni?” Prentice asked.

“Sure did,” Mikey replied. “I saw her walking on campus our freshman year and I said to myself, ‘Who is that gorgeous girl with those sad eyes? She needs a little bit of Mikey in her life.’”

Isabella’s hands stilled but only for a moment.

Then she whispered in Sally’s ear, “I have to get the peas. Keep scooping.”

“Sad eyes?” Prentice asked, his voice had grown quiet.

“Yep,” Mikey answered shortly and also quietly.

“Why were you sad, Miss Bella?” Jason called.

Isabella dumped the peas in a colander, put them under a cold tap and turned to Jason.

“If memory serves, I stubbed my toe,” she lied, Jason’s head tilted to the side, Isabella felt Prentice’s eyes on her as well as Mikey’s and she ignored that too. “Badly. And everyone knows it hurts to stub your toe.”

“I hate stubbing my toe,” Sally declared, smushing the tuna and soup together. “It does hurt. That would make me sad.”

Thank goodness for Sally.

“You shared an apartment?” Prentice asked, unfortunately deciding this once to ignore his daughter.

And he asked even though he knew the answer. Or, maybe, he didn’t remember.

Isabella shook the water off the peas as Mikey answered, “Yep, sophomore and junior year.”

“Not your last year?” Prentice sounded surprised and she knew why.

Because he remembered.

And suddenly Isabella found it most irritating that Prentice had a good memory.

She knew that he knew, because she told him, that she shared an apartment with Annie and Mikey and that they’d be going back to it their senior year.

Except they didn’t.

Well, Mikey did, but Annie and Isabella didn’t.

Annie was in hospital then in rehab. Isabella was on house arrest after her father found out about her “tryst” with Prentice.

However, she was allowed to go to class and also to help Annie.

“Nope,” Mikey answered.

“Why not?” Prentice queried.

Isabella turned from draining the peas, placed a tea towel under them and walked back to Sally, sending Mikey a pleading look.

Mikey ignored her altogether and kept right on talking.

“Because Bella was closer to Annie at home.” He waved his whisky glass around and went on, “Would take forever for her to drive from Northwestern to Clarissa’s every day.” Mikey looked at Jason and announced, “Florence Nightingale is making you tuna casserole, bucko. Count yourself lucky.”

“Who’s Florence Nightingale?” Sally asked.

“She’s an angel from heaven,” Mikey answered.

“Really?” Sally breathed.

Isabella disregarded this, poured the peas into the bowl Sally was mixing and, attempting to shift the conversation, advised, “Be careful now, stir it gently. You don’t want to smush up the peas too much.”

Prentice decided against going with Isabella’s lame attempt at changing the topic of conversation.

“Florence Nightingale wasn’t an angel from heaven, Sally. She was a nurse,” Prentice informed his daughter.

“As was Bella when Annie was sick,” Mikey put in.

“You’re a nurse?” Jason asked Isabella.

“No,” Isabella answered, having put the colander in the sink, she was opening the bag of pasta.

“I don’t get it,” Jason muttered.

“Neither do I,” Prentice added.

“Jason,” Mikey started and Isabella turned to him and shook her head but he took no notice of her, “a long time ago, Annie was in a terrible car crash. Did you know that?”

Sally had stopped smushing and Isabella couldn’t see her face but she could see Jason’s.

“Mikey,” Isabella said softly.

“Well, she’s all right now. Everyone can see that,” Mikey defended.

Isabella tightened her fists and let her glance slide to Prentice who was silently watching Mikey, obviously not going to intervene.

She turned to the boiling water on the stove and poured in the noodles.

“I know about it. Mum told me that’s why she limps sometimes and has that scar on her face,” Jason said quietly.

“Yes, well, back then,” Mikey continued, “she was really sick. And she was really sad. And she didn’t want to get better.”

“Why wouldn’t she want to get better?” Jason asked.

“Because she was sad and being sad makes you do silly things,” Mikey answered. “She wouldn’t listen to anyone. Wouldn’t go to the hospital so they could make her better. So, Bella made her go to the hospital. Three times a week she showed up at Annie’s house and took her there herself. Every other day, she went to Annie’s house and made her do her exercises so she could get strong and fit. Annie was sad and upset and she didn’t like this and she could be mean to Bella. But Bella didn’t care. She took every mean thing Annie had to dish out, and there was a lot, bucko, let me tell you. But it didn’t penetrate our girl here. She took every mean thing Annie threw at her and she helped her friend get better. Like a nurse. Like an angel from heaven.”

