Fairytale Come Alive (Ghosts and Reincarnation #4)(2)

“We’re in Scotland, not the wilds Nairobi,” Prentice returned. “We have trains. We even have cars. She can do whatever she wants.”

“It would be quite a commute to any worthwhile employment,” Austin retorted disdainfully.

“That depends on your definition of ‘worthwhile’,” Prentice shot back.

Austin rocked back on his heels, crossing his arms on his chest.

“It does, indeed,” he replied as if he’d made a point.

Prentice was done.

He looked back at Elle.

She was again studying the carpet.

“You want to jump in here, baby?” Prentice asked softly and he felt Austin’s mood shift dangerously at his tone and, likely, his endearment.

Prentice ignored it.

Her eyes lifted to his.

Prentice felt a chill slide through him when her gaze locked on his.

She stood, slowly, lithely, the graceful way she moved was one of the things that first attracted Prentice to her. Even her incessant fidgeting looked like a beautiful dance.

She walked the four feet to where he stood in front of the fireplace and stopped not far but also not close.

She tipped her head back to look at him.

“This was a mistake,” she said in that cultured, controlled voice.

Prentice thought she was not wrong.

He’d spent every moment he could with her for two summers. When she was back at home at uni, they talked on the phone as often as they could, considering the time difference and the expense (which wasn’t often enough for either of them). She wrote him letters and he did the same. She sent him packages filled with cookies she’d baked (at first these had arrived in crumbles and she’d made it her mission to find a way to get them to him with the cookies intact, eventually wrapping each cookie, dozens of them, tightly in cling film) and mad, ridiculous gifts she’d pick up here and there that she told him he “had to have” because they reminded her of him. Prentice had seven Northwestern t-shirts and three sweatshirts and even a pair of sweatpants that had a small Northwestern insignia on the hip.

It was safe to say Elle thought of him often.

They had, essentially, been “together” for fifteen months, unfortunately only six of those being in the same location.

In all that time, she rarely talked about her family but, of course, after he proposed, she’d said it was time he meet her father.

She didn’t seem excited about this, she seemed worried and Prentice put it down to normal, everyday nerves. Her mother died when she was young and she had no siblings. He assumed she and her father had formed a necessary bond because of this but any father would be cautious about the man to whom he was giving his daughter.

However now he understood her nerves were caused by something entirely different.

“Yes, baby,” Prentice took a step toward her, “this was definitely a mistake.”

Something flashed in her eyes, something he couldn’t read, before they froze again.

Then she lifted her hand and put her fingers to his ring.

It wasn’t much, he couldn’t afford much. He’d taken three years after school working on his father’s fishing boats and saving so he could afford university. Finally, he went, reading to be an architect. His mother told him, since he was a kid, he never drew anything but houses and buildings and when he wasn’t drawing, he was building with anything he could get his hands on. He built massive structures in the garden, in trees, in the lounge. It drove his mother daft since half the time he was nicking whatever he could, even to the point of dismantling furniture (and their shed), so he’d have building materials.

He went back to the boats in the summers because he needed the money.

The ring he’d given Elle wasn’t what he wanted to give her, neither was it what she deserved, it was what he could afford. He’d vowed to himself (although he hadn’t told her) that he’d eventually replace it with something that suited her, something bigger, shinier and worth the moon.

He’d been shocked when she’d loved the ring, tears filling her eyes as she examined it after they’d finished their horizontal celebration on the floor.

Her hand close to her face, her eyes glittering with tears, she’d whispered, “It’s absolutely perfect, Pren. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Now she was sliding it off her finger.

Prentice felt his gut twist as the alarm returned, sharp and vicious.

“Elle.”

“This was a mistake. I’m sorry,” she said, her voice still strong, controlled. “I got caught up in the whole…” she hesitated and, with his ring between her thumb and forefinger, she twirled her hand between them in a dismissive way, “Scotland thing.”

The gut twist tore upwards, slicing through his innards.

Who was this girl?

“The whole ‘Scotland thing’?” Prentice repeated, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, American girls have a thing for boys with accents,” she replied calmly as if her words weren’t a verbal knife thrust to his heart.

“You have got to be f**king joking,” Prentice hissed.

And if she was, it wasn’t f**king funny.

“Mind your language around my daughter,” Austin warned but Prentice didn’t even look at him.

His eyes stayed locked on Elle.