Fairytale Come Alive (Ghosts and Reincarnation #4)(41)

Two days it had been since he discovered she’d endured only the beginning but most definitely not the end of a fairytale.

And two days since he’d discovered that, at eight years old, she’d found her dead mother in a pool of her own blood.

His hand tightened on the glass as his jaw tensed.

He hadn’t handled that last very well. In fact, he’d been a complete, selfish jackass.

It had been two days and those two days had not been uneventful.

To say the least.

The first morning after dinner with Mikey, Prentice had woken up to find his closet full of ironed shirts.

When he went downstairs, he found the coffeepot full.

Isabella was not there, however, and didn’t make an appearance until the children came downstairs.

Then she arrived wearing jeans and a thin, mostly see-through, skintight, scoop-necked, cream t-shirt with a camisole under it. Her feet were bare but her wild, tangle of hair had been sleeked and pulled into sophisticated ponytail at the back of her head and she’d made up her face.

She also had a band of white gauze wrapped around her hand.

She’d arrived to make breakfast, chat with the children and ignore Prentice.

Sally was unaware of the drama the night before though she was highly curious as to the white gauze which Isabella airily informed his daughter was “nothing”.

After what occurred the night before, Jason, it appeared, had formed some kind of motherless-child bond with Isabella and decided to cast himself as her protector. He was watching her carefully as if she was made of fragile crystal and he was going to be there to catch her before she fell and shattered on the floor.

Isabella quickly realized this and just as quickly (and skillfully) teamed up with Sally, using his daughter’s constant good cheer and Isabella’s own charm to tease and joke with Jason until he was smiling and even laughing.

It was quite a feat but she mastered it effortlessly.

When the children disappeared to get their books, without a word, Isabella headed to the hall.

“Isabella,” he called, she stopped and turned polite eyes to him in enquiry.

He looked at her and realized they were, indeed, playing a game.

It was the game of life. His life and his children’s life.

And also Isabella’s.

Too much had passed, he’d moved on and so had she, neither, it seemed, to things that ended well.

But this game didn’t have to end ugly and his children needed every friend in their life they could get.

And Prentice thought Isabella would make a good one.

With a new strategy in mind, Prentice walked directly to her and got close.

She stiffened but didn’t retreat, simply tipped her head back and looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“We need to talk,” he told her.

“There’s nothing to say,” she replied, her tone cultured, controlled, remote.

“You’re wrong,” he returned.

Her face remained polite but expressionless. “Well then, there’s no time. You have to take the kids to school and I’m going to Annie’s and I won’t be home tonight. It’s her hen night tonight, it’ll go late and I’ll probably crash on the couch at Fergus’s.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

She shook her head. “Tomorrow is the day before the wedding. I’ll be tied up all day helping Annie and tomorrow night is Dougal’s stag night.”

He got closer and her body went solid as a rock.

This he took as a good sign.

He dipped his face close to hers, willing for some flash of something to light in her eyes but he got nothing.

“You don’t have to explain the schedule to me, Isabella, I know it,” he said quietly.

“Then you know there’s no time to talk.”

“We’ll make time.”

She remained silent and remote.

He decided to change subjects and asked, “How’s your hand?”

Then it came.

Her eyes flashed and her gaze moved over his shoulder.

“It’s fine.”

“That’s good,” he replied softly.

Her eyes shot back to his.

She opened her mouth to speak but he got there before her. “I have to admit, you look nice, Elle, but you look better when your hair’s a mess and you aren’t wearing that mask.”

And it came again.

Her eyes grew slightly wider and her lips parted softly.

He took in her open expression of astonishment and finished by muttering, “Beautiful.”

Then he walked away.

* * * * *

That day, on a visit to one of his building sites, Prentice approached Nigel Fennick who was a laborer on the site.

Nigel gave him a chin’s up and said on a grin, “Dougal’s stag night still on for Friday?”

“Aye,” Prentice replied. “Annie’s hen night is tonight.”

Nigel’s grin widened. “Annie can be a wild one.”

Prentice knew that, hell, everyone knew that. Even so, he didn’t return Nigel’s grin.

“I want to talk to you about Hattie,” Prentice said and Nigel’s grin faded.

“Had calls from Fergus. Dougal too,” Nigel surprised him by saying. “They gave me an earful, mate, but you know Hattie.”