When Mikey got close to the end of his story, he was whispering. When he stopped talking, the room was silent. Isabella ignored it, her back to the room and she stirred the noodles.

After several long moments, Mikey called, “Bella?”

“Can we stop talking about Annie’s accident?” Isabella softly asked the noodles.

More silence.

Then, also speaking softly, Prentice ordered, “Jason, set the table, mate.”

“Okay, Dad,” Jason replied quickly.

Isabella would have given Prentice a grateful look if he existed in her world at that moment.

Since he didn’t and only the noodles did, she continued to stir them.

“Are we having pudding?” Sally asked her back.

Isabella took in a deep breath, turned down the noodles, allowed the family home in the wilds of Scotland and its inhabitants to penetrate her mental health fortress and turned to smile at the girl.

“Apple crumble and custard,” she answered.

“Hurrah!” Sally cheered.

Carefully avoiding Prentice’s eyes, she set about getting the ingredients for the topping so that Sally could make the crunchy part.

And she silently prayed the night wouldn’t get any worse.

She should have prayed harder.

Dinner wasn’t that bad.

Though it wasn’t good either.

Actually, Isabella could just say it didn’t kill her.

Though it left her wanting to kill someone, namely Mikey.

The best part of the evening was that Prentice unearthed a bottle of wine.

The rest didn’t go so well.

The peas in the tuna casserole were smushed to mush but it didn’t taste bad mainly because Isabella added tons of cheese and cheese makes anything taste better, not to mention Sally’s crunchy bit concoction for the topping (with Isabella’s helping hand) was first-rate.

Mikey had decided the sad story part of the evening was over and regaled them with tales of Annie, Isabella and himself doing crazy things while at college.

Neither of these were the reasons why the dinner was murder plot worthy.

It went bad when Prentice queried, “When did you three find time to study?”

“We two got by on a wing and a prayer,” Mikey returned. “Bella burned the candle at both ends and graduated summa cum laude. She even made deals with her professors when she had to miss classes to be with Annie.”

Prentice’s eyes cut to her and Isabella’s eyes cut to her empty plate.

“That’s impressive,” Prentice said it like he meant it.

“That’s Bella,” Mikey remarked and then finished in a tone filled with acid, “No way she was going to take home anything but top marks to that father of hers.”

At that, Isabella’s head shot up and she actually felt her face grow pale. Then, quick as a flash, she threw her napkin on the table and stood up.

“Seconds for anyone?” she asked the table at large.

Jason and Sally both looked startled. As did Mikey.

Prentice’s eyes were locked on her and his brows had knitted.

“My first portion was fit for an elephant, so, no, I don’t want seconds,” Mikey replied.

“I want pudding!” Sally cried.

“I could take seconds,” Jason answered and Isabella could have kissed him.

“I’ll get the casserole,” she declared, bent to Sally and whispered, “Pudding in a second, sweetheart.” Then she walked as calmly as she could to the kitchen.

“You know her father, of course,” Prentice said as she moved away and his voice had a tinge of acid as well.

Isabella’s fingers curled into her palms tightly and briefly, the flash of pain not near enough to get her through this.

“The Wicked Warlock of Chicago?” Mikey drawled. “Wish I didn’t but I do.”

Bella wished at that moment for the first time in her life that she didn’t know Mikey.

“The wicked what of what?” Jason asked, his voice tinged with humor.

“You know Annie and Dougal are a Scottish fairytale come alive?” Mikey asked Jason as Isabella returned with the casserole dish and scooped a heavy spoonful onto Jason’s plate.

“What?” Jason asked, voice now tinged with confusion but also still with humor.

And who could blame him. Where was Mikey going with this?

It was only seconds later Isabella found out she didn’t want to know.

Mikey waved his hand around. “Separated for decades by tragedy, reunited, getting married, the whole fairytale come alive. That’s Annie and Dougal. Well, Bella’s fairytale includes a wicked warlock of a father and an evil duke who stole her away and was a cad and a bounder. But she finally escaped him and now she’s waiting for her knight in shining armor,” Mikey explained.

Isabella stood, holding the mostly empty casserole dish, staring at Mikey in horror.

Jason and Sally were both staring at Mikey with rapt faces. Then their eyes moved to Isabella.

That whole time, Prentice was simply staring at Isabella.

“You were married to a duke?” Jason asked.

“No, she was married to a –” Mikey started.

Isabella swiftly interrupted him by asking, “Prentice, do you want seconds?”

His eyes still locked on her, Prentice shook his head.

She walked directly to the kitchen wishing she could ignore this but she damn well couldn’t.

Sally turned to her father and asked, “Daddy, what’s a bounder?”

“Aye, and what’s a cad?” Jason asked right after Sally.

Isabella wondered how long it would take for Mikey’s body to wash ashore after she threw him over a cliff.

And, also, would they consider foul play if it was just a push?

“Both are names for not very nice men,” Prentice answered his children.

“I don’t like Miss Bella being with a not very nice man,” Sally said quietly.

Well, maybe Isabella would stab Mikey before pushing him.

Or, at least, conk him on the head.

“I don’t either,” Jason mumbled.

No, she decided she’d go with stabbing.

“How’d you get away from the evil duke?” Sally yelled as Isabella slid the apple crumble out of the oven and put it on a hot pad.

“She divorced him,” Mikey answered for her. “And took a boatload of his money with her when she did, thank God.”

Isabella rolled her eyes heavenward. Then she rolled them back and switched off the oven.

“Is she rich?” Jason asked, now amazement was tingeing his voice.

“Filthy,” Mikey answered.

“Miss Bella’s not filthy,” Sally stated crossly.

“Filthy rich, cutie pie,” Mikey amended.

Sally looked to her father as Isabella reluctantly resumed her seat next to the girl. “What’s that mean?”

“It means Miss Bella has a lot of money, baby,” Prentice answered, eyes on his daughter.

“Then Miss Bella can buy me a horse!” Sally shouted, turning bright eyes to Isabella.

Isabella turned irate eyes to Mikey. Mikey grinned.

“She’s not going to buy you a horse,” Prentice stated.

“But –” Sally began.

“No,” Prentice’s tone was firm and unyielding.

Sally’s face drooped into a pout and Isabella decided she’d conk Mikey on the head before stabbing him and then she’d push him over a cliff.

But before that, she had to make it through the night.

She turned to Sally. “I can’t buy you a horse, honey, but you can help me make the custard.”

“I like custard but I like horses better,” Sally retorted through her pout.

Isabella wrinkled her nose and replied, “Horses smell funny and they eat a lot. Custard smells yummy and you get to eat it.”

“Do you have a horse?” Sally asked and Isabella shook her head. “A dog?” she went on and Isabella kept shaking her head. “A cat?” Sally continued and Isabella grinned but kept shaking her head.

“I had a fish once,” she told the girl.

“You can’t pet a fish,” Sally returned.

“This is true,” Isabella murmured.

“And you can’t ride it, unless it was a dolphin. Was it a dolphin?” Sally asked.

“It was a goldfish and you couldn’t ride it. But it had a frilly tail and I named it Goldie.”

Sally gave herself a moment to consider this information.

Then she concluded, “A horse is better than a fish.”

Isabella’s grin widened to a smile and she leaned into Sally. “You got me there. A horse is definitely better than a fish. But horses are still smelly and eat too much. Now, do you want to help with the custard or not?”

Sally’s gave herself a moment to consider this as well, the pout disappeared, her eyes lit up and she awarded Isabella with a small grin.

“I wanna help with the custard,” Sally answered.

“Good girl,” Isabella whispered then looked at the table.

Jason was watching them with a goofy grin on his face.

Mikey was watching Prentice with a satisfied grin on his face.

Prentice was watching Isabella with an unreadable expression on his face.

Isabella decided to ignore it all and wait for Jason to finish his second helping.

“Do you want me to warm that up?” she asked Jason with a polite nod of her head to his plate.

Jason took the hint and started eating.

Mikey chuckled.

Prentice took a sip from his wine without taking his eyes off Isabella.

Sally asked, “Do we have to wait for Jace to finish to make the custard?”

“Yes,” Isabella replied at the exact same time Prentice answered, “Aye.”

At that, Mikey, for some barking mad reason, burst out laughing.

It took two and a half books to get Sally to sleep that night likely because she was wound up over dinner and guests and tales of knights in shining armor who had not yet arrived.

After tucking her in tightly and turning out the light, Isabella hustled out of her room.

Mikey had been downstairs alone with Prentice for two and a half books. No telling what antics he’d get up to.

She quickly walked down the dark hall and was closing on the stairs when she heard the end of something Prentice was saying.

“…Jason and Sally.”

To which Mikey immediately replied, “Of course she would. She lost her mother when she was eight. It isn’t the same, considering her mother slit her wrists, but she still lost her.”

Isabella’s body rocked to a halt and she stood, statue-still, out of sight at the top of the stairs.

She’d never told Prentice about how her mother had died. She wanted to, she’d even rehearsed what to say but she never found the right time.

And, if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want him to think bad things about her mother or her and what her mother’s act might make him think about Isabella.

There were bad vibes rolling up the stairs and pounding against Isabella but her mind was blank with panic and her body was numb with fear.

“I’m sorry?” Prentice asked softly.

“You didn’t know?” Mikey replied, then after a long, pregnant moment, he muttered, “Oh my God, you didn’t know.”

There was more silence, more bad vibes rolling and Isabella didn’t move a muscle.

Then Mikey decided he hadn’t yet finished sharing. “She found her, Prentice. Eight years old and Bella found her mother in a bathtub filled with blood.”

Isabella’s mind shut out the rest of the words and she took a step back then another one, automatically seeking retreat.

She ran into something.

She whirled and stared at Jason who was standing behind her in the dark but she could see his face was white as a sheet.

He’d heard.

“Jason,” she whispered, horror saturating her.

“Your Mum died when you were eight?” Jason whispered back.

“Jason,” Isabella repeated, her mind unfocused, unable to think of anything else to say.

“You found her?”

It was a shout, a shout filled with sheer agony and it felt like it tore apart her ears and her heart.

She instantly dropped to a knee and grabbed Jason’s hands as she heard quick footfalls on the stairs.

“Jason, listen to me, it was a long time ago,” she whispered urgently.

“You found her,” Jason repeated and Isabella felt Prentice with them but her eyes were riveted on his son.

“A long time ago, Jason.”

“Your Mum’s dead, like mine.”

She scooted closer, squeezing his hands and whispered, “Honey.”

He shook his hands free but he didn’t run away.

He threw his body into hers, nearly taking her off-balance and his arms closed around her so tight it hurt.

It didn’t hurt her body. It hurt her heart.

Isabella gathered him close.

“You know how it feels,” he mumbled into her neck, his voice thick with unshed tears.

She melted into his ten year old grieving boy’s arms.

“I know how it feels, sweetheart,” she whispered, her hands moving on his back.

“You know how it feels,” he repeated.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“Jace, come here, mate,” Prentice said gently from close and Isabella could feel a soft tug pulling Jason’s body from her arms but Jason stayed fix and the tugging stopped.

“Does it still hurt?” Jason asked and Isabella closed her eyes, stopped stroking his back and held onto the boy even tighter.

What she didn’t do was answer.

Jason pulled a little bit away and looked in her eyes.

After what felt like an eternity, he muttered, “It still hurts.”

She should lie. It would make it easier at that moment for both of them.

But he’d eventually know she lied and she didn’t want Jason Cameron to think she was a liar.

Ever.

So she didn’t lie.

Instead, Isabella put her hands to either side of his head, leaned in close and said quietly, “I’m sorry, Jason, but yes, it still hurts.”

He swallowed.

Then he nodded.

Then he pulled away, turned and walked to his room.

Isabella didn’t look at Prentice as she straightened but when she was upright she saw his broad-shouldered back turning into his son’s room.

Slowly, she walked down the stairs. Mikey was standing, face pale as a ghost, in front of the couch.

Isabella wished she felt fury. Instead, she felt nothing but heartache.

When she got close, Mikey asked in a low voice, “Girlie-girl, why didn’t you tell him?”

She shook her head, too weak even to speak.

And besides, what little strength she had she was using to stop herself from weeping.

“Tonight… all my stories… he didn’t…” Mikey stopped and his eyes grew narrow with confusion and sadness. “When you were with him, did you tell him anything?”

She shook her head but this time, she explained.

“When I was here, I wasn’t that girl with sad eyes,” Isabella whispered in a voice that could barely be heard. “When I was with him, I could be free.”

“Oh darling,” Mikey muttered, pulling her in for a close hug and he hugged her for a long time. Then he murmured in her ear, “Walk me to the door, darling.”

She did as she was told.

He hugged her again at the door and then looked her in the eyes.

“You should tell him, you know. Everything.”

It’s too late, way too late, she thought.

But she said nothing.

Mikey gave her a look before he sighed, kissed her temple and walked out the door.

Isabella went back into the great room and stood motionless, waiting for Prentice to return. It felt like years but was more likely five minutes when she saw him walk down the stairs.

He stopped four feet away from her, his beautiful, every-colored eyes locked on her, his face closed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he replied.

“I’m still sorry,” she pushed.

He gave a jerk of his chin but said nothing else.

“Is he okay?” Isabella asked.

“He will be,” Prentice answered.

Isabella slowly closed her eyes.

Then she opened them and repeated, “I’m so sorry.”

Prentice didn’t reply.

Isabella squared her shoulders and licked her lips, waiting for him to say something.

He said nothing. In fact, he looked like he was waiting for her to say something.

She pulled in a deep breath. Then she let it go.

Then she said something.

“I’ll just… head to bed,” she told him.

He didn’t say a word.

She turned to the hall.

“Fifteen months,” Prentice said.

She turned back to Prentice.

“Pardon?” she asked.

“Fifteen months we were together and you didn’t say a fucking word. We spent every minute we could together when you were here and when you weren’t we spent every minute we could talking and you didn’t say a fucking word.” Isabella felt her heart start beating faster but Prentice wasn’t finished. “Did you give a fuck about me at all?”

Bile started climbing up her throat, she ignored it, clenched her hands in fists and simply replied, “Prentice.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You didn’t. If you did, you would have fucking shared your life with me. At least part of it. You didn’t share fuck all. I was in love with you, I asked you to marry me, for fuck’s sake, and I didn’t even know you.”

Her heart stopped beating faster and started slamming against her chest, her nails tore fiercely into her palms and her eyes flew to the stairs.

“Prentice, the children,” she warned.

“Tell me now,” he demanded.

Her eyes jerked to him and her heart stopped.

“What?” she breathed.

“All of it, Isabella. Tell me now.”

“But… why?” she stammered.

He leaned forward at the waist and clipped, “God damn it, tell me now.”

Isabella could take no more.

“Why?” she snapped, throwing her unclenched hand through the air. “What does it matter now?”

But he wasn’t paying attention to her. His eyes had followed her hand.

“Jesus,” he muttered, anger out of his voice, gaze still on her hand. “You’re bleeding.”

She quickly looked at her palm, saw he was right and closed her hand into a fist. As she did this, he advanced so he was close.

Very close.

She tipped her head back to look at him and declared, “It’s nothing.”

His head was bent toward her hand, his fingers closed on her wrist and he said, “Elle, you’re bleeding. Let me look.”

Isabella blinked, feeling the name only he used wash over her like she hadn’t had a bath in decades and that name was warm, clean water.

“Open your hand,” he ordered, his thumb insistently pressing on her fingers, he looked distractedly over his shoulder to the kitchen and asked, “Did you break a glass washing up?”

“It’s nothing,” she repeated.

His head came back around and he lifted her hand between them, thumb unrelenting, trying to open her closed fist.

“Let me see,” he murmured coaxingly.

Panic stricken, she jerked her wrist and he lost hold. When he did, his eyes snapped to hers.

“I said, it’s nothing,” she whispered.

Prentice stared at her.

Isabella took a step back, holding her wrist where his hand was, feeling his warm strength still there. Memorizing it, she pressed her hand against her chest.

His eyes dropped to her hand. Then they went back to hers.

And they were cold. So cold, she shivered.

“Secrets,” he said softly, his voice awful. “Which is the same as lies. Secrets and fucking lies.”

She held his gaze, it cost her but she held it and didn’t breathe a word.

After long moments, Prentice looked to the floor and shook his head.

Then he turned away and asked, “Turn the lights out, will you?”

Then he walked up the stairs and disappeared from sight.