Fairytale Come Alive (Ghosts and Reincarnation #4)(12)

“And I’m the flower girl!” Sally trilled, rushing up to Isabella and grabbing her hand. “We are going to be best friends, even better! Annie’s-wedding-friends!”

Prentice sighed, Jason, who had arrived, stared at his sister like she was from another planet.

“This is my son, Jason,” Prentice offered.

“Hello,” Isabella said softly, studying his son.

Jason moved his stare to her, pink hit his cheeks then he moved to the 4x4 and muttered, “’Lo.”

Fiona’s death had caused Sally confusion and distress, both of which she worked through with the spirit and zest for life that she’d inherited from her mother.

Fiona’s death had caused Jason immense pain which had not abated in the slightest in over a year.

The drive home had been filled with Sally’s chatter which was lucky even as it was annoying.

Now they were home and Prentice had no earthly clue what to do with Isabella Evangelista.

What he did know was that there was only one thing more hateful than having this woman in the home he’d built for Fiona and that one thing was the fact that Fiona no longer shared that home with him.

Sally, however, knew exactly what to do.

“I’m starving,” she cried, dancing into the great room, holding Isabella’s hand and dragging her along. “Daddy, make us toad in the hole,” she demanded.

“I want takeaway,” Jason muttered as he slouched through the room, threw the post on the kitchen counter then headed toward the open-backed stairway that led to the second floor.

“We had takeaway last night,” Sally whined, “and the night before.”

She wasn’t wrong.

It had been takeaway the night before that too.

Fiona had done the cooking and the shopping. Since she was no longer there and the only things Prentice could cook that didn’t taste crap were cheese on toast, beans on toast and toad in the hole, takeaway was a staple for the Cameron family.

“It’s takeaway, lass, I’ve got things to do,” Prentice murmured, hitting the kitchen that opened to the great room, separated by a long, wide, v-shaped counter with stools and on its other side, floor to cathedral ceiling windows that faced the sea.

He picked up the post.

“I’ll cook,” Isabella offered and Prentice’s head snapped up.

Earlier, he’d been incorrect. It was more hateful having Isabella in Fiona’s kitchen cooking than it was simply having Isabella in Fiona’s house. Or, more to the point, cooking better than Fiona in Fiona’s kitchen.

Fiona was a damn fine cook however, if memory served, Isabella was an excellent one. Her cooking was a delicious mixture of home-cooking and gourmet. When she’d been there twenty years ago, both summers, she did it often for him, his family, their friends and she’d cooked and served fabulous tasting meals like it was second nature.

Sally’s head tilted back excitedly to look at her new idol.

“You cook and wear high heels?” she asked as if this was an act akin to negotiating world peace with global socialized healthcare thrown in.

“We don’t have any food in the house,” Prentice cut in and Isabella’s eyes moved to him.

“I’ll go to the store.”

Sally jumped up and down. “Can I go to the store with Bel… I mean, Mrs. Evangahlala? Can I, can I, can I?”

“I said takeaway,” Prentice replied.

“Daddeeeeeee!” Sally whined.

“Takeaway,” Prentice repeated and Sally’s face fell.

Fucking, bloody, hell.

He gave in.

He couldn’t help it. He hated it when Sally’s face fell.

However, he needed time to adjust to the idea. He also needed time with Jason to see how his son was faring with movie star glamorous Isabella Evangelista in the house.

“Perhaps Mrs. Evangelista will cook for us tomorrow night,” he suggested.

Sally jumped up and down, clapping and whirling toward Isabella.

“Will you? Will you, will you, will you?”

Isabella smiled down at his daughter and said softly, “Of course, sweetheart.”

Sally stopped jumping and clapping and stared in bright-eyed, happy wonder at Isabella.

At the same time Prentice felt like someone had hit him in the gut with a sledgehammer.

Then he felt his temper flare.

This woman was not going to turn her considerable charm on his children then walk out of their lives without a second thought.

He started to move around the kitchen counter saying, “Isabella, I’ll show you to your room.”

“I’ll go too!” Sally announced, grasping Isabella’s hand.

“No, baby, you go put your books in your room,” Prentice ordered.

“Daddy,” Sally whined.

“Now, Sally. I need a word with Isabella.”

Sally sighed with aggrieved exaggeration and then stomped to the stairs.

Prentice headed to the back hall that led to the backstairs that led to the guest suite that was removed from the family areas. It was a suite he’d designed because Fiona said guests needed privacy and when she’d been alive, with her many friends and huge family, it had been occupied frequently.

Since her funeral, it had never been occupied.

Isabella followed.

When she walked into the room, she looked around and Prentice closed the door